I'm having a week and a half this week. My feet feel as if they just competed in a 10K run. I ask a lot of them during a normal seven day period, but this week I've broken some personal footfall records. I began my week by getting up Monday morning at a leisurely 6:15 a.m. (anything after 6:00 a.m. I count as major sleeping in chops for me). After indulging in a little idle time playing on my phone, I poured, and savored, my first cup of coffee. My day was laid out before me like a sheet of blank paper, to write whatever I pleased on it. It had been so long since I had been treated to a deliciously decadent 24 hour period where nothing was required of me but to breathe in and breathe out at regular intervals. I was nearly giddy with the prospect. Of course looking at my track record, I should have known. Really, I should have. The text came in as I had decided to really lean into my day by not putting any makeup on, or rooting for my bra in my lingerie drawer. The text read simply, "Just a reminder, Susie, Dr. Matz is looking forward to see you at 9:00 to examine your feet". Oh hell. It was 7:00 a.m.. Why had I opened it? Why, why, why? Dr. Matz, naturally, has her office located by my house, a forty-five minute drive from Richards where I was staying. It was much too late to reschedule. I knew even if I could, it would probably take three months to get a new appointment. So, I spurred my tired toes into action. Racing around the house like my shirt was on fire, I ran water for a bath, put on my face, "as my mother would say", pulled shorts and a tee shirt on, kissed the cat, and out the door I went. Hopping in the car, I scanned my gauges. The gas gauge was hovering close to "E". Naturally, I would need gas. If I wasn't expected anywhere, that darn tank would have surely registered full.
I drove to the gas station I frequented when in Richard's domain. Once the tank was full, I headed back out onto the road opting to take the scenic route along the back roads, as opposed to fighting street traffic to the freeway. The back road is usually the best choice. As with the gas, things were not to bend in my direction. Though well maintained, it is a two lane highway. The drive was, as always, lovely and relaxing, at least up to a point. I drove along for a while free as the breeze until suddenly traffic slowed to a crawl. I fell in line behind five other cars creeping along in the same direction I was going. With all the curves and twists the road delivers, there is not a passing lane for at least twenty miles. Sigh. The lady occupying the lead position in our conga line and setting the pace was one of those people who adheres exactly to, or possibly five to ten miles under, the posted speed limit. This, of course, is what you are legally bound to do. I must admit, I myself do not always follow this legality precisely to the letter. Not only was her pedal definitely not to the metal, but every time she came to a signal, whether the green light was in her favor or not, she would slow down to nearly a snails pace. I could have walked through the intersection at a faster pace clip then we going. We were all lined up behind her like boxcars following an engine. She would stop, and in order, we would jerk, jerk, jerk, to a stop behind her. This strange behavior also followed true every time she saw another car on the road, each time she turned a corner, or basically anything that occurred beyond the perimeter of the vehicle she was driving. There was a line behind my car by the time we reached the halfway point that curved around several turns and likely far beyond. I am not a person to indulge in road rage ever. Again, I am not a perfect being, by anyone's definition. But, even I was getting more than slightly irritated as we bumped and jerked along. At any rate, I worked on lowering my blood pressure by thinking thoughts about squirming puppies and colorful rainbows. Thankfully, she finally turned into a driveway, allowing me to continue along on my way to arrive at the doctor's office two minutes before the appointed time. Yay.
After leaving the doctor's office, I went on to my house to begin working on my move. My routine of late when at the house, is to both sort and pack, making less work on the other end. My car is usually filled to capacity by the time I return to Richards, where I unload it and either figure out a way to store it there or stick it in the garage sale, storage, or donation piles now filling one side of the garage. Most of the little things have either been moved or stored at this point but there is still much to do.
Several items have been put on Craig's List to sell. The first item sold was my back yard shed, to a lovely Italian gentleman appropriately named Tony. Tony showed up at my house in an old beater pickup wearing shorts, a Hawaiian shirt, sandals, and what I refer to as a Kahuna hat. You could see under the well worn surface of his sun tanned face, Tony had once been quite a lady killer. He looked every inch the older Italian gentleman. Was I to see him dishing up a steaming bowl of pasta at a local spaghetti feed he would have seemed perfectly in place. The shed was not going to be an easy job to load. Though empty, it was attached to a heavy wooden frame and both the shed and the frame needed to be broken down in order to transported.
Tony settled in one of my patio chairs, telling me he was getting a feel for the job he had ahead of him. After a short while, he removed his hat and wiped his sweating forehead with his forearm. I got him a water to help combat the heat rising up from the concrete. Seeming to have a plan of action, he returned his hat to it's original position and stood up once the water was gone. "Hmmmmm", he mumbled, several times. I stood there next to him feeling obliged to throw in a few "hmmmmm's", and a "well, huh" or two myself. Leaving him to his own devices, I watched from the window as he circled the situation for a while, sat down in a lawn chair again, circled some more, and then retrieved his tools from his truck and at last went to work. Two hours later, the whole thing was resting in pieces in the bed of his truck. He paid me, and I watched as another piece of my life backed out of the driveway and drove off down the street. I felt lighter already.
I had my annual physical in the middle of all this frenzied activity. Turns out I'm in great shape for the shape I'm in. Good news. In spite of my unfortunate Pringle's addiction, still looking for a twelve step program for help for this with no luck, my sodium remains on the low side. I was told to eat more salt. Have you ever eaten a Pringle? Without the salt there would be nothing left to put in your mouth. Ah well, again if that's the worst thing I have to deal with at the moment, sign me up.
This morning I got ready for work again as usual. It's Saturday, generally slow as molasses at the facility I draw my paycheck from. I meandered a bit and took stock of what was left of my house and yard to be moved. Outside, there were several pots turned upside down. I decided to flip them over and insert the smaller of the two inside the other and throw them in my trunk. The second pot flipped out a rather irritated black widow spider, her egg sac, visible inside the pot, who came racing at me and bit me in the foot before scurrying under the bushes. Oh goody. I called work to ask one of the med tech's if this is something I should get checked out. She felt I should stop at the ER before reporting to work. Really? Sigh. An ER visit usually involves a lot of sitting time that I really did not have. Things working in my favor, my chair turned out to be the only one occupied in the waiting room at the ER. It seemed to have been a slow night. The receptionist had her head resting in her hands with both eyes closed when I walked in the door. I was in and out of there as quick as a lizard's tongue. They triaged me, looked at my bite, and said to move on down the road unless it gets infected or my foot falls off in the middle of the night, then return to the ER. Got it. Hope this doesn't end up costing me an arm and a leg, so to speak. I feel fine. It seems fine. I will hold on to that and put that topic aside for the moment.
This move is taking up most of my thoughts right now it would seem. While talking on the phone with my cousin yesterday, she asked if I was settled in my mind about making this move. Interesting question. Are you ever fully settled? I have set my sail in so many directions over my time here on earth feeling I was settled, I have honestly lost count. In most instances, not all of course, I might say at the time I made the decision to go whatever way I chose to go, I thought it to be the right decision. I am here to tell you many times I made a wrong turn, plotted an incorrect course, or found myself floundering in a choppy sea. These, I believe at least in my humble opinion, are the stumbling blocks which help a person to mature and eventually find solid footing. Who knows, might be my answer to the original question. I hope it is a place where my feet find safe harbor. This will be left to the fates and whoever is captaining the ship to determine. Do I feel a bit of a tug at leaving my complete independence on the doorstep. Yes, in truth I do. However, you cannot enter into a partnership without giving up some of your personal freedoms. Can't be done, at least with any hope of success. Richard and I work well as a team, I like to believe we work better as a team. That being said, I am willing to take a chance that this is the best move for both of us and plow on full steam ahead. I will let you know as the saga unfolds.
My son said something very wise to me last time we were together. He enjoys a rich and happy relationship with his wife and life partner. The two of them are perfectly paired and truly suck the juice out of every day they share together. He said, "Nothing is guaranteed as far as the time you will have in a relationship. That being said, you have to make the absolute best out of every opportunity you are given to enjoy your lives while you have one another." This is so true. As I've said many times our loved ones are only on loan to us and us to them. When it is time to leave, one or the other of you will most likely have to do so before the other.
So, a new chapter opens up. I feel it will be an interesting time in my life. Richard, as do I, enjoys road trips so we plan to take many together. I also have a plane trip in mind to Canada. I have relatives I'd like to meet for the first time on my father's side, and see again on my mother's side. This is a must do for me, whether I go alone or take Richard along for the ride.
I have to say I'm a bit hesitant about getting on a plane these days. When I was booking a recent trip it was like navigating a mine field. I am old enough to remember when traveling was far less complicated. You went to a local travel agency, where a competent employee planned your trip. You were handed an envelope with your itinerary, your ticket, and boarding passes. Most likely you had an assigned seat, so no juxtapositioning for a place to sit once you were on the plane. In smaller airports you lined up at the gate, walked across the tarmac, and went up the stairs to enter the plane. Baggage was checked (free unless you packed a small elephant), overheads were for coats, cameras, makeup bags and the like. You were handed pillows, blankets, magazines, at no cost. You got free beverages, free meals and snacks, free, free, free. My, it boggles the mind. This time, when booking my flight it seemed like the airlines would have been pleased if I brought nothing with me at all as far as luggage except perhaps a change of underwear tucked in my purse. It was perceived as a total inconvenience if I had to check a bag, apparently, and it would cost a goodly sum to inconvenience their staff by doing so. Carry-ons had to be a certain size, of course, and one per customer, also paid for. The seat assignment was whatever seat you found unoccupied, wherever you found it unoccupied. If you didn't find one unoccupied, I'm assuming they hung you from the ceiling, and I'm equally as certain there would be a ceiling dangling charge included in your flight costs. Then there are all the little hidden charges. Breathing tax. You do take up air in the the capsule after all. Over five feet tall? I'm sure there's a height tax in there somewhere that can be added on. If you want to change or cancel your flight, don't be looking for a full refund, unless of course you have paid the full refund ticket price, which is considerably more.
When asked, I will always say I prefer road trips these days. I used to love to fly but it's just not fun any more. Plus it's a little unsettling having so many reports of near misses while flying or necessary parts of the airplane itself falling off or malfunctioning. So much less hassle to just hop in the fifth wheel and head for parts unknown, all tires touching the ground.
So, make the best of this beautiful "pre-fall" weekend we are being delivered should you live on the west coast. I'm ready. Get the pumpkin spice out of the cupboard and let's go.
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