I am sitting in my empty apartment writing this post. Why? Because it is hot out and I am not ready to go back outside. Also because my computer is here since AT&T came today to set up my internet service. Why am I writing my blog post from a mostly empty apartment? Because fiber.
The apartment is not completely empty. The laundry room is partially organized, which is good because the washer and dryer at the house have been disconnected and prepared for storage. I've brought over most of the pantry. There is an aerobed, a table, a few pots, coffee. There is a bookcase in the alcove that will become my office, and two stacks of Elfa wide single runner drawers filled with yarn. Those came because everything is sorted and labeled and cataloged and I didn't want the movers to mix things up. The wide frame that they belong in is not here yet because it will not fit in my car.
I am tired, and hot, but I am not as stiff and sore as I was. The Elfa drawers were the last big things I brought that had be be carried in front of the body, and lugging them up the stairs, even one at a time (light but still awkward) was still difficult. The simple truth is that I can't carry stuff like that. Everything else can be tossed in a sack or a duffel and carried over my shoulders or on my back. It is still tough going up the stairs, but my back is no longer sore. I huff and puff too much, and am reminded that I miss that earlier Mardel, the one who was a bit of a gym rat, who walked and bike and did furious workouts. That isn't exactly right. I miss the feeling of being capable and strong, but I don't miss being that girl, that girl who worried about what other people thought, that girl who could never believe she was somehow good enough. Now I want to be strong again just so I can do the things I want to do, and enjoy doing them. Now I know I can be strong. I can carry heavy packs up the stairs on my back, but probably couldn't carry a platter of drinks across the room. Now I can accept that I can dig the hole, that I can be tough with a pickaxe, but I can't lift the shrub that needs to go in the hole. I can dig the rocks, uproot them, but I can't carry them away. And you know what, that is all fine with me. None of us are really meant to be solitary, to be completely self-sufficient. I can do what I have to do, and if I had to move that rock I could figure out a way. Solitary gets in the way of solidarity. My skills complement other's skills. Together we turn things around.
But back to the move: I am writing at this little table, the same table I spray painted over the July Fourth holiday. It looks a little lonely in this very empty, very beige apartment, but stuff will arrive and we, the table and I, will settle in. This is not a table for big dinner parties. I could have brought my dining table. But then there would have been no room for chairs. Maybe one chair, with its back to the living room, but what fun is that? I can't imagine anything more depressing than a big dining table with only one chair, no with hope of sharing a lovingly made repast, no hope of convivial dinnertime conversation. Better a smaller table with potential. Although if four people ate here they would have to be four people who didn't mind getting entangled with others, knees touching, feet intertwined. All kinds of potential for trouble. All kind of potential for togetherness.
I'll probably just have people over for drinks and nibbles. And it does strike me as one of those funny little jokes that life plays on us that, now, moving out of my house which is good for entertaining, I suddenly am ready to entertain again. For six months I needed to pull inward and not be particularly social. It had nothing to do with the house and everything to do with me, me and my own propensity to root around in the undergrowth, stirring up the leaf-mold and things that are best left undisturbed. Oh wait. I wasn't the one that stirred the pot. But there is a lot of pot stirring going on the world right now, and a lot of turds are floating to the top. People I once thought of as wise and kind let their reactionary edges show, and burrow deeper. I realize they are often only trying to shut out the unpleasantness, but in reality they just create more cesspools, uprooting even bigger turds. Not everyone mind you, many of us are still kind. But I fear the cesspools will grow deeper and more and more sinkholes will be revealed. I fear more of us will fall in. All the more reason to gather together, to keep each other afloat. Hence parties.
But I digress. The official move is next week. First stuff for storage. Then stuff for the apartment. There are a few more things I have to get taken care of this weekend, just to make life easier for myself next week, but hopefully also to make the transition a little less stressful for Moises and Tikka. Tikka will go back and forth with me, but I've decided that it may be best for Moises if we move to the apartment tomorrow, camp out a bit before the rest of our stuff arrives. He will be upset regardless. But I am hoping he will be a little less upset than he would be at the house, with people moving his stuff around.
And I am thrilled with my small accomplishments:
The little things include my coat and wine closet. There are no closets on the main floor of my house, and no hook, or place to hang a coat either. That will be remedied when I return, but for now I am thrilled to have a convenient place to store coats, and a convenient place to store wine. I've also hung shower curtains, and I am thrilled to have a bathroom that actually has towel bars and a place for toilet paper. The previous owners of my house seem to have removed all the toilet paper holders and towel bars when they vacated the premises. Admittedly I could have replaced them. But I didn't want to spend money on towel bars when I was going to be redoing the bathrooms within a year anyway. Count me cheap, at least about some things. The truth is, I am tired of my efficient, but tiny little bathroom with no place to hang a towel. Perhaps buying a towel bar would have been cheaper than removing a wall and redoing everything, but well, I probably would have done that anyway. I'm still a Texan after all, "go big or go home" runs in my veins, but I'm not all about bigness or space, just getting it right. I'm either all in, or I'm all out. No halfsies here.