Some of the stories and poems may be inappropriate for persons under 16
Form a line on the right
“Doing right keeps right; doing wrong makes wrong, which, to make right, one must even pay.” – “The Cock and the Mouse,” Zuñi Folk Tales, Frank Cushing
Ay, chinga! Que caotico, mi hija! Boxes boxes everywhere! Books still packed up. Cats hiding under bed and sofa and even in the chest of drawers. Dining table still disassembled. Clothes dryer has a three-prong plug and dryer wall outlet has four holes. Landlady says her son-in-law maybe can fix that, price unspecified. Mike the electrician says he probably can for a couple hundred bucks. Old place still in dire need of cleaning and junk removal (Pas auf! Crapalanche!). Internet still not up (I’m doing my Iway travels at work). Internet maybe up tonight after phone repair guy replaces old jack in room we now call study.
But the computer is set up and I can continue working on the story upon which I have been working. (I didn’t miss a day! Gimme five!) Susan has the kitchen partly set up and has already prepared hot meals. (She didn’t miss a day! Give’er five!) I got the washing machine set up first thing first morning. We don’t have a clothes line (or a working dryer–see above) but we can still use the line at the old house where we have till the end of the month to dry clothes, clean that place, have the junk haulers come by and remove our junk (we are junkalicious ‘Merkuns!), and fart in the general direction of nazi-neighbor.
And your similar adventure, including a much longer trek, begins tomorrow, n’cest pas? Here’s wishing you a minimum of adventure along the road.
This gives me hope, it will all be over soon. Drew’s going to get the truck in the morning and we’re loading it up tomorrow, on the road the next day. Everything’s in boxes and bins, and we’re praying it all fits on the truck because obviously we can’t run back for any leftovers once we’re gone.
I’ve been laughing and crying all day. I’m ready to go and we’ve worked so hard for this, but leaving my teenagers is fucking killing me. I wish we were just getting on a plane or something quick like a band-aid, because the slow goodbye hurts like a sonofabitch.
Take that, nazi-neighbor.
How’s the move going? Are you finding space for all those books?
Ay, chinga! Que caotico, mi hija! Boxes boxes everywhere! Books still packed up. Cats hiding under bed and sofa and even in the chest of drawers. Dining table still disassembled. Clothes dryer has a three-prong plug and dryer wall outlet has four holes. Landlady says her son-in-law maybe can fix that, price unspecified. Mike the electrician says he probably can for a couple hundred bucks. Old place still in dire need of cleaning and junk removal (Pas auf! Crapalanche!). Internet still not up (I’m doing my Iway travels at work). Internet maybe up tonight after phone repair guy replaces old jack in room we now call study.
But the computer is set up and I can continue working on the story upon which I have been working. (I didn’t miss a day! Gimme five!) Susan has the kitchen partly set up and has already prepared hot meals. (She didn’t miss a day! Give’er five!) I got the washing machine set up first thing first morning. We don’t have a clothes line (or a working dryer–see above) but we can still use the line at the old house where we have till the end of the month to dry clothes, clean that place, have the junk haulers come by and remove our junk (we are junkalicious ‘Merkuns!), and fart in the general direction of nazi-neighbor.
And your similar adventure, including a much longer trek, begins tomorrow, n’cest pas? Here’s wishing you a minimum of adventure along the road.
This gives me hope, it will all be over soon. Drew’s going to get the truck in the morning and we’re loading it up tomorrow, on the road the next day. Everything’s in boxes and bins, and we’re praying it all fits on the truck because obviously we can’t run back for any leftovers once we’re gone.
I’ve been laughing and crying all day. I’m ready to go and we’ve worked so hard for this, but leaving my teenagers is fucking killing me. I wish we were just getting on a plane or something quick like a band-aid, because the slow goodbye hurts like a sonofabitch.
MAKE WAY! PORTLAND OR BUST!
Godspeed, Averil.