Moving Day

My parents have been gleefully awaiting the day when I got my own home.  You see, in their basement up north, they have been housing some belongings of mine from when I lived there.  Furniture, family heirlooms, bins full of papers from grade-school to college, my high school band memorabilia, and some things my dad has recently bought for us at garage sales up north.  And so they arrived with smiles on their faces, in an enormous U-haul packed to capacity with so much stuff I was thunderstruck.  This is payback for the decade or so that they stored my stuff in their basement.  Clever vengeance, parents. 

So we basically had two U-haul loads and a van load and we are still not done.  I don’t see how this can happen, because I’m not a shopper.  I don’t have ten thousand purses or a shoe addiction. (Incidentally D has more shoes than I do, I’m just saying)  I've had a book-hoarding problem in the past, yes, because I wanted to be Belle in Beauty and the Beast, and have some gruff fella give me a palatial library.   

(Library of the Benedictine Monastery of Admont, Austria on topdesignmag)

(it looks even more like that dreamy library in this photo) 

But of course, every woman has wanted this.  I'm fairly sure.  And anyway, I'm getting much better.

We worked until my back gave out, which was just about the time that Superdad gave out, and our help's neck went out too.  And then I had a private moment of anxiety as I surveyed the sheer bedlam that had once been my quiet home with beautiful floors.  At present, it’s all boxes and dust and junk, strewn like fugly sprinkles on an otherwise tasty cupcake and its eating my brain.  This shall not stand. 

Anyway, we fed the help pizza from Hyde Park Pizza (thumbs up) and went to the St. Cecilia Festival. 

It was a lovely evening, and there were so many people!  There was a flea market, selling everything from teapots to quilting fabric to vhs tapes.  

Here I have uncovered someone’s formerly beloved cds. Tony Danza, yes, and formerly cutting edge (and perhaps, at one time, inoffensive?) cd-rom games such as “Working Woman Barbie.” 

At the flea market I met a local plant lady whose plants looked so happy and healthy I had to buy a sage, a parsley, and an astilbe.  They look fantastic.  (I will post photos next time, as they are somewhat related to a separate incident) When I told her I was new in town she informed me that every year she has a big sale in May, so I gave her my info to put in her book.  While I was browsing (and almost buying a begonia), some local ladies stopped to buy things and tell her they had been searching for her because they always buy from her every year.  Good to know, and nice to buy local.  And a dollar for a young plant?  You can’t beat that.  There was an auction tent, and D ogled a basset hound puppy that was entered into the auction (her price tag topped $400 before we left, needless to say we do not have a basset hound).  It was a nice escape from our home, which at present makes me feel like a junkslut. 

I bought fried oreos and watched the scarey rides.  

Also, there was, strangely, gambling tents set up for blackjack and other things.  And… I mean, I thought it was a little different but D was totally weirded out by it.  “It’s on the church grounds, this is holy ground.” he insisted.  “It’s the parking lot.” I argued, weakly.

The next day Superdad & D finished building the dishwasher cabinet.  It is so quiet, you cannot hear it unless you are standing in the doorway of the kitchen.  It’s amazing, and it far outshines the auditory performance of the model in our apartment that was dubbed “the Tidal Wave.” 

Photos to come.