The Plan

If we were to move, it would be so hard. There is tons that has to be done, and, well, only us to do it. You can't just plop a house on the market, at least not where we live.  You have to prepare it and stage it.  It is supposed to gleam and glisten and sparkle.  For heavens sake, it must not look lived in!

For 35 years, the woodpeckers and squirrels have had their way with the back deck, and so we did get that re-built last summer. Check.  And we got the erosion channel on the front slope seen to. Check. What could possibly be left?  *Sigh*

If we were to move, what would we do about the downstairs bookcases, the ones with those runners mounted directly into the wall. Do they have to come down? If they do, the room will have to be patched and painted. All the articles say the front door should be painted, too, but what else? And how many pictures can you leave up on one wall when you show a place, anyway, 'cause I'm pretty sure we have too many. If we take them down, well, then that wall will have to be painted. Do we have to paint the entire house?

If we were to move, we wouldn't want all this furniture. Is it worth the hassle of selling it, or does it all just get donated? Can I deal with the annoyance of a garage sale?

If we move, can my husband and I possibly agree on what to keep and what to get rid of? He really wants to downsize, but if I hold up any single item and ask should we get rid of this, he doesn't want to let it go. Not one thing

If we move, we won't have to spend so much time traveling to our grandchildren.  We could help our daughter and son-in-law with child care emergencies; they could wipe the drool off our ever-aging chins. We could catch some of the grandchildren's activities before they grow all the way up. (Suzie's already in middle school!) They could join us for movies and parade-viewing and afternoon tea. We could enjoy our son-in-law's cooking.

If we move, we'll have to interview agents, and keep the house and yard immaculate. We will have to, you know, actually organize the endeavor. We will doubtless have arguments, er, I mean discussions. And it's been 23 years. I think we have roots we don't even know about that will hurt when they are pulled.

If we move, what would be the Master Plan?  Yeah, right. We never have a Master Plan; we never even have a Minor Plan. To have a plan takes making Big Decisions. I am not one for Big Decisions; I prefer to get positioned and let them make themselves. Steve is quite willing to make Big Decisions provided he can re-make them at any given time. No, there is no Master Plan. However, we do have the kind of plan that works for us, the Wishy-Washy Plan.

The plan is to jump around and do everything we need to do to sell this house, but, aha!  here's the genius, but not buy a new place. We'd rent. We'd rent and give ourselves a year to discover, explore, try it out. If it works, hooray!, we'll buy a home in the neighborhood. If not, OMG, what will we do? Who knows? We'll come up with a new plan.

Meanwhile, if we were to move, would I need every scrap of quilting fabric I own. Yes! Yes, I would! Steve would have to get rid of some golf stuff instead. That is, if we were to move.

From There to Here

I’ve been here two weeks now and am adjusting to Life in the Slow Lane or, more accurately, Life in the Short Lane. 

I had a couple of errands to run the other morning.  I walked out of the apartment at 10:00.  Before getting in the car, I walked to the office and dropped a letter in the mail slot.  Next I went the 15 feet to the car and drove to the credit union where I got some cash.  I drove to Costco and returned a golf shirt Steve thought he might have liked but didn’t.  While I was there, I walked up and down a couple of aisles.  I got back in the car and returned home.  It was 10:27. 

Yes, it took me about as long to do those things as it has taken for me to write about them.  Heck, I’m from Northern Virginia; I’m used to scheduling more time for leaving the neighborhood!

And another thing, sales people here are chatty.  And helpful.  What’s up with that? 

Half an hour to run errands.  That leaves a lot of time left over.  I’ve scheduled an activity four days a week (Monday, Zumba; Tuesday, yoga, Wednesday, quilting; Thursday (evenings, bleh!),  ballet.)  The rest of the time, I’m becoming too well acquainted with daytime TV.  My kitty quilt squares, however, are coming along like a house afire. 

I do have a friend.  Before I left Oakton, even before I met her, I knew she’d be my New Best Friend.  Her husband started work at the same time Steve did.  Yes, I do realize that she’s my friend because she’s desperate, too, but we have a nice time going about together:   lunch, the craft store.  We’ve seen a chocolate shop we want to try next week.  There are other friends out there, right?  I mean, I can’t be destined to a year of Martha and Dr. Oz.  *screaming into the void,* Right?  Because if I am, you, dear reader, are going to die of boredom right along with me.  I’m takin’ ya down with me from there to here.

Waxing Philosophical in Richland

The fire burns brightly; it burns with warmth. The flames shimmer, but the fireplace is electric; the fire's not real. That’s kind of how I feel about my life here. It’s not my real life. It’s sort of an along-side life, you know, like living in a parallel universe and all of a sudden looking around, thinking, “Oh, sh**, how’d I get here?”

I can remember feeling that way in Russia, too. I was living this whole other existence. It was so out of the ordinary, so fantastical, that it did not fit in my actual plane of existence. Of course, Russia was more real than here.  Sure, in Russia I couldn’t’ understand what anybody was saying, but I could, you know, find a liquor store. There were large groups of women waiting and wanting to be friends. There were exciting places to find and visit each day and new foods to taste.

I want to get out of this Pohl Anderson life and go back to my other universe where I belong. In that universe, I take three ballet classes a week; in this one, I don’t have all my shoes. :o  Here I wake up at 5:50 AM (enough reason right there for a change) to drive my husband to work. In the mornings there, I sit with my coffee and think deep thoughts.

It’s not that this universe is awful on any level; it’s just that it’s not mine. It’s weird here. (I’m not weird, oh, no.)

I know the blandness of this place will subside as new experiences take hold. I know I’ll meet friends, and I am almost certainly sure I’ll find a liquor store. (I did, yesterday, and we found an AMAZING Greek restaurant.) This philosophical bent of mind will pass, which is a good thing. I may be waxing, but sure as shootin’, nothing’s shining.

In the Pot, Nine Days Old

I’ve been in the pot, er, the tri-cities area for nine days. The cities, so to speak, are are Richland, Kennewick and Pasco. We live in Richland, almost at the West Richland border (West Ricland is not considered a fourth city so it is not the quadri-city area), and we had to drive over to Pasco for church yesterday. It took twelve minutes, and one of those minutes was taken up with us looking for correct street names. The tri-cities is the pot I’ll cook in for the next 10 months, and, I’ll tell you, I’m missing my rut. I’ve chronicled below what I’ve done for nine days since my plane landed. Truthfully it adds up to running around, but if you want all the gory details, they’re chronicled below. Oh, there’re pictures, too.

Nine days ago, I flew across country with my life packed in 2 large suitcases (yes, a small sewing machine was in one of them). Steve picked me up at the airport and took me back to the hotel where we had dinner. Since you know I don’t like to omit reporting a meal, I can tell you that I had fish and chips with fresh Alaskan cod, a light batter, a delicate fillet.

Eight days ago, Steve took me to our apartment.  We brought our large suitcases with us and unpacked a bit and did laundry, a good thing for all. We went to Target, T.J. Maxx and Bed, Bath and Beyond (the staff of all of which are now on a first name basis with me) and bought the equipment of everyday life. (Target carries a very pretty line of Italianate-Mexican plastic-ware.)  We ran up and down the aisles of Albertson’s Supermarket where we dropped another bundle to stock the refrigerator. We were down approximately 1K. Ouch.  I was so exhausted, I was really glad we'd opted to spend another night at the hotel with their buffet breakfast.

One week ago, we moved in. Come six o’clock, I found the oven an enigma, so we tried the wings place down Gage Blvd. My computer crashed causing much moaning and tearing of hair. Steve again excelled at finding an apartment. You come straight in off the street (important when you’re carrying a week’s worth of groceries), but the back becomes the second story over a stretch of wetlands where a mob of magpies reigns. 

Six days ago, after dropping Steve off at work at 7:00 am (yes, freaking 7:00 AM!), I tried the Safeway in Richland proper and picked up a few more things plus some flowers to brighten us up.  I stopped at the apartment office and learned how to use the oven. (Push Start, you dummy; the timer is counting down the minutes until it’s warmed up.] I also found the route to Best Buy and entrusted my Vaio to Justin. On the way home, I visited T.J. Maxx (again), and bought a pale purple vase so we don’t continue staring at white on white on white walls. I mean, the electric fireplace helps alleviate the institutional feel, but still, it’s a lot of white.On the way to pick Steve up, I checked out the Big Lots and got a really good Hamilton-Beach iron for $18. I am feeling very thrifty for someone who’s just spent a ton of money. Taking Steve to work at freaking 6:40 every morning and picking him up at 4:30 is a bit wearing.

Five days ago, I took Steve to work and tried out the WinCo which is a lot like Shoppers Food Warehouse at home but with an enormous bulk food section. It is possible to buy two teaspoons of cilantro which means that stocking up on spices won’t cost us Steve’s entire first paycheck. (It is not, however, possible to buy bulk ground cloves.  One wonders why.)  I, god help me, cleaned. It’s a lot easier and faster when you don’t have anything to pick up and dust under.

Four days ago I discovered a beauty school 1/2 mile from the apartment. Score! I got my hair cut and blown dry for $8.00. The student who cut it did a good, if painstaking, job. They offer $17 facials there, $6.00 manicures and $10 pedicures. I expect to become quite beautiful while I live here. Coming home from work, we found a little thrift shop and were able to get a broiler pan ($3.00) and a soup ladle ($1.50). Feeling quite thrifty.

Three days ago, I left early to so before I retrieved Steve, I could stop at the Richland Ballet Academy. They offer one adult ballet class. It’s a beginners’ class but will offer a good opportunity for me to focus on the basics. Unfortunately it is given from 7:00 to 8:00 at night, but you can’t have everything. We came home from work and I turned around and went back to the class. Sadly, because the class is at night, the people who take it flee as soon as it’s over. Although everyone seems very pleasant, I don’t think I’ll get any friends there.

Two days ago was Steve’s every-other-Friday-off. We took care of a bunch of business stuff. It was David’s birthday. Happy Birthday, David! I retrieved my computer from Best Buy. I almost did an entire post on how dependent I’ve become on my computer, especially in a new and distant land, but the topic was too depressing to contemplate.

Yesterday we drove to the local wine country and tasted at two wineries, drove up to the Yakima Cultural Museum (and restaurant where we ordered Muk-Leek, a native sort of salmon stew over dumplings with fry bread, at the restaurant there. We like it, but it emphasizes the theory that foods from hot countries are spicier than foods from cold ones. On the way home stopped at a really nice quilting store a couple of miles from the apartment where I got fabric for my pussycat quilt. They have a workshop and classes of which I will partake. Friends in sight?

This morning we went to the UU church. The first Sunday of each month, they hold a soup-er Sunday where a lunch of soup is offered after the service. That was really nice because it gave us an opportunity to chat with people. I signed up for the Women’s Lunch the first Tuesday of each month, which is Tuesday.

As I said, it was nine days of running around, really, like a chicken with its head cut off. I do feel, though, like I’m getting my feet under me. You know, my finely pedicured feet.

Travel Through Space

My head was spinning. Think of having your brains flung round in a centrifuge, and you’ll have an idea about my current state of mind. In fact, I was so stressed that I wasn’t eating. That’s stressed, I’m telling you.

Two and a half weeks ago, Steve got a contract for a consulting gig at the Hanford Nuclear Waste Site in Washing ton State, so two weeks ago we packed up his clothes and golf clubs and sent him off. That gave me two weeks to get my own act together.

Steve wanted some professional books so on Friday I jammed them into a flat rate box and sent them to his office. Tossed in the camera and binoculars, too, since they’re heavy. I called the cleaners and set their last mission to the house.

I checked out the calendar and realized that we had ballet tickets the 22nd. I had to give away the tickets for Alice in Wonderland and Noche Latina, but was I going to skip out on a presentation of Twyla Tharp choreography? I don’t think so. A performance on Wed. meant I could fly out Friday morning. I had standard blood work the previous Wednesday morning and then stopped into the AAA Office to get my own airplane tickets for Friday, Feb. 24. Once I set that date, I could go about cancelling newspapers, trash collection , etc.

Steve checked out apartments and sent pictures. We selected one. He gave me the phone number of the furniture rental company we had chosen, and between their pictures and conversations I had with their incredibly helpful representative, we’ve got the Two Bedroom Package which includes lamps, living room furniture and a table with four chairs.

I threw most of my clothes and some of Steve’s warm weather clothes into two large suitcases. Because I want what I want, I also put in my very small sewing machine. Hey, if he can have his golf clubs, I can have an 11 pound sewing machine! Of course, the overflow had to go somewhere so there’s a bunch of stuff that will arrive courtesy of UPS.

Steve’ books were delivered Tuesday, only no one had it. No one called him to pick them up, I sent him the e-mail confirmation Thursday morning. I’d addressed the package to his company in Suite 301, but the correct address was 302. He told me the address over the phone, so we don’t know whose mistake that was -- just as well. Note that there are two suites per floor in this building, so where could they have gone? In any case, the package was delivered SOMEWHERE, and Steve spent a couple of hours talking to people in every suite in the building, people in the buildings next door and the lady at the post office. No luck.

Wednesday evening my friend and I went to the Kennedy Center café for a light dinner and the ballet. Lovely.

I went on line to check in on Thursday afternoon only to discover that they had mis-issued my tickets for March 24. WHAT? WHAT!!! So the time I was going to use to finish binding a little quilt I was making was spent getting on Friday’s flight.

Steve called to say the furniture was delivered fine, but the Master Bed Room suite wasn’t the one we’d ordered. I flashed off a quick e-mail to my rep, ate up all the left-overs in the house and took out the garbage one last time.  Of course, all this planning and settling is done over a three hour time lag which makes communication all the more interesting. 

My wonderful neighbor Polly took me to the airport Friday morning. She assured me -- based on no knowledge but much good will -- that Steve would have the box when I arrived in Pasco. I was the only person interested in checking in curbside. My huge and heavy (but under 50 pounds) suitcases went sailing off. No one seemed to be flying so I had plenty of time to get through security (NO ONE was in the security point check-through ahead of me!) and have a bite at Starbucks.

My layover was in Denver where I connected with the furniture rental woman who had already corrected their error. I called Steve who was going crazy over which black hole the box had disappeared into. I found a quiet place in the airport lounge and enjoyed the bread and butter, hard boiled eggs, cheese and apple I’d packed and cruised the kiosks.

I had an hour to read at the gate, hopped on the plane and two hours later landed. Steve was all grins, not only to see me but because the office woman had never checked her mailbox. The key to the package delivery box was in it, and his professional books were retrieved.

I dived into the black hole and have emerged on the other side. I’m here! I’m here! I’m here!