The Pea

I took my son to see "Once Upon a Mattress" when we were in NYC several years ago (it was a quick decision at the Tickets! Tickets! kiosk in the middle of Times Square, okay?). Based on the Anderson's fairy tale "The Princess and the Pea" it starred Sarah Jessica Parker pre "Sex in the City" days. I remember watching her toss and turn, and, yes, burst into song because she just COULD NOT get comfortable. That little pea at the bottom of her mattress was making her miserable. I am NOT bursting into song but I am miserable when it comes to choosing mattresses.

We slept in the bed we just abandoned in the Midwest for nine years. It felt great in the mattress store, perfect in fact. Not too firm, not too soft, roomy and king sized. Memory foam was just coming into vogue and it sounded like the best thing since, well, straw filled mattresses. Oh, this mattress had a memory all right. When it was delivered it came with a pre-memorized bump down the center. I would swear someone else had slept on it and the mattress conformed to their body types and wasn't going to forget them. We called the mattress company and explained our issue but were told it takes at least ninety days to get used to a new mattress. Nights ninety one and ninety two must have felt okay because we decided to keep it - too much trouble to exchange, money invested, blah blah. We were only too happy to leave that mattress behind, hoping the next person could learn to negotiate that hill in the middle better than we did.

When we arrived in NYC we slept on our blow-up queen size mattress for five very long, very uncomfortable nights. (It sprung a leak on our very first night but fortunately a bicycle tire patching kit saved us.) We decided a queen size would work for us and give us more floor space. We were thrilled to be mattress shopping again. Finally, FINALLY, we would find something perfect. Firm, but not too firm. Something we could say "ah" on while we stretched, curled, and rolled over. Maybe a mattress where I would feel like bursting into song.

Not so fast. We tried out several mattresses, then tried out several more. Making a mattress decision after spending the night on a half inflated blow up mattress and a sense of urgency is not the best idea. But buy a mattress we did. It was delivered two nights ago and we discovered we bought a VERY firm mattress. As in sleeping on a board loosely wrapped in foam. And I swear it tilts, as in water boarding only the opposite direction. I am NOT bursting into song.

This salesman told us it takes only thirty days to know whether this will be a good mattress for us. So, it's down to 28 days (or nights).

 I am hoping for a fairy tale ending but I have a feeling this mattress is imbedded with a pea.

A Big Week, A Big Day

We made it. We are the in the Midtown of Midwest to Midtown. We left the Midwest last Wednesday after the wheat was harvested and in the bins and before the temperatures started climbing into the triple digits.  Our U-Haul ride across half of America was uneventful (thank goodness). The sale of the house closed yesterday, so now we call a NYC apartment home.

This was a tough move. Lots of heavy sighs as I packed up boxes, made last minute decisions on what to bring, and said goodbyes to friends. "I'm not leaving forever you know and my e-mail and cell number stay the same," I would say at each parting. This is a move both my husband and I desired but I fooled myself into thinking it would be much easier than it was. I wasn't really sorry to leave the weeding in the garden behind, or the house maintenance and cleaning of a big house, or one of the gas guzzling vehicles. At this stage I am missing my routine, my connections, and being settled.

The flip side is that there is a little guy in an apartment four floors above with beautiful blue eyes and a killer giggle that turns three months old today.  It's been seven days since we arrived here and we will figure out a structure to our days, and appreciate a super who, within an hour of reporting it, caulked the bathtub faucet (something we MIGHT have gotten around to in a month of two), and get used to the walking, walking, walking, and more walking.  But for today we have "birthdays" to celebrate. And smiles to exchange. And giggles to enjoy.

A Flea Market Starter Kit

Someone is about to get really lucky. They are going to get a lot of my things at a bargain price. They can resell it, re-gift it, or move it into their house. I don't care as long as they cart it away. This could be the start of a new reality show. My version of Storage Wars. Go find as much stuff as you can and see who can re-sell it at the highest price. Flea Market Fanatics. Uh, Flea Market Floozies. Well, Mike Burnett's marketing group will have to pitch their own ideas. Anyway...........

I don't want to have a moving/garage/relocation sale. Call it what you will. I consider the whole process a pain. I don't want to haggle over prices. I don't want to watch people pick over my stuff ("What possessed her to pick THAT pattern/color/shape?") and then reject it. And I sure don't want to sit in a hot garage for hours hoping people understood the directions to my cul-de-sac. I just want to be rid of a bunch of stuff all at the same time and have it carted away. No muss, no fuss.

Surely there is someone out there that enjoys the above much more than I do. Someone who likes to dig through boxes, and laundry baskets, and shelves for hidden gems. Someone who likes to sell someone else on the idea that they cannot possibly live without that wok, garden pot, or vase. I have just the deal for them. A flea market starter kit. Pay me X dollars and you can have EVERYTHING. No picking and choosing. No LL Bean backpack without the Farmway Co-op mug. No pretty basket without the saucer sled. And certainly no box of silverware without the fifty frames.

Some enterprising person out there is cruising the internet tonight hoping they will come across an ad for a Flea Market Starter Kit. Keep looking. It's out there.

Who Knew?

Eight years we have lived in this house. Three weeks until we move out. Is there a better time than that to move your office from the basement to the upstairs guest bedroom? I think not.

Mr Y. has complained for quite some time about having to "go to the dungeon" to work on our personal computer or hook up his business computer.  It was a dark, cold, windowless, unfriendly cave with a view of exposed 2x4's. Telephone conference calls took on a different level of frustration when he had to compete with the heating/air conditioning unit kicking on, then off, then on, then off again. One minute he is talking normally, the next yelling at an unassuming co-worker. And more than once I would  feel a chill, then realize the heat had been turned off or upped to 80+ degrees so it wouldn't kick on during his "work at home" business day.

We talked out moving the office upstairs over the years. Several times. It always came down to how convenient it is to have a guest bedroom on the main floor with easy access to the guest bathroom.  Downstairs was for kids, upstairs for adults. Blah, blah, blah.  The office remained where it was. In the dungeon. Until this past Friday. Furniture was being moved out, we would be having no additional guest room guests, and everything was going to have to eventually be moved upstairs anyway. Why not?
So up it came.

Now I look out at the side garden, hear the house wrens as they furiously build a nest outside the window, watch the birch tree catch a breeze and sway in the wind. Who knew so many cars passed down our street, or the neighbor walks  by twice a day, or there was so much progress being made on the new pool the neighbors are putting in? Most interesting of all, who knew this guy was hanging around the cul de sac?

Wish we had moved our office upstairs a long time ago!

Sisters are for Sharing

The conversations/negotiations/heated discussions continue about what we are going to throw away, store, sell, or move.  Finally we were ready to load up one 14' U-Haul truck with items to "share" with my sister and her husband.

"Use anything and everything we bring up," we said. 

"It will just go to waste if you don't use it," we encouraged.  

"You KNOW anything you bring up is still yours and we will return it when you are ready for it. Riiiiight?" my sister inquires as she eyes a marble table, Tiffany-type lamp, and garden ornaments.

Knowing that I am storing sharing these items with a family member makes me feel much better about ever seeing them again.  Even if the items get incorporated into my sister's decor and the guy stuff goes straight to the shed for my BIL to use in his daily chores on the farm. Actually, some things we have just given them outright. I don't care if I ever see those metal shelves, or the cabinets we removed when upgrading the hearth room, or the 007 posters.  BUT here are some items I hope I can retrieve if we ever put down roots again..........

My limestone garden bench has already found a home next to the outhouse (non-functioning I am happy to report) in my sister's backyard. This is the third move for this heavy, heavy bench but I just can't seem to give it up. It was quarried near my hometown and my niece measured a fish she caught in our backyard pond on it by making a hash mark on the seat with a rock. The hash mark is long gone but the memory of the fun times we've had sitting on it haven't.

Hector, my garden ornament that has had more hairstyles than a 12 year-old pageant contestant, is comfortable in my sister's sitting room. Normally he has to endure the outdoor weather and some really bad "hair" plantings so I'm not sure I will be able to convince him to come back to me.

This little table sat between my sister's and my twin beds when we were growing up. Sometimes there were boxes of Kleenex on it, sometimes a vase of lilacs. It moved with me to my first apartment forty years ago and now is back home where it should be. I think it's there to stay.

Thank goodness I have a sister who likes big houses with lots of storage sharing space!

Graduation

It seems like only yesterday..........you know how those stories go.

I am cleaning out my photo albums and came across some timely photos. High school graduation.  As I see the pictures of local graduates hit our newspaper I can't believe it was 40 (!) years ago this month that I walked with my 72 classmates across the stage of the municipal building to accept my diploma. I was one of the last, between Becky Wichers and Steve Williams. After the ceremony we went to the basement to turn in our gowns and it was there that this picture was captured. I don't remember who took it, only that several of us were crying and hugging just prior to it being taken.

Four of us in that photo gather annually to talk about life as mothers, career women, being retired or wanting to retire, kids, the loss of parents, the aches and pains of aging (What!?), and compiling our "You have to read this" list. These are the women that "knew me when" and I love that about them.

I don't know what my other classmates are doing these days. Even though I grew up in a small town it is easy to lose track of those that move away. Hopefully their lives have been blessed with health and happiness and they are entering the retirement years planning trips with grand kids, taking that class they always wanted to take, starting a new hobby, or sitting in place a little longer to enjoy a nice view. However, knowing how our "retirement" years will be very different from those of our parents it is just as likely that my classmates are running marathons, becoming first time parents (heaven forbid!), traveling the globe with just a backpack, or writing a first novel.

Here's to you, Class of '72.

Gasp! I'm Back

Clear! Stand back! I am about to revive the blog. I'm not sure how many amps to apply but enough to give me a good adrenaline boost to get me through at least the next month of blogging.

I'm going to update everyone on the downsizing and move on from there. The house is sold. Yes, again. Just in time to cancel a dreaded Open House and before the annuals quickly planted in the front yard have time to croak. This round we are confident enough in the sale to start taking pictures off the wall, move promised furniture to the stepson's new apartment, and stop making the pantry look like I actually cook gourmet food. (I do not.)  We have a closing date of June 29th and I can't wait.

The leasing agent in NYC tells us this is perfect timing to pick up an apartment on the 23rd floor of our desired building. Dare we push for the 25th floor where we might have a view of two more high rises from our bedroom window?  We'll know more early this week.

In the meantime I have started downsizing my social commitments too. No more book club, no more P.E.O., no more volunteering for projects. Goodbyes are being exchanged, lists are being made for shutting off utilities, and a plan is being mapped out for driving to NYC in a few weeks with whatever belongings will fit in a van.

Gasp! Ah yes, it feels good to be back.