Little by Little, Bit by Bit

Cat as giraffe with nandina.

It's been a weird week or so since the last blog entry. First, the weather soared into the 90s, then dipped down as a "storm" passed through, dropping a fraction of an inch of precipitation on the Southland. God is very sadistic to do that.

Kitty nose moles are no more.

Patty went to the vets, where all her vaccinations were updated and she was microchipped. They also removed the two little black bumps on her nose. The day after the visit, she was kind of sluggish from the vaccines, and I could tell she was a little pissed off. She bounced back some on the second day, and the third day she was pretty much back to normal.

Totally empty!

One of the things Patty loves is to go out onto the patio and hang out with me. She also has taken to eating the plants out there. The spider plant (which isn't toxic) makes her throw up, but the nandina, which she started eating, is extremely toxic, so I keep an eye out because she loves playing giraffe, stretching up to get to the tender leaves. She's so smart, one or two admonitions and she stopped jones-ing after all the leafy green.

More totally empty!

Getting her into the cat carrier was pretty straightforward, kind of a dry run for the trip to Wisconsin. She did yowl as I put her in the car, but by the time we were at the vets, she had calmed down, so I'm hoping she will adapt to the four days of driving ahead of us next week.

And yet more totally empty!

Other activities of the last week have focused on deconstructing the house; emptying out cupboards and drawers, packing, packing, packing and trashing, trashing, trashing. On Tuesday, Cousin Robin came over to help me with the kitchen, which I had been avoiding: what do I pack, what do I leave until the last day?

Robin is beauty among the chaos.

Between her expertise and experience in packing kitchens and my knowledge of what's in the cupboards, we got a half dozen boxes packed. And, as you can see from the photos, the results were a lot of empty cupboards. As of today, the pantry is the only thing not packed, and I plan on donating all the canned goods, etc., to the local food bank.

The upshot of the process: the downstairs is practically packed and ready to go. But it doesn't feel like a lot has gotten done, because the stuff went from hiding in the cupboards to hiding in packing boxes. So the house looks really messy and, beyond the boxes, there is little indication of the work that's been done.

Staging stuff to pack (boxes in corner).

One thing I realized just the other day was that I had to do all the laundry over the next few days or I'd be packing dirty linen and towels. Being a big fan of "surgical" laundry loads (washing just what you need for the next couple days or so), I have to bite the bullet and dig out everything that needs washing. One more sweep upstairs and I'll be on my way to having everything ready for packing.

Realtor Jan called me last night to say the buyers wanted to move closing to Tuesday instead of Monday; that way, they won't have to pay interest on their loan over the weekend before close. Whatever. As long as the money's in my bank next week, I'll be happy.

Another assist is arriving tomorrow (Friday) evening in the form of Jessie, who will be overnighting and hanging out on Saturday. I'm hoping to get the donations together (very few) and drop them off at Out of the Closet (our AIDS thrift store chain here in L.A.) after we have breakfast at Andy's for one last time.

There's nine days to go. It just doesn't seem real to me, somehow. I just know that, a week from tomorrow morning, the movers will be here to clear out the house. The only thing left will be the Aero bed, a couple blankets, the cat carrier, my luggage and Steve's leftovers box. Then, get in the car and begin to drive.

Three things will make this seem real: seeing the equity sitting in my bank account, canceling the utilities in my name, and handing over the keys and remotes to the house, which will happen on Saturday morning when the car is packed and gassed and ready to go.

I'm getting such an ick (a cute name for anxiety). When Robin was here, I told her what my dad told me once: anxiety is just excitement that you're not letting out. You repress that explosive feeling and it turns into something very uncomfortable, like holding back an aggressive fart. It's always made sense to me. I'm genuinely excited by the notion of this trip, this major change in my life, but my dread of moving makes me sit on the emotion, resulting in icks.

I think I need a drink. All the liquor glasses are packed, so it's a juice glass or straight out of the bottle.

More later.