Ocean in View!

Well, slap my elbow and call me Ripley, apparently I AM a hardcore long-haul truck driver.

Oregon, my Oregon! A day early and a number of dollars short, we arrive at our destination. To a relatively annoyed Mom, who keeps enumerating all the things she would’ve had cleaned by the time we were scheduled to arrive tomorrow. Like it makes a difference to me. Please! If Mom saw how I’d been living since I got back to MA, maybe she wouldn’t be so concerned. She needs to save all her worrying for how she’ll adjust to a cat, anyway. Just like when Peyton was born, the littlest, (arguably) cutest thing in the room becomes the sole subject of conversation. People! All involved will adjust eventually. Just cool it.

Tonight, sleep. A beer. Many many Mythbusters saved on the DVR. Tomorrow, if the Relocube(TM) arrives, a day of unloading that will hopefully go much faster than packing (less Tetris-brain required). If it doesn't arrive tomorrow... well, there's always the backyard kiddie pool.

As far as I know, you don't pronounce the '!'

Utah! has great rocks. It makes me wish I knew more about geology. Its hotels, though, leave something to be desired. Super 8s are the motel that sketches, at least in two distinct experiences of mine. (For example, on the back of the toilet tank lives a little plastic sample packet that just says, "Lotion." And nothing else. How can I possibly trust that?) My own damn fault for choosing this place to stay, I know, but those tantalizing red diamonds in the AAA guide book - how was I to know reality would fall so short of expectations? Let's all hope this is the only instance in which that ever happens.

I don't feel you hoping. C'mon, you pessimists - HOPE!

Dad drove and drove and drove today like the six million dollar man, so we're only 11 hours from Portland. Too far for one day's driving, unless we suddenly become hardcore long haul truck drivers, but I don't see that happening. I just hope the Order of the Phoenix will last that long. Curse you, Umbridge!

Stop, elaborate and listen:

Ahh. So, more info, then.The past few days encompassed many hours in the car that looked like this ^ and sounded like Jim Dale, punctuated by Dad's pretty words when Mishu yowled inconsolable in the backseat. I'm pretty proud of how well she's doing bouncing from place to place. And once, she ambushed a toll collector with her cuteness, like a feline Carebear stare. I heard the collector's "Aww!" as we drove away.

Chicago:
was great fun - watching Tootsie in the park with Sarah, Annie and friends. It's the first time I've ever witnessed the Second Wave causing the Wave - folks were cheering mighty loud when Dustin Hoffman's character called out her chauvanist boss, naturally. But also when s/he first put on her drag just to walk down the street, and also when she had a photo shoot montage with Cosmo? Apparently, Chicago's a supportive town. True for me as much as for actors in drag: Sarah and I essentially had a slumber party, and it was great to stay up late chatting and kvetching and sharing a pillow. I maintain that the amount of support I've received in the last two months has blown my mind and touched my heart. My network is far-flung but securely woven. I love it, even if those points on a map are visited seldom.

Omaha:
The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world that mass-produced pie was worth the time it takes to chew it. It ain't. Maybe I'm spoiled, but it sure ain't.


Meanwhile, back at The Ranch:So much feels like it's made out of cardboard and plaster here. With my niece and sister, we visited yet another pizza/gaming/rides/tokens/tickets/prizes extravaganza with strategically dim lighting (disconcerting). Skeeball is awesome wherever you go, though.

Last night, there was a "Soulful Dance" concert on the community green. I learned that during a Michael Jackson hip-hop medley, even suburban neighborhood kids can really kick it. I think that's just the amazing, unselfconscious power of kids. And even (especially?) toddlers appreciate Boom Boom Pow.

Tomorrow we hit the road again. I'm anxious to go, even though I could stay here with P and Michele forever, chilling at the playground and getting tipsy off of a beer and a half (altitude). But my To Do list looms, and my big box o' stuff rumbles ever Westward. Poor Mom, I want to get to Portland before she is doomed to haul my queen mattress into the garage all by herself.

Part of me has always felt that everything on the road East of Denver is killing time. What can I say? I'm a dyed-in-the-wool Western girl. Just-- This, always this:How can you not?

A telegram:

Arrived Chicago Tuesday STOP Marked increase in good architecture and good company STOP

Left for Omaha Wednesday very rainy but free pie STOP

Thursday arrived Denver the women are beautiful STOP

More later STOP

--KNG

On the Road... again

Dateline: Blasdell, south of Buffalo, NY. Motel #2, day of travel #1.

(^ Mishu in motion, in Buffalo, which is mostly stationary.)

Dad and I spent the morning tying up loose ends (literally and figuratively, as Dad securely strapped down all the boxes in my shipping container), taking car loads of stuff to various donation points, and compulsively walking around a near-empty house muttering, "Did I get...? Where's the... Better double check..." Before we left, I decided my last Noho hurrah should be spending the gift certificates I've been hoarding - use it or lose it, right? So at Faces, I bought these wooden earrings which I had always pined after (ha!) and in the art supply store, I got some clay to mold a tiny figure (small, portable enough to fit her in my pocket) and a bone folder, which is Martha Stewart-level of unneccessary, but so pretty. As Garfield says in the eponymous, much-lauded (by me) Christmas Special, "Things! Stuff! Greed! Avarice! I love it." Getting something for nothing - especially tiny, precious things - was a nice goodbye from my little town. After my shopping spree, I returned to find Dad with his shirt in the freezer (he really doesn't get along well with the humidity) and we collected the cat into the car and drove off into the sunset.

The last time I left the Round House shrinking in my rearview mirror, I felt so unburdened. Two drivers, one car, one suitcase and no idea when or how I'd return? You can't get much more travel-adventure-story than that! This time, though, the Great Escape was preceded by a hell of a lot of pragmatics, logistics, and just-plain-icks. They never show those parts in the movies, do they? Our heroine in her pickup, wind in her hair and her guitar in the back, maybe a lamp leaning rakishly against a duffle bag as she leads a cloud of dust down the road... Sure. Breathtaking. Heart-lifting. But cut to a week before, our heroine (hair up) sitting diligently at her dining room table, surrounded by bubble wrap, fingers stained by Sharpie markers, scheduling the transport of the rest of everything... Never happens. Who would watch that? You can't eat popcorn to that! Ah well. Let us consign much of last week to the cutting room floor, and move on to the scenery flashing by, and the identical rest stops, and the sun arcing slowly across the sky. A much more appealing montage awaits.

See ya 'round, house.

A preemptive strike on hotel rooms nationwide

Oh. God.

I am so tired. Wiped, worn-through, ragged. I can't remember when I last showered really well, slept more than 6 hours or woke without this weary feeling of "Oh. Now what needs doing?"

My hero of a Dad flew in last night and after a late-night ice cream date with friends (a blending of worlds that is always a bit surreal), woke this morning with a Can-Do attitude. And we proceeded to Do. So much. The storage container I rented that before seemed so cavernous is now almost full. Currently containing: My Life in 336 cubic feet.

I can't help but feel if I wasn't so damn responsible this wouldn't be so exhausting. There are separate piles in what used to be my bedroom for Freecycle, the Goodwill, and the Northampton Survival Center. Oh to chuck it all-- but I'm just not that kind of girl. My kingdom for a quieter conscience, a Buddha-like disdain for attachment to possessions and a medium to large dumpster!

But Dad and I, we persevered through Mountains of Things (take THAT, Buddha!) and have rewarded ourselves by renting an Air Conditioned room at the Quality Inn down the street from my house (and THAT!). We rationalized the choice with the free breakfast (so the microwave could get packed) and the hotel laundry room (laundry desperately needing to be done), but really it was for the air conditioning, the beds not-on-the-floor, and... well shoot, at this point, those are enough to make me plum content.

Tomorrow: the shipping container ships out, the dregs of the dregs begin their lifecycle again through the thrift store IN door, the game of What Important Item Will Kirsten Accidentally Pack Somewhere in the Shipping Container and Need in a Day or Two? begins the lightning round.

Going once, going twice, free.

Recently, I wrote what I believe to be an honest, accurate and even compelling Craigslist ad. But did I get any fools making offers? No. Fools! They just don't get it.

Packingsortinglabeling continues, punctuated by errands I run all the while feeling like I don't quite have time for them. I can recommend the Montague Bookmill as hands down the best place to sell books in the Valley. It's a damn good excuse for a cupcake/summer sausage sandwich and they aren't book snobs.
In other news, it's hot. It's so hot. And steamy? I'm going to miss this Valley for a number of reasons - the cicada whir in the trees and the sultriness and the morning haze over cornfields are all included in that, but summer here is really counter to productivity. Or movement. Or anything except taking multiple showers in a day.

Moving - I sweat and bleed and bruise in strange ways for you. I hope you appreciate.

Daily life with a Harry Potter soundtrack

Hello, all.

I thought I'd start with a post before my journey really gets started. I know that it's hard to blog and travel at the same time, and do either any real justice. But I hope to at least provide periodic highlights from the road.

For now, I'm still packing and prepping, endlessly; listening to HP on CD. My insights are all of a very practical nature, as I am wrapped up in very practical things, like eating my way through all the ice cream in the freezer lest it go to waste. There's always a funny finality to moving, and this time especially so since I haven't had a "new home" nearby to which to gradually transport things. I've got to say, that's my favorite part - walking into a totally empty house and feeling its immensity, its possibilities. Guessing what corner will fit which book case, deciding that the far wall is the best place for the really tacky picture frame. I've been missing that this time, and having to store up all the unpacking relief in my head until later.

Parts of this really remind me of going to college, though I honestly don't remember the packing-up parts. I do remember arriving at the Merrill C loading dock at 7am on a sultry September move-in day, and having to haul my numerous boxes up four flights of stairs, piling them all in the hallway because it was too early still to get the key to my room. I'm going to try to pack lighter this time, but that's always a struggle for me. I come from a long line of Overprepared, and for me it's hardly ever a question of what I need - rather, what I think I'll miss. Whatever that is, I don't think it'll fit into my storage container even if it is quite a spacious steel box. I've promised myself only to take what will fit in there, plus Mishu. The rest I leave to posterity and to the Great Free Box in the sky.