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I'm not exactly a technofile, but I have become accustomed to accessing information and communication at the click of a mouse. Before we moved into this new house, my husband contacted our cable provider online to arrange transfer of service. Good news! the email reply said. You're still in our service area! A service rep will contact you to arrange transfer of service.
On moving day, we half-expected someone to show up from the cable company, but no one did. But when we set up our modem, routers, etc, lo and behold, we had Internet and digital cable access! How easy was that? we thought.
Too easy. After three weeks in our new home, I returned home one day to find the cable dead.
I called the technical help line and went through the annoying numerical menu, plugged and unplugged the modem, and finally hacked my way through the electronic thicket to find a real person.
"Our cable seems to be out," I said, with the confidence of the righteously wounded. I knew that they would rush right out to fix it. But when I gave my information, it became clear that we were still listed at the old address.
"How can that be?" I said. "We sent a request, and we've been online for three weeks at our new address."
Apparently they did some kind of audit and discovered unauthorized cable service at our new address. They disconnected it at the street.
"I need Internet," I said, in the manner of someone whose oxygen has been cut off. "Turn it back on."
"The soonest we can come is Wednesday," Cable Guy said.
"I'll be in Columbus Wednesday," I said. "Can't you come tomorrow?"
"We're booked up tomorrow," he said. "Are you sure you can't be there on Wednesday?"
Sure. Okay. I just made up that Columbus story.
"No.I.will.be.in.Columbus.Wednesday," I said.
"Well, we can try to force it in," he said.
"What?"
"Are you home now?"
"Ye-e-s."
"I can try to force an appointment for tonight," he said. "No guarantees."
"Are you saying somebody might be here tonight to turn on my cable?" Hope kindled.
"No guarantees."
"When will you know?"
"Well, uh..." he said evasively.
"I can't watch TV or get online, so I thought I'd get into the tub," I said.
"Uh..."
I know. TMI. But it soon became clear that nobody was forcing anything either tonight or tomorrow.
"So," he said brightly, "were you satisfied with this service call?"
"Well, I'm not satisfied that I don't have Internet access or TV, but I think you did your best to help me," I said generously.
"Well, in that case, had you thought about switching to digital phone service, too?"
Many possible responses crowded into my mind., but I chose the high road. "Um, no," I said.
"Don't you want to save money?" Cable Guy asked.
"No," I said testily. "I'm actually looking for ways to squander it."
It's all about timing, Cable Guy. It's all about timing.

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What is your funniest story about moving?

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It's March. And I can't believe how much has happened since my last post. In the words of Inigo Montoya there is too much.



So, I'll sum up.

The Golden Gate Conference at Asilomar last weekend was off the hook. So much inspiration and great tips and updates from the digital universe. cynthialord = <3. I will post nuggets from the conference soon, I promise. The day after tomorrow we move into our new place. Of course I can't wait. I'm so excited. And I've discovered a few things about myself. I do random weird stuff when I move.

1. My recent weirdness includes double and triple checking the car I've already locked to make sure it's locked. This is embarrassing because yes, I pass the people on the way in to wherever and then double back to my car and everyone I passed sees me walking back to my car again and of course I think that they've all seen me do this all over town this week and they are all laughing.

2. I notice that I write about myself in the second person a lot. I'm not sure how to feel about this.

3. I also by a lot of bread. I don't know why. I do love bread, but I buy a lot of it when I move.

4. There is no "moving" theme on LJ. Tragic. I could use one. But I settle for the icon on this post which shows you all the stuff I have left to pack. Joy.

5. I have this dialogue running in my head about how badly I want to buy digital books because they don't need to be packed. And then I don't ever want to buy a digital book because of how much I love all my books. My hubby thinks I'm crazy and wants to buy me a kindle.

6. I collect as many coupons for "buy one dinner get one free" because the kitchen officially closes tomorrow and I completely relish the sort-of-one-week I get where I don't cook during a move. But I don't really like eating out. I love making dinner at home.

7. I'm re-using our moving boxes from the last two moves. This gives me an eerie sort of pleasure.

8. I literally dream about gardening. And where I'll plant tomatoes.

9. I get super nostalgic and remember everything my mom and dad and I used to do when I moved into a new place, whether it was my first apartment or my first house. And they are right beside me. Mom: I'll miss setting up the kitchen with you. But, you'd like it. It's not too big and it has a beautiful window above the kitchen sink. Dad: you'd like our plans for the workbench.

10. All of us tend to get the bug at the same time. Not the last move, but the move before, my parents moved the same time I did. This time around my daughter and her boyfriend are moving on the very same weekend. And it's kind of funny that there is no expression for the family that moves together...

Now Playing -   I'm Getting Sentimental Over You by The Ink Spots Life -  A year in the northeast. Roughly a year ago, we left our world in the West behind and flew out to Maine. Neither of us had ever been here before, in all honestly, I can't say Id ever really even given the state much thought. But we were ripe for a change and my company was actively seeking experienced managers to head

Sometimes posts are about big things. Sometimes they are about the little things. Brrrrrr. Yesterday I figured out how to turn on the upstairs heater and life has been so warm and toasty ever since. Now we can get up in the morning and not shiver as we head into our refrigerator closet to put on those popsicle clothes:) Joy. Heat is a good thing.

less than a year since I moved from forests to desert, and I'm roaming once more, this time from desert to ocean. . . .

although 'roaming' doesn't seem to fit quite, as it implies wandering without objective or focus. but the ring of it is in my ears, even so.
a trade: my favorite sky for my favorite waters and a place I've always dreamed of being. this seems a more than fair exchange to me—!


It was a beautiful day, sun beat down.
I had the radio on, I was drivin'
Trees went by, Me and Del were singing
little Runaway, I was flyin'

I felt so good, like anything as possible.
Hit the cruise control, rubbed my eyes.
The last three days the rain was unstoppable.
I was always cold, no sunshine.

As I rolled on, the sky grew dark.
I put the pedal down, to make some time.
There's somethin' good, waiting down this road.
I'm pickin' up whatever's mine.

-tom petty.

I am always changing things around, cleaning up, redoing, shifting, repainting, reorganizing, stacking and filing.  In the last two years I have made an addition to these behaviors.  I am now getting RID of things. My husband’s remark?

“She is giving away everything that’s not nailed down!

Of course this is not completely true.  I have not gotten rid of HIS things yet. HA!

For some reason it feels like everything in my house looks as OLD as the hills, the paintings, furniture, dishes, towels, lamps… EVERYTHING!

Perhaps it is because all of our kids have moved out and we have more time to stare at the stuff in our house?

Well, the stuff is GOING!  I can almost hear my belongings shaking in fear, thinking to themselves, “Am I next?”

Ha ha ha heee hee heee (evil laugh), YES!

Went on a quick trip to LA and it worked out perfect because Mx needs a few things from storage for her new place. And of course it was record heat in LA when we needed to grab the couch and a few other things out of storage.




See the couch?




How about now?

And we were off!

When’s the last time you were driving at 1AM?

I've been trying to get organized lately. First I bought some wonderful office furniture. I have a huge gorgeous lateral file with two drawers and a small file cabinet too. The lateral file was ordered on the Internet and arrived in ten business days. The smaller filing cabinet was ordered from a local furniture store and took two months to arrive. We picked it up last Saturday. Now my set is complete.

On Wednesday, I headed over to Staples because I have no clue where we packed our file folders, hanging or otherwise, and I purchased another P-touch label printer because that remains in storage in LA. I'm pretty sure.

Yesterday, all excited to tame my paperwork monster I reveled in my office supplies. I was going to be the organization QUEEN. I even put on a little music and had at it. I loaded the tape into the label maker. But, I forgot batteries.

Today I bought batteries. After a day full of appointments and a wonderful work luncheon, I came home to write and then thought better of it. I could at last ORGANIZE!

Writing can wait, right? I open the batteries. The label maker requires four AAA. I bought AA. And yes, I'm embarrassed to say I did try and squish the double AAs in the AAA space. Hilarious.

So, here I sit. Still unorganized. Papers everywhere. Organization will be sweet when in fact it finally happens. And I have the most lovely excuse to write.

Days it's taken to become organized [this move]: 105 and counting.

Who’s the most colorful character in your neighborhood?

There's this little bud vase in my kitchen that sits empty. I always used to fill it with fresh-cut flowers from my garden at home, mostly Mexican marigold and Lavender, maybe a few daisies. But, now that we are on the road I don't really have my own garden anymore, so it sits empty. It's been a year since we sold our house down south. Traveling where the work takes us for even longer, almost three years now. Living lifestyles we never have before. Seeing which one fits for us as a couple.

When Mx returned from Italy, she started running along the ocean in the mornings. Every Monday she picks some wildflowers on her way home and puts them in my little bud vase. I hadn't even realized how long it sat empty.

My bad. I sent hubby a txt message yesterday to ask if he wanted to meet Mx and I for dinner and I notice my last txt message to him: Where's our plunger? I kid you not. Now, I know when you need a plunger, you need a plunger. And I realize that when you move, things get lost like keys, tax forms, dogs, kids and, well, plungers. But, don't ever send that txt to your hubby. I believe I have txt regret. I don't think Bella would ever txt Edward with such a question. And I certainly think that Becall would have refrained, had she the technology available, from sending such a txt [asking for a match is somewhat sexier]. Romancefail. Which leads to today's question.

I'm not exactly sure why. Most days I love rambling around new places and getting to know new people. But, some days, it can be a little bit exhausting. And there's a few things I've noticed in moving from place to place. One thing I've noticed is that living somewhere for a long time tends to be a badge of honor for most people. There is a pride in having generations of family connected to a town. Grounded in a certain place. There are the stories and knowing glances exchanged from person to person when a certain subject comes up and there is the inevitable schooling on said subject to the new person in town. I love all of it. I love the history. I love the deep connections I find between people and most of all I love it when someone I just met wants to share their stories with me. In fact, Elena Kagan's confirmation hearing this morning sort of reminded me of being new to the neighborhood. There were the shared glances between members of the Judiciary Committee, and comments that they'd served together "over 30 years." It is amazing to think that people have worked together for such a long time. My father worked at the same company for nearly 60 years, but that doesn't happen anymore.

And so I'm thinking about connections today. How we are when we meet people new to whatever neighborhood we inhabit, be it the work place, our neighborhood or the various charities and clubs we all belong to. Is this connection to place or people a badge of honor that we wear? Or, is it a way of marking our territory, letting someone new know their place? I suppose it can be a bit of both. A way of helping someone understand all the layers that go into really knowing.

Dear Summer,

If you could just give me a new best friend I’d remember you forever. I don’t usually write letters to seasons but, here’s the thing, you’re the season where I get bored the most and times that by one hundred now that Lindsay’s moved away. And you’re the one I look forward to most of all. And, you’ve really let me down. It’s week two of Summer Vacation. What’s supposed to be golden. What I looked forward to during all of my classes, but mostly in Algebra. When I’m supposed to be having the most fun and I’m sitting cross-legged on my bed, writing in my journal like the biggest dork in DuPage County, with no vacations to look forward to this year because Mom and Dad can’t even afford to send me to camp. Outside my bedroom window, parked right across the street from my house a moving van doesn’t quite block my view of Lindsay’s old house and all afternoon men have moved dark furniture out of the van. I haven’t seen any new people, yet.

I’m crossing my toes and my fingers now. Please, please let my new best friend be the next person I see. A light comes on in Lindsay’s old bedroom. I think I’m hallucinating at first. Like my wish turned the light on. Like the way I clenched my fingers and toes together as tight as I possibly could turned the light on. I jump off my bed, turn out my light and walk to my bedroom window kind of like a burglar might if they wanted to be all quiet and stuff. I stand off to the side of my window so no one would see me from the street, and I peer through the sheer drapes. Try to get a better look at who turned the light on in Lindsay’s bedroom, thinking about all the nights Lindsay and I would use our secret light-on-light off code when our parents took our cell phones away. I whisper out loud, “Please let it be a thirteen year old girl,” over, and over as I lean into the window opening just the tiniest bit more to get a better look into Lindsay’s bedroom.

I stop chanting the minute I see the silhouette. A boy. No. A man? I’m not sure. But, it’s not Lindsay. And in that moment I know what I’d avoided thinking about since Lindsay and I said goodbye for good last week in a kinda rushed don’t-have-time-to-really-say-goodbye-really-rushed-because-her-parents-are-mad way. I’d never have another friend like Lindsay. And I’d probably never, ever see her again.

I sit cross-legged in my bed in the dark, pick up my journal and write my first non-boring thing I’d ever written in one of my dozen journals, Could I ever be best friends with anyone else? Could I ever be best friends with a boy?