The Russians

They were the movers. We waited for two weeks from the time we requested our stuff be delivered to WV and finally we received a call from 1st Choice Moving (make that Last Choice) that they would be here between Wednesday and Friday. Having dealt with so many business spokespersons since the moving began, we knew not to trust this, and we were right. The driver called us on Friday night to say they would arrive early Sat AM. About 9 AM I called him to ask for a time and he said about 4 hours which would mean 1:00 PM in most universes. Having heard nothing by 2:00 PM I called again and no one answered. This did not give me a confident feeling and then I rationalized it that he was happily delivering furniture to someone in the next town. At 2:45 PM I received a call from a total stranger who asked if I was expecting a moving company and that they were at his house and totally lost, about 25 miles to our west. We talked it through and arranged for me to meet them at the nearby Walmart in 45 minutes and they would follow me to our house.

I drove to Walmart and waited. After a while an 18 wheeler with UNITED VAN LINES on the side pulled in and it was them – Yuri and Richard. I never knew why it said United and not First Choice but no matter, every company in the US is now one company anyway.

Yuri was from Russia and Richard from Latvia, both were speaking in Russian at a very fast clip and their English was iffy. We chatted for a bit and I tried to determine why there were only two guys when it took five to load the truck in Tucson over a 4-hour period. This was like the math word problems in grammar school where you figured out how many it would take … and I knew we were in trouble. Richard said he was going to look for a “Mexican” in the Walmart parking lot. He said he did this all the time and he would offer $10./hour for a helper. This was Saturday and we were moving quickly toward happy hour but I went along. I even helped and checked the laundramat and dollar store for anyone who looked like they could move furniture and needed a quick buck. Nothing… Yuri, meanwhile, was expressing skepticism about being able to get up our hill once he realized we lived on Walton’s Mountain and as the clock ticked, the whole thing was starting to make me nauseous. Long story short, The Russians went to Home Depot looking for a Mexican and had no luck there either, so they followed me home and made a heroic attempt to pull into our driveway, but then one of the wheels was stuck in a large hole for about 15 minutes before this was accomplished. (Those of you who have known us for a long time will see this as an homage to our trip through Tyler Texas in 1987).

Eventually, the tractor trailer made it up the driveway. It was after 5:00. The sun was slowly making its descent in the western sky and only two guys were present to haul ass and get this stuff in the house. Just then, Paul came out to meet the Russians and, not surprisingly, agreed to help. Seven hours later, everything was inside. The guys came in to shower and then slept in their truck in the driveway till they could see to back out early this morning. They were nice guys and we got to know them. Richard has a baby girl in NYC and they were off to do a small delivery there and have some time to visit with the child.

Just before they left, we discovered that the piano was damaged eight ways to Sunday, an antique Shaker rocker was missing and Paul’s “gorilla” ladder was not with the boxes. It’s OK. It will all work out cuz we not only have insurance but close friends and families who are lawyers.

We ate dinner tonight at our own kitchen table. The only thing that would have made it better was if you had been there.

Give Me The Beat

The aging angular face of Marlin, the guitarist/singer was spotlit in red. The drummer, who was skinny as a rail, had signs of a mild stroke or Bell’s palsy. He threw himself into his six piece set of Pearl drums with a rapt look that lasted the night. Off to the side, a guy on keyboard kept melody in a supportive, even way. Though the volume was way too loud, some extraordinary music was happening in this Quality Inn lounge in Harpers Ferry and we couldn’t resist staying and dancing, stretching out a couple of Blue Moons and a basket of homemade chips. Marlin’s vocals lured us to the dance floor with Mustang Sally, Drift Away and a very lyrical Always on My Mind. The band looked like they were on Medicare and, as heavy smokers all, are probably using their benefits. But their music was very fine and it was a great way to start our new life in West Va. Jo-Anne and her kids had come in earlier in the day and she and Paul did a few turns on the floor with the same grace that they brought to the Buttonwoods dance hall in the summers of the late 50’s and early 60’s.

We have already been reveling in the closeness of family again with our stay at the "compound" in Great Falls, VA with sisters Patricia and Doreen and Pat's husband Lloyd. We parked ourselves there for days enjoying the space and the generosity of “kinfolk”. Liza came to visit there as her summer job ended and she began a short vacation before starting back to grad school. We went shopping, had pedicures and played Hi-Lo Jack like old times. Everything is feeling right. Tuesday night we will get the keys to our new home and then we move in and wait for our furniture. (The moving company can’t “promise” when it will arrive but say they will let us know “soon”).

Meanwhile, yesterday morning Paul and I did a “test drive” to Rockville to the federal building where I will work. It was fine until we exited the interstate and attempted the convoluted route to the Twinbrook Parkway and I freaked as unexpected left exits and narrowing lanes threw me in the wrong direction, encouraging lots of horns behind me and a few explicit gestures. When we finally spotted the 1.4 million square foot building where I will bring my little briefcase, I vowed to only use the train to get there! Beginning tomorrow…Monday AM… I will leave the house (or Quality Inn for now) at 5:15 to catch the MARC line. I don’t know what to wear or bring for lunch. I am already feeling a lot like Diana in her little plaid dress, about to cross the street for the first time.

Wish me luck.

THE WATER IS WIDE

As we wait for the job to start, the new house to close and the furniture to come, there’s not a whole lot to do. Some days I fret and Paul calms me down and says that it’s all working out fine and everything will get done. So it seemed like the best thing to do was start regarding this time as a prolonged and unexpected vacation. At the end of last week we set off for the beach.

First we had to drive to Manassas to get our car which had finally arrived at the last possible moment of our contract with Autolog. We searched for the wrecker service where they said we would find the car … not exactly reassuring. It was thankfully in one piece and we drove to a motel to spend the night and wait until dawn on Saturday for our journey east across the Chesapeake and eventually to the Delaware coast. Eventually. We had no preparation for this traffic. We’ve seen Cape Cod and LA and nothing compares with the traffic across the Bay Bridge at Annapolis on the first Saturday of August, and then the bumper to bumper crawl through MD to DE and over to Rehoboth Beach. It took us 5 ½ hours. Meanwhile, about an hour into this trek, we both have to find a bathroom. Nothing tells you that you’re 62 like the sudden, desperate urge to pee that seems to come out of nowhere with a relentlessness you never experienced in your youth. Think of all the nights at Newport clubs when you could stand in line after a few beers and chat while everyone took their turn. Not any more. We finally pulled off the road at a big gas station/convenience store and joyfully burst through the door only to find a line of about fifteen travelers waiting for the one unisex toilet. There was nothing to do but head for the small cluster of trees at the back of the parking lot. Paul got there first and disappeared. Needing more cover, I headed behind an abandoned 18-wheeler but could see nearby traffic too clearly. I finally found relief as I tucked into a large shrub near the rear of the building and crouched into position. I could see a family of five get our of their SUV and look in my direction and I didn’t care. Something about being a nurse… I’ve seen it all, now you can too if you care to! Relief! We headed back to the car from our separate undisclosed locations and joined Daisy who was sitting up in the drivers seat and wondered what the big deal was with peeing outside.

After 2 ½ more hours in heinous traffic, we got to our little inn at the beach and began to truly relax. Mid-afternoon, we headed down with Daisy only to find a “no dogs allowed on the beach” sign. We knew taking turns wouldn’t be a lot of fun and then remembered her airplane carrier. Paul packed her in, threw a shirt over the carrier and we were good to go. For the next three days, we visited the beach with our small “package”. On the last afternoon, I saw a lifeguard looking curiously in Paul’s direction as he continuously talked and offered treats to the package, patting it and checking its little zippers. Nevertheless, it all worked. We even had a chance to go in the water together, jumping with the waves and laughing as we had in those Buttonwoods summers so many years ago.

Today we are heading back to my sister Pat’s. Papers are coming from Tucson, homeowners insurance is being arranged in West Virginia. We are refreshed and ready for the next big thing.

Rush to Judgment

In the small country town we are staying in as we wait for news of both homes closing … the one we are selling in Tucson (closing date approx 8/7), and the Harpers Ferry home (closing date approx 8/18), we wait and discover the unfamiliar relaxation that comes at the end of all this geographic change. There’s nothing to do. The frantic calls to realtors and lenders at both ends have leveled off. And then today, there was one more little trickle of activity.

Our Tucson realtor Patti called about a perfunctory appraisal form that had to be FAXed back to the lender. She needed a FAX number to send it to in WV and to have me send it back. Paul and I were in the center of town walking Daisy when Patti’s call came. I thought about the library but had already had a run-in with the librarian there when I had popped my head in to ask if vacationers could borrow DVDs and was told “No” with a tone that made me feel both annoyed and stupid for even entertaining such a thought. Even though as a former librarian, I know how much abuse of the word “borrow” goes on, I thought she was a bitch and told Paul how unpleasant she was.

You can imagine how reluctant I was to return and inquire about sending FAXs, but when I had asked another retailer where to send a FAX, the library was it.

I went in and told her my need and she gave me the rate for a max of 10 pages plus any long distance charges. I called my realtor to ask her a few questions and then the librarian literally threw me out for using a cell phone in her (empty) library. I was miffed and told Paul that this woman was impossible and if I had to deal with her ever again, he needed to go in my place and turn on the French charm.

Patti had said she would mail the form but as it happened she called me back and said no, she had to FAX it. The last thing I wanted to do was return to the library and incur the wrath of this woman, but I did.

I went back. I asked the librarian if she would please send my FAX and she said she would and I stood there in neutral annoyance until she asked me to sit down and I pulled a chair up to a desk in the aisle and waited. A patron came in and asked the librarian, whose name was Carolyn, how her summer was going. “Not good”, she said, and I was quietly gloating thinking “Right. What a bitch. She can’t even enjoy this gorgeous town in the ripeness of a late July day when everything about being alive is so exaggerated and wonderful”.

The return FAX came in and I had to sign it and have Paul sign it too except that he had taken Daisy back to the rental and I was signing for him which if you were a small town librarian might be considered a crime and I did it fast and gave it to her and she sent it and didn’t look…as far as I could see.

Then I gave her four dollars. There was an awkward pause and I had noticed early on that her arm was wrapped in an ace bandage so I asked, “Did you fracture your arm?”. She answered, “No. It’s lymphedema.”

Now a light goes on and everything starts to reprogram so quickly and with such discomfort that I feel the process of my brain making its corrections.

“You’ve had surgery?”, I asked, knowing full well that she had had breast cancer and that the removal of lymph nodes was causing her present distress.

“Yes”, she said and recounted the chapter and verse of her cancer nightmare ending with the discovery yesterday that she has metastasis to her bones. “It’s the 'inverse T’, she said, “spine and pelvis both”. She went on to tell me about the pain and how her MD has told her it’s just a side effect of the chemo but she knows it’s the bone mets. I believe she is right. I told her what I knew about managing the pain from bone cancer, the need to add steroids, the long-acting and breakthrough meds. I did not use the “H” word and neither did she, but when she talked about having only Medicare and no money, I wanted to tell her about the Medicare Hospice benefit that is there for her when the time comes.

I will communicate with her again before I leave this idyllic town. I am thinking about how to do that. Meanwhile, I have learned a profound lesson about being small and judgmental that I am more than happy to share while it is still fresh.

A long time ago, when the girls were hurt, a friend of mine named Father Ed Abbott told me that “Sometimes we find God and sometimes He finds us”. Today he found me.

Moving