New Place, New Year, New Plan

The upheavals and noise therefrom are quieting down. Curtains are up, some art and photos too. Here I'll be for as long as possible. The move took me down and I'm still recovering (I've been walking some the last few days), and as annoying as the nerve pain is the frustration. I don't let myself think about losses anymore; it's too painful. But not having a working right hand when you're right-handed is a study in zen frustration.

So here come the holidays at 80 MPH. Fine. I'll just not go to Jersey, maybe Billy can come here. He's coming up on Tuesday for Thanksgiving. And I'm not cooking, for the first time since 1992. Before that year, I'd done it since 1976. This year it's impossible, I can't even hold a knife and I'm not so stupid as to try it lefty. Instead, a chef friend recommended a chef he knows at a local restaurant that sometimes did the whole deal, and I called. At first he wasn't sure, but 2 days later he was. Even though I'm a woman, I'm a retired chef, and the whitecoats stick together. So Billy and I will both have a treat and no huge mess.

Finally realizing that this sofa is no place for a Senior Citizen, Billy will be staying at the nearby hotel. This will lighten the mood too.

For my own well-being, I'm stepping back from politics. Whatever happens now, I can't do much. I gave this election all my guts for two candidates. One won, one lost. Dave Zuckerman is our LT Gov, and a good guy. Bernie, well, I can't talk, I'll start crying. I need rest from the political scene and stupidity before I begin to hate it all and never do it again.

When the year turns, I hope to be settled in here enough, and well enough, to tear into the Beest book. I'm writing that thing if it kills me, and it might.

This is slowly becoming home, as things find their places. Curtains and art on the walls go a long way toward filling the blanks. The Tannenbaum has a selected place already, and the decorations are at last all in one area. Paul stuck the silk pine boughs around the double windows yesterday. Winter is coming.

So yeah, so much new is a scary deal. Who knows how anything will go anymore; the world is nuts and we've followed the UK to the skirting of fascism. Austerity measures will be next. Oh I can't go there...

Make yourself happy. Or somebody else, make happy. Just make happy all over the damn place.
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The Worst That Could Happen

This year has been brutal. We started the year with Bowie and Alan Rickman dying, which should have clued us in. We haven't had a month, or even a week, when something shitty and discouraging didn't hit us. This week we elected a man who has no business being President. And now Leonard Cohen is dead.

I think, maybe, we've hit bottom.
And so it's time for bad music.

You see, since way back, whenever things got rotten, Billy and I have sung bad songs at each other. Tonight we dredged up a feast of cheese over the phone and now I'm going to share with you lucky victims, er, readers.

There. Now sing along, forget how awful things look and the lousy things that are happening, and let yourself regroup. We have a lot of work ahead. Take some time to be mindless; indulge in things that make you laugh; appreciate the smarmy, the silly, the ridiculous. A really crappy song can get you through a lot.
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2 Weeks in Sunset Blvd.

Yes, this is Sunset Blvd, not Rivendell. There's something of a Hollywood feel to the buildings, somewhat run down but holding onto its shinier past. And there are little raised gardens of (now dead) vines. It needs a fountain in the courtyard.

The residents are what you'd expect living in one of those 1950s motel-ish apartment buildings. Odd ones, drunks, faded beauties, the failed, the utterly insane. From my desk I see the parade of harmless characters, and not-so harmless freaks doing disgusting acts.

As of today, it's been 2 weeks here. We are unpacking and sorting out every box and belonging. The million decisions get overwhelming- keep or toss, where will this live, etc. So much ephemera we accrue in life, and just how long do we keep these tangible memory cues? Is the Beefeater man rocking out still dear to me? Why do I have 8 half-boxes of holiday cards? Must I keep everything my mother ever crocheted for me? Oy.

The physical adjustment to the changes are the hardest part. Who knew that just changing chairs would cause so much pain and disruption? Having the roll-up shower is a blessing, and now that the bathroom is equipped life is easier than it was in The Shire. But tell that to my body, for which it seems every small change to the usual is a hairy deal. And just as finding spots for everything is a process, so is my body adapting to the new environment. Being in a wheelchair for most of the time now is a huge acclimation. All of a sudden I'm less than 4 feet tall, after a lifetime at nearly 6 feet. The rest of the world goes on as always, hanging calendars and clocks and putting things on top of cabinets way beyond my reach. I don't recall ever being this height. I was 5'6" in 6th grade!

Beest hasn't lost a minute in making this place hers. She escaped yesterday, explored the hallways and both staircases before Gal Friday caught her. Nothing puts her off her game.

All of the above has brought frustration and happiness. It's getting better. As the boxes disappear and their contents find new places, it begins feeling like home. No, it's not perfect. Nothing in real life is. We just make the best of it. But with a bit of imagination, some determination and no small dose of delusion, we're ready for our close up...
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