And now, a brief pause in our programming.

On reflection, it seems as if, in the past few weeks, I have turned off my Washington awareness in favor of household issues. That is true. It is far easier to focus on immediate problems than to look at Washington and try to forecast what the next few years will bring. It's not very useful, but it IS easier on the psyche.

So now, while a lot of personal balls are still in the air on this side of the country, the big ball has dropped in Washington. Donald Trump is the president. There was no last-minute reprieve; it was not a collective bad dream; there is no easy way out. We simply need to endure the embarrassment (and worse) of having an ill-prepared, inarticulate, narcissistic, misogynistic blowhard as our representative on the global stage for the next four years. Hard as it is to digest, this is the bitter pill we have to swallow. Gulp.

What is to be done in a situation where the country has apparently run amok? When Congress appears to be lining up behind this creature and his billionaire boys' club (otherwise known as a cabinet), actually supporting (or at least feigning support) for his off-the-cuff policies. He has so little respect for the American voter that his promises and policies change at his whim, rather than in response to factual information,  He picks and chooses what he wants to believe, and dismisses as 'fake' whatever does not fit his particular reality-of-the-day. What can be done?

The running advice has been to speak up and make the voices of reason be heard; to provide financial support to those organizations that are bound to be most affected by Trump cuts and his conservative Congressional cohorts. Social media calls upon us to be the change we want to see in our world--to be the kinder, gentler people we want to see in the news. What this all brings to mind is something I learned years ago as a child in a Franciscan school and sang at my high school graduation: the blessing of St. Francis...

Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace.

Where there is hatred, let me sow love,

Where there is injury, pardon.  

Where there is doubt, faith--

Where there is despair, hope,

Where there is darkness,light,

Where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek

To be consoled as to console,

To be understood as to understand,

To be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive, 

It is in pardoning that we are pardoned,

It is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

Words to live by, particularly now. Sing it with me.

Superwoman is dead: the next episode

Superwoman is dead. I don't think I realized that until the rugs were delivered and JC and I had to wrestle with rug and pad and placement, not to mention moving furniture to make room. Seriously, every day of this (relatively small) move, I have given thanks that we did not wait to make these moves till we were older. They would never have happened. I reiterate: DO IT NOW if you are thinking about downsizing.

I wish I had been documenting this week, but I have been too busy and too tired. Usually we hit town and launch immediately into what needs to be done because we only have a week or two to get things accomplished. We have done the same this time, and I fear that in mid-February, we will stop, look around, and say, "Now what?" In the past two weeks, we have met and scheduled and packed and unpacked and shopped and stored and hauled and (let's not forget) laid rugs and padding, and given our credit cards friction burns from overuse. We have stepped onto the merry-go-round as it hurtled along, full-tilt, and we're still standing. Barely.

It used to be that this was not that difficult or that exhausting. I remember moves where I faced a family room so full of unloaded boxes that we couldn't step inside the doorway and had to unpack a path to the TV set--using a stepstool to get at the highest boxes. I remember unpacking alone while JC was off on a trip, trying to get everything put away before he got back. And I did it. No more.

BUT...the end is in sight. As always in a move, there are bits of homeless debris here and there that don't belong anywhere. There are things that are in the wrong places and things that cry out for organization. Right now, I'm not listening. It's time for a cup of tea and a cookie, and maybe even a nap.

Notes from the West Coast

Here we are, the first week of 2017, and while the rest of the world (or at least the rest of my world) is cringing at the prospect of the inauguration, we are in not-so-sunny California, dealing with the middle third of our moving trifecta for this year. We are putting the west coast house in order. Which entails rugs and blinds and figuring out where to direct the avalanche of goods coming our way from the east. On Friday.

In this house, we currently have 5 gate-leg tables. Coming with the movers are two standard dining tables, each capable of seating 8 to 10 people. It is apparent from all this that we could hold a sit-down dinner for 40, without even breaking out a card table, or utilizing our kitchen island (which seats four.) We are currently deciding which of these tables will win a trip to our newly-acquired storage space. A difficult choice indeed.

Then there are rugs. We are blessed with hardwood floors throughout, and cursed with the necessity to cover them. One bedroom has carpeting; the living room has an Oriental rug. Which leaves us with the need to order three rugs-- and two runners for the hall. Macy’s January sales are our friend. As is Overstock.com. Of course the rug we want may be out of stock, which complicates the issue. But all will be well. I have faith. If not rugs.

The local movers (we have long since deemed ourselves too old to haul furniture on our own) arrive—on time! And with THREE guys and a truck, instead of the titular TWO. I had tagged most of the stuff to be stored, and they set to work. At the point when they were just about done loading, our yard people arrived, ready to discuss in detail their plans for improving the yard, which (of course) had to have our imprimatur before they could proceed. In the midst of which discussion I got a call from our friend the contractor back east who had kindly agreed to walk through the condo we are considering and render an opinion. As if three conversations at one time were not enough, the moving coordinator texted me at that point about the whereabouts of our truck, which had developed truck trouble in Texas (sounds like a new reality show..) At least the weather is nice.

I would be lying if I said this was all bad. I sort of like pushing furniture around, changing my environment, looking at things from a different perspective. There are always discoveries to be made, and a little shake-up now and then is good for the soul. The San Diego house was furnished piecemeal (as I remember, we opened up the door to our largest storage area and told the mover: take it all..) and now, we are trying to impose some order upon it and make it even more of a home, rather than a place to get away to for a week or two.

So, when the truck-from-Virginia-via Texas pulls up on Friday, it will set in motion the final stage—at least for the San Diego house—unpacking and finding homes for all the books and boxes and woodenware and cut glass and china and the myriad of other stuff packed last spring that have been waiting for transport west. Oh, the adventure of it all!

(to be continued)