Betwixt and between

I am writing this blog post while on the phone to AT&T to see if I can cancel my cancellation of their services (stay with me), so that our house-sitters can continue to have internet access with them, rather than having to open a new account. This takes multi-tasking to a whole new level, but don't you just hate wasting all that time on hold to big corporations? I just put them on speakerphone, and have that irritating music playing on the desk while I type. And 11-yo has just shown me how you can reduce the volume on our phone, so I can hardly hear it. Who knew you could do that on our phone? Mind you, I guess most phones these days have that facility. I doubt we're at the forefront of domestic phone technology. You might find that hard to believe.

We all hate those phone calls where you go round and round, choosing options from a menu, conversing in monosyllables with an electronic voice. I've worked out that if you just pretend you're incompetent, and press digits that aren't in the menu presented to you, you get through to a real person more quickly. The other day I tried to do that verbally. When the cheery electronic voice asked me to say in a few words what I wanted help with, I just burbled down the phone at it. "Blurblurblur". It didn't work. The electronic voice said "I think you said you needed help with service availability. Is that correct?"

We had the packers in yesterday. If I have one tip for moving, it is this. Be ready for the packers. We had been told they would start the job on Friday and finish on Monday. But it was a crew of five people, motivated to finish as quickly as possible, and finish they did. Even though I've lived in America for five years, I think somewhere deep down I kind of expected them to find me at five o'clock on the dot, sniff, hand me an empty tea mug, and say "that's us done for the day... see you on Monday morning...". In fact, they stayed till 7.30pm, tidied up everything behind them, put their QuikTrip 32oz plastic cups in the trash, and left us in a house full of boxes.

So although I had kind of hoped that I might be doing bits of sorting and organising here and there while they were packing, it was just as well that Husband and I had got up at 4.30am to finish up as much as we could before the locusts descended. It's rather rude of me to call them locusts, because after all, they are providing a service for us, and they were polite and friendly. But it does feel a bit like that, when people are making all your possessions disappear into boxes, the treasured things and the daily items, undifferentiated. So it was good to get up early and be just a little ahead of the game. The bad thing about getting up at 4.30am, though, is that it catches up with you 24 hours later, and you are totally knackered. I am trying hard to look after myself during this whole stressful time, but I tell ya, it's not easy. I had arranged to have a massage yesterday evening, which was very nice. Actually, it was particularly nice because it meant I had to leave the locust house. I'd arranged it for 6.00pm (I really did think they were going to sniff and leave at 5.00pm on the dot, didn't I? I probably thought they'd be wearing brown work coats, have mustaches, whistle while they work, and be called Bill and Ted.)

Husband and I then dozed through a movie, in which Justin Timberlake lives in an imaginary world where no-one is older than 25 (a world, therefore, in which no-one falls asleep while watching movies).

Well, I am rambling, because I haven't had enough sleep, and because rambling is my default state. You know how if  you have a power cut, all the electrical items in your house flash "12.00" at you when the power comes back on. That's their default option. Well, mine is rambling. Writing this blog post is the equivalent of me flashing noon at you. Or midnight.

Oh, I do have one more tip about moving. Before the packers come, decide whether you are going to tip. (See what I did there?) Otherwise, you will find yourself on the front porch, texting a couple of friends: "Do u tip moving ppl? Wot is etiquette here? There r 5 of them. There will be 5 diffrnt ppl on Tues. Getting expnsv! They r professnl cmpny, not just 2 guys & a truck. Dsn't feel right to tip, but dsn't feel right not to." You will then find yourself trying to discuss the issue secretly with your spouse - not easy with 5 extra people in your house - on the basis of your friends' advice. One friend told me "Oh gosh, am hopeless on this knd v thing." The other said "Hsbnd says no, but I'm not so sure. Cld u giv them cupcakes?" I replied "No baking eqpmt left in kitchen". See what I mean? Who needs that kind of additional stress on packing day? Work out your tipping policy in advance, Peoples.

The British Are Going!

You see, I've been here long enough to know that that's quite a funny title for a party invitation. (No? The British are coming? Paul Revere? Where's your American history, people?) It wasn't really meant to be a farewell party, though of course everyone knew it was that. Husband's division at work is quite a social group, and I have often felt that we haven't taken our turn at hosting a party, so I thought we'd better get on and do it, otherwise I would leave with that feeling, and live forevermore with that feeling. So we had a tea party (of course), and I think some Jubilee fever must have rubbed off on me, because I put on the invitation that people should wear "red, white, blue, or a combination thereof, in recognition of the shared interests of our two nations". 

We had a lovely time. I'd gone to World Market in honour of the party, to buy Golden Syrup, with which to make flapjack, and had loaded up with some fun British biscuits for people to try. This is what the table looked like.

Let me just talk you through the picture. We're talking red, white and blue icing on the mini buns. Behind those, we have flapjack. Behind those are strawberries - how very accommodating of them to be red! No bananas or green apples on MY festive patriotic table! Continuing round the edge in an anti-clockwise direction, we have a plate of Jammie Dodgers and Hobnobs pretending to be Oreos (ie two mini Hobnobs stuck together with some kind of filling, abhorrent to the Hobnob purist, but I thought more interesting for the American palate), then a little heap of Penguins, a plate of Toffeepops and Viscount biscuits (oh dear, green foil wrappers out of place there, but I'd tolerate almost anything in a Viscount biscuit - my childhood favourites), a pile of cucumber sandwiches, and Chocolate Fingers.

I mean, could it get any more British than that? Oh yes it could. In the kitchen it did.

I was very impressed that many of the guests did drink tea, and didn't just opt for the cold drinks that we'd also provided. Most of them even tried it with milk. Most of them added sugar too. One or two made themselves sweetened iced tea (yuk).

It was very mellow. A couple of families who we've got to know well stayed on after everyone else left (I'd sent them sneaky texts beforehand saying "you will stay on when everyone else has gone, won't you?"). Then we had a power outtage, which was symbolic, somehow. Perhaps I'd just overloaded the local bit of the national grid with my intense use of the kettle. So as it got darker and hotter in the house, we moved a table and chairs outside, where it was a little bit lighter and cooler. Husband was despatched to get Chinese take-away, and we sat in the dusk, making that beautiful transition from tea to wine, and sharing the evening with the fireflies. I love fireflies. 

It's an odd time at the moment. Not much daily routine. All the time there is an overwhelming amount of things to do, but we're also having parties and meals with friends, and fitting in family special times. Everything feels more mellow, more vivid, more fun, more its essential nature, in these days. There is an intensity in finality. We haven't quite got down to last goodbyes yet. No. Let's be honest. We have. We just haven't admitted it. "I'm sure I'll see you again before we go" is my staple way of avoiding a farewell. Only just over two weeks to go now, though, so who am I kidding?

Best Buy, or not so Best Buy...

We have not sold our house. We have reduced the price, which has generated precisely zero extra interest. We will therefore have to discuss Plan B with our realtor, which involves leaving the house empty behind us, for her to sell, and for a management company to look after, all the while paying the mortgage and utilities. That feels like the biggest waste of money since (oops, was about to make bad taste joke about the Titanic, just stopped myself). We haven't worked out Plan B yet. That's this week's job. Not the most appealing prospect, I have to say.

There is one person who I really, really want to buy the house. That would be the person who says "From the picture, I anticipated that the kitchen might be out-dated, but when I saw that fabulous brand-new Samsung range, I was won over. That was the clincher for me."

You want to know why? Well, it's because that would make worthwhile the $500, and the hassle, and the waiting in for delivery, and the 45 minutes on the phone to the Best Buy Geek Squad, which led to the conclusion that we bought a new range, which we didn't need. What we needed to do was remember that our fuse box is geriatric and moody, and that if you don't carefully love and fondle each switch before clicking it back into place, and then carefully love and fondle it again after doing so, then it won't stay, but will click out again, quietly and secretly when your back is turned.

Looking on the bright side... I now know how a range behaves when it's pulling 110 volts instead of 220, because I've seen two of them - one old, one brand spanking new - perform the trick. (I thought electricity was either on or off; I didn't know it could be on-ish.) Who knows when that could come in useful? I also know that when a Best Buy delivery man turns on four hobs, waits 5 seconds, waves his hand over the top of them and declares "yup, working fine", what he really means is "it'll probably work fine, and I'm off now". Another piece of knowledge that I've acquired in the process is that if you use the word 'cooker', Americans don't immediately know what you're referring to, and may even think you have domestic staff.

I also know that the Best Buy customer service phone line plays the most noisy, irritating and aggressive music possible. Why would they do that? Why wouldn't they have chosen something soothing and calming? Greensleeves perhaps, or Eine Kleine Nachtmusik? Or something appropriately themed, selected according to the appliance that is causing the trouble? For me it could have been Pat-a-cake Pat-a-cake Baker's Man, or Sing a Song of Sixpence (four and twenty blackbirds - remember?), or Can she bake a cherry pie, Billy Boy, Billy Boy?, or You'll always find me in the Kitchen at Parties, or Hey Good Lookin', What ya got Cookin'? Blimey, SO many possibilities.

Anyway, back to the bright side, and  (and this really has been a bit of a bright side), I haven't had to cook for a week, which maybe, on mature reflection, was actually in itself worth $500 (not counting the cost of the Chinese bistro buffet at Dillons and the pizzas). I would break that down into $250 for the joy of not having to face the "What shall I do for dinner?" question every day, and $250 for the expression on two of my children's faces when I told them "Look on it as your golden opportunity to learn to love salad".

Come on, Universe.  I bought a new oven which I didn't need, which means that some Oven-Reconditioner somewhere at the very end of the Best Buy  chain of sub-contractors is happy, because he's got a perfectly-functioning oven when he expected an old wreck. The least you can do is send me a buyer for my house.

Holding it all together

Life can embrace extremes, and sometimes it's hard to hold those extremes together. If you put one in each hand, your left hand would drag your shoulder down towards the floor, and your right would shoot up above your head. 


I am thrilled by the act of taking a box of cast-off books to our local second hand bookshop, and receiving $9 for them. It feels like a good deal. I like the idea of them finding new homes, and helping the bookshop on its way. And $9 is better than nothing. Today we are going to talk to our realtor about dropping the price of our house. What will she suggest? $2,000? $5,000? More? So why did $9 feel so good? Why is my purse stuffed with coupons: 75 cents off a box of cereal?


I am enjoying seeing my everyday people and doing my everyday things. I also have a bucket list (hate that term, but it's convenient short-hand) of things I want to do and see locally. When I do those, I say "I can't believe we've been here five years and I've only just discovered this". The familiar and the unexplored. Both feel important, but they are competing for time. Not only time. Mental space, and emotional space too.


Blogging can be at the extremes too. I read the posts of people for whom life is pottering on, and the content is about school sports day, or chicken pox. I also read the posts of people for whom life is intense, and the content is about dealing with their child's serious long-term health, or a bereavement.


The universe must be reading as I write. I've just been interrupted by my daughter in her dressing gown. I thought we were going to have our usual conversation. 


"Can I go on the computer?" 
"No, I'm busy writing something."
"When can I go on the computer?"
"Ten minutes. Maybe twenty minutes. Go and play for twenty minutes and then you can." 
"I'm bored. I don't know what to do."


But today she cut to the chase.


"I feel sad."
"Why do you feel sad?"
"Because it's June."


So we had a hug, but now she's pottered off, and here I am, still "busy writing something" on the computer, but yes, it's June, and when June is over, we will no longer be here, which has been home for the past five and a half years.


That would be a good way to conclude this post, but wait, I haven't finished yet. Here's another pair of extremes. In my email inbox the other day, one above the other, were three emails asking for my attention, and for air time on my blog. One was telling me all about how I could join in some PR event to try out new strollers. I replied, pointing out that my youngest child is eight years old. That one served only to make me more receptive to the other two, which were personal, thoughtful, and worthwhile. So I offer you, one in each of my hands, the following:


Gemma Robinson, who has sniffed me out as a fellow tea enthusiast, and whose hand-made art prints I am happy to draw attention to. You can find them here. "Parsnips are the enemy" made me laugh (though I really love parsnips, so I'm not sure why).


And Syria. I was invited to write about the horrors that are happening in Syria, to raise awareness. Many other bloggers are doing so today. You can read their posts in the links here. I am shocked and horrified by what I've read. I want to care about Syria. I believe that (as Edmund Burke said, and Potty Mummy quoted)  'All that's necessary for the forces of evil to win in the world is for enough good men to do nothing.' But I can't feel and do very much for Syria at the moment.  I just can't.

Life at the extremes. Sometimes all you can do is hold out your hands.