For the past month I’ve been tossed about by the perfect storm. No one has it easy these days; here’s my story:
After hurricane evacuation and earthquake disorientation, we faced moving. We thought we had three months to shed our belongings but because of a legal snipe, we had three weeks! No time to rid ourselves of forty years (+) of accumulation. 11,000 lbs were packed up and put into an inaccessible storage facility in Statin Island until we could move into our new apartment. Because of a death in the family and the inability of movers to reschedule, this was delayed three weeks. We tried to get another moving company but they wanted four times the price we’d already paid. Temporarily homeless, we moved into our son’s basement (may the goddess bless him and our daughter-in-law who welcomed us despite tight quarters and raging toddlers). From there we went to our daughter in Chicago for a week and back to the basement, then to our empty apartment. Stressed out about the fact that the 11,000 lbs of stuff wouldn’t fit in the door of the new place, wearing the same clothes over and over for a month, lord, how I feel for those in this situation who have no light at the end of the tunnel, no helpful friends or family.
Oh, yes, my first book of short stories came out at the same time.
The good news is that I need to gain ten lbs (& strength) and I’m moving to Harlem where the food is plentiful and delicious. Also, I’ve played a thousand games of Candyland and Disney Princess Yatzee, watched every UmiZoomi and begun to actually like Yo Gabba Gabba.