…and after

This Saturday marks three weeks since we've taken possession of the house. I think this photo sums up everything pretty well:
(And if you need to see this in graphic detail, click here to see it larger.)
I am so, so tired. And very pleased.
Fresh, clean, new carpet goes in tomorrow. We move this Sunday. Yay!

(I just uploaded a bunch of new photos. Hop on over to Flickr to see the lot.)

...and after

This Saturday marks three weeks since we've taken possession of the house. I think this photo sums up everything pretty well:
(And if you need to see this in graphic detail, click here to see it larger.)
I am so, so tired. And very pleased.
Fresh, clean, new carpet goes in tomorrow. We move this Sunday. Yay!

(I just uploaded a bunch of new photos. Hop on over to Flickr to see the lot.)

In which I should be packing

I can't take a shower. No, not because of lack of water, although we are getting there thanks to some weirdness with our pipes. I was having a leisurely morning, taking the time to reply to a backlog of emails, when I made the mistake. "Hey! I wonder when my sewing machine will get here?" I clicked on the tracking email. Wonder of wonders, it is due to arrive today. Dancing! Rejoicing! Happiness! And then I noticed the "signature required at time of delivery" note. Erm. So I have to be here. And our UPS deliveries never follow any set schedule. They could get here AT ANY TIME! So here I sit. Stinky. Unpleasant. Waiting. Then came the noise.
It sounded as if a jet was landing in my driveway, so I stepped outside to check things out. I was hit in the face immediately with a wall of horse stink so powerful it could have knocked all the hyperbole right out of me if I wasn't careful. And then I knew what I wanted to blog about today: THINGS I WILL NOT MISS ABOUT THIS HOUSE.
(The really loud jet turbine-y sound was not coming from the driveway, but was apparently coming from some giant tree eating machine down the hill somewhere. All good.)
Okay, item one: The aforementioned horse stench.
We do not have horses, but our down the hill neighbors do. They keep them in a tiny pen right next to their house. This is quite bothersome, as they're all cooped up and it looks sad, and the stink seems to seek out our house especially.
Item number two: Killer dogs on the loose!
The horse-imprisoning neighbors also have delightful evil dogs that have it in for our cars. They chase. They bite. They get hit...AND BOUNCE RIGHT BACK UP TO BITE AGAIN. Clearly, they are devil dogs.
Okay, that's really all. I just had to snark a little. As you were.

Collecting specimens for the Bathroom of Natural History begins!

I went a little nuts with an unexpected check today, and acquired the first of hopefully many specimens for the Bathroom of Natural History. Have I mentioned this project yet? No? Well, here's the scoop:
THE BATHROOM OF NATURAL HISTORY!
Take a human who loves natural history museums more than art galleries. Take a boring hall bathroom. Paint the walls a museum-y green, and the ceiling deep blue. Condense a natural history museum into it.
Ever since I had the idea a few weeks ago, I've been keeping my eyes open for possible exhibits. So far I've found some great cut & polished rocks, a small antler, and letters for the door.
And then, today, we had our first insect acquisitions:

That's a moth! A MOTH! Can you even believe it?

The listing called this bug "METALLIC RASPBERRY PISTACHIO GREEN POLKA DOTS". How was I supposed to resist that?
And finally, the piece de resistance:

A cicada! Oh, how I love cicadas. We don't have them in California, to my eternal disappointment. Well, now we do, I guess!
(all photos by Real Butterfly Gifts. Which is a great little shop, if you're in the bug buying business.)
I have such plans for this tiny room. Since it's a guest bathroom, it won't actually be used a ton, so I figure we've got some display wiggle room, and far less humidity than the average bathroom.
Tiny fish tank...add a dash of taxidermy...constellations on the ceiling...maybe some pressed plants...fossils?...little tags labeling everything...
(And I should mention that like any museum, we are accepting your kind donations. Heh. Because that's what museums do!)
Expect more photos in the near future. We're moving in this Sunday!

Absolutely Small is closed for the day.

Ever worked for two weeks straight on a house only to be told at the last minute that the final step (carpet) will have to be delayed a week as the brother-in-law who is installing it as a very nice favor to you is very very ill?
FORCED. DEEP. BREATH.
I've been working so hard, nonstop, and suddenly I'm forced to take a break. I'm trying to see this as a good thing. Hey! Time to read! And...clean the house we live in! Perhaps even a nap!
Yesterday, while returning from the Home Depot, my car was rear-ended. I am fine! Other drivers involved, also fine! Not that big of a deal! I needed a new bumper on my car, anyway. After all the information exchanging and body shop quoting, I went to the only Indian restaurant in town for some lunch. And I think my tastebuds were knocked loose in the accident, because it was bland. I've never before eaten Indian food and thought to myself: "You know, this needs something..."
My point is: I think I need the break.
Go out and have a great weekend, everyone. Or stay in. Give yourselves a break. I think we all could probably use it.
I'll be reading and drinking something rimmed with salt if you need me.

In which I am tired

There has been painting. Oh, the painting there has been. So much with the painting. And today, as soon as I finish my coffee, I will head back over there...to do more painting.
It is beginning to feel like there will be NO END to all the painting.
Was it a mistake letting paint ninjas move into my house?
Or was it the only thing between me and bare white walls?
And speaking of white:
The kitchen cabinets are coming along nicely. No more yellowed oak! While I am in love with the change, I still can't believe the work involved. "Are you sure you want to do this?" My father the professional painter asked. "I painted cabinets for a client, and it took ME 5 whole days." Pff. 5 whole days. Yeah, but that client probably had a giant Martha Stewart style kitchen, and you're a perfectionist, and...such was my reasoning.
Turns out 5 whole days is quite a good estimation. What day are we on? Oh, I don't know, 3,562?

And speaking of tired:

Here's me on a good day. See how I actually managed to do my hair at some point? Can you see the multicolored flecks of paint in it? Because trust me, they're there. I keep finding them. "What the...pink? But we painted pink back on Thursday!"

In which I am tired

There has been painting. Oh, the painting there has been. So much with the painting. And today, as soon as I finish my coffee, I will head back over there...to do more painting.
It is beginning to feel like there will be NO END to all the painting.
Was it a mistake letting paint ninjas move into my house?
Or was it the only thing between me and bare white walls?
And speaking of white:
The kitchen cabinets are coming along nicely. No more yellowed oak! While I am in love with the change, I still can't believe the work involved. "Are you sure you want to do this?" My father the professional painter asked. "I painted cabinets for a client, and it took ME 5 whole days." Pff. 5 whole days. Yeah, but that client probably had a giant Martha Stewart style kitchen, and you're a perfectionist, and...such was my reasoning.
Turns out 5 whole days is quite a good estimation. What day are we on? Oh, I don't know, 3,562?

And speaking of tired:

Here's me on a good day. See how I actually managed to do my hair at some point? Can you see the multicolored flecks of paint in it? Because trust me, they're there. I keep finding them. "What the...pink? But we painted pink back on Thursday!"

In which things are starting to come together

The best corner!
Originally uploaded by absolutely small

Painting began today. (It only took 4 full days of several people cleaning to get there!) It's going pretty well! We've done about half of the house.
I totally intended to have more subdued colors in this house, to attempt to sophisticate things. But things took a turn for the bright, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't like it. Eh, whatever. I love it, and to me these colors are comfortable and give off exactly the feel I was going for. I think subdued just isn't me.
Once again I find myself too tired to be witty, so the photos will have to do the talkin'.
Hop on over to my flickr to see the rest.

Things we’ve found

We're going to do this bullet point style, because I am so very tired. Who thinks it is amusing to work 12+ hour days several days in a row? IT IS NOT.

• A coffee can full of old Snickers bars


• Several bloody bandaids


• Carrying case full of rockin' 8-tracks:


(note: this was in a pile of things marked with blue tape...as if this was meant to go to someone in particular. Awesome!)


• A coffee can full of half empty bags of toasted coconut...very, very old toasted coconut. Which had been deeply buried in a box, deep in a pile of boxes, deep in the garage. Why? WHY??


• A headless plastic skeleton:



• 3 mason jars full of reddish brownish mystery liquid, with semi-solid fatty looking stuff on the bottoms.


• Barrels & barrels of beans! Rice! Powdered milk(?)! Bacon Bits! Survive the end of the world with the goodness of bacon!


• And of course, an entire case of dried canned beef:

Things we've found

We're going to do this bullet point style, because I am so very tired. Who thinks it is amusing to work 12+ hour days several days in a row? IT IS NOT.

• A coffee can full of old Snickers bars


• Several bloody bandaids


• Carrying case full of rockin' 8-tracks:


(note: this was in a pile of things marked with blue tape...as if this was meant to go to someone in particular. Awesome!)


• A coffee can full of half empty bags of toasted coconut...very, very old toasted coconut. Which had been deeply buried in a box, deep in a pile of boxes, deep in the garage. Why? WHY??


• A headless plastic skeleton:



• 3 mason jars full of reddish brownish mystery liquid, with semi-solid fatty looking stuff on the bottoms.


• Barrels & barrels of beans! Rice! Powdered milk(?)! Bacon Bits! Survive the end of the world with the goodness of bacon!


• And of course, an entire case of dried canned beef:

Photos. Tired. Words going into paragraph doing.

I posted some new photos of the house, sans crazy old lady:
Check it!
Can I just say OH THE HORROR? Because, OH THE HORROR. I have never seen such a filthy place. It may be hard to see the brown cobwebs on every surface and the thick layer of sticky grime that coats every last thing from these photos, but trust me, it's there.
They left behind a goodly amount of junk. And they cleared out most of it.
Also, can I just say that I'm writing this post at one in the morning after working alllllll day, like hard working, with scrubbing, and I am so so tired and so this may not make a whole lot of sense, but so help me I am updating this blog, because OH THE HORROR. People must know.
Where was I?
There have been some decent junk scores already, and some nicely bizarre ones, too. More on that later. (Go see the photos! Funny things are there.)
Still no sign of that horrid German Shepard head candle, alas.

We’re in!!

The little old lady is officially GONE! We have the keys. We went inside. We threw out stuff!
Most of the junk is gone from inside the house, with a few exceptions. (Such as all the contents of the fridge on the kitchen counter. Eeeeew.) The only place still fully stocked with garbage is one of the under the house storage areas. The big one.
The house is SO dirty. No, really dirty. Like brown cobwebs, carpet that's never been vacuumed, windows that haven't been touched in 10 years dirty.
I am completely exhausted, but expect some photos of one dirty house soon.

We're in!!

The little old lady is officially GONE! We have the keys. We went inside. We threw out stuff!
Most of the junk is gone from inside the house, with a few exceptions. (Such as all the contents of the fridge on the kitchen counter. Eeeeew.) The only place still fully stocked with garbage is one of the under the house storage areas. The big one.
The house is SO dirty. No, really dirty. Like brown cobwebs, carpet that's never been vacuumed, windows that haven't been touched in 10 years dirty.
I am completely exhausted, but expect some photos of one dirty house soon.

Saturday. Saturday? Saturday!

The wall has officially broken on Littleoldladygate 2009! Papers have been signed, and little old ladies will be out on Saturday afternoon, or face the consequences. Death by wild diseased bunnies may have been threatened.
Rejoicing in the streets will commence! Ticker tape parades may happen! Confetti will rain from the sky!
I don't know what else to say, except that to get to this point we were faced with two choices. Either a. Let them have another 3-4 days and they promised to remove every last piece of garbage and pay us, or b. have them just get out on Saturday. After much, MUCH hemming and hawing, we went with option b. (Turns out we aren't allowed to gouge them. And I was ready to gouge them a new pair of Jimmy Choos, folks. So neryhe to that. Besides, wouldn't it have been sort of a let down if they didn't leave some horrible junk behind? I think so.)
To celebrate and blow off some steam, I went thrifting. (Well, first I went on Etsy and managed to add a whole bunch of goodies to my wish list. Bathroom of Natural History needs some exhibits!)
I found some really wonderful glass:

I'm thinking of using them to hold odds and ends in the studio.


Look upon my faux-bois base, ye mighty, and weep!

Meanwhile, my sewing table looks like this:

Erg. Yeah. Hopefully I'll get crackin on that very soon. Or, you know, packing. Erg.

Saturday. Saturday? Saturday!

The wall has officially broken on Littleoldladygate 2009! Papers have been signed, and little old ladies will be out on Saturday afternoon, or face the consequences. Death by wild diseased bunnies may have been threatened.
Rejoicing in the streets will commence! Ticker tape parades may happen! Confetti will rain from the sky!
I don't know what else to say, except that to get to this point we were faced with two choices. Either a. Let them have another 3-4 days and they promised to remove every last piece of garbage and pay us, or b. have them just get out on Saturday. After much, MUCH hemming and hawing, we went with option b. (Turns out we aren't allowed to gouge them. And I was ready to gouge them a new pair of Jimmy Choos, folks. So neryhe to that. Besides, wouldn't it have been sort of a let down if they didn't leave some horrible junk behind? I think so.)
To celebrate and blow off some steam, I went thrifting. (Well, first I went on Etsy and managed to add a whole bunch of goodies to my wish list. Bathroom of Natural History needs some exhibits!)
I found some really wonderful glass:

I'm thinking of using them to hold odds and ends in the studio.


Look upon my faux-bois base, ye mighty, and weep!

Meanwhile, my sewing table looks like this:

Erg. Yeah. Hopefully I'll get crackin on that very soon. Or, you know, packing. Erg.

And then…

Remember the dumpster? With the broken garbage furniture, and the yelling?
Well.
She had a neighbor fish all that back out.
And then she ordered ANOTHER dumpster.
And then she turned down paid assistance to get the rest of the moving done.
Despite the fact that perhaps said neighbor might spend his time better helping pack.
Despite the fact that to her, NOTHING is garbage and she wants to keep everything with her.
Despite the fact that an entire team of professional movers claimed they would take seven days, and how exactly is she planning to get this done with "volunteer" help, when she's been turning down volunteers, yelling at them, and just generally not letting them do anything.

And then, on top of all this crazy, my own grandpa is not doing well. Really not doing well. The variety of not doing well that says things like "Guess I won't be swimming anymore" and "I don't think I'm going to last until the end of the month". And this grandpa is the SANE one, the one who is possibly the most beloved human being I've ever met, and the one who is NOT prone to drama, exaggeration, or fishing for attention. (So I guess I didn't get all that from him...)

And then I looked at a calendar and realized that all this could not be happening on a better week. You know, the week before Aunt Flo visits. Of course.

This, my friends, is what they call "the perfect storm".

And then...

Remember the dumpster? With the broken garbage furniture, and the yelling?
Well.
She had a neighbor fish all that back out.
And then she ordered ANOTHER dumpster.
And then she turned down paid assistance to get the rest of the moving done.
Despite the fact that perhaps said neighbor might spend his time better helping pack.
Despite the fact that to her, NOTHING is garbage and she wants to keep everything with her.
Despite the fact that an entire team of professional movers claimed they would take seven days, and how exactly is she planning to get this done with "volunteer" help, when she's been turning down volunteers, yelling at them, and just generally not letting them do anything.

And then, on top of all this crazy, my own grandpa is not doing well. Really not doing well. The variety of not doing well that says things like "Guess I won't be swimming anymore" and "I don't think I'm going to last until the end of the month". And this grandpa is the SANE one, the one who is possibly the most beloved human being I've ever met, and the one who is NOT prone to drama, exaggeration, or fishing for attention. (So I guess I didn't get all that from him...)

And then I looked at a calendar and realized that all this could not be happening on a better week. You know, the week before Aunt Flo visits. Of course.

This, my friends, is what they call "the perfect storm".

In which there is more yelling

Remember how in that last post I mentioned we tossed things into the dumpster? And by "things" I mean trash. Did I mention the gallon ziplock bag full of burnt matches that was found, by the way? No? Well, anyway:
We're in trou-ble! (say it in a sing-songy voice)
We had been told numerous times by the little old lady that she was leaving everything on the back porch for us. Everything. Including three sets of table legs that were missing their tops, ratty, brittle broken plastic furniture up the wazoo, and a chaise lounge missing most of it's plastic strips. Someone who seemed in charge said go for it, toss that junk out! I didn't need to be told twice.
So into the dumpster with them! We were all feeling pretty good about cleaning up the back porch. It looked...halfway decent with all the junk gone.
But. Then. I spied our agent walking back up the driveway with the aforementioned chaise. "I got caught! We've got to put the stuff back!" Crud. So we spread what remained out on the porch, to try to fill in the gaps.
"It doesn't matter," said the seller's agent. "She knows all the pieces."
We left soon thereafter.
The next day the phone calls began. "She's really upset! She's made an itemized list of everything that's missing!" "DON'T GO OVER THERE!" Yikes.
She required an apology from our agent. When he called, she demanded ones from us, too. He put his foot down and said absolutely not. She proceeded to yell at him for the next 20 minutes. She referred to the garbage on the porch as "a gift", and that it was horrible that we threw out her gifts. Because clearly, you should never ever throw out a gift. Or anything else for that matter. Then she wanted to know when we'd be back to help pack.
Let that sink in for a moment.
We came to help twice now, one time with disastrous consequences. And now she wants us back?
Um, no.
In other news, professional movers came over to give her a quote. They said there was no way they could have her out of there by Saturday. With a full crew of guys it would take seven days. (And an awful lot of money.) The selling agent's boyfriend offered to do the job for less. She turned him down.
I have a feeling this is not going to end well. Or on Saturday.

In which there is more yelling

Remember how in that last post I mentioned we tossed things into the dumpster? And by "things" I mean trash. Did I mention the gallon ziplock bag full of burnt matches that was found, by the way? No? Well, anyway:
We're in trou-ble! (say it in a sing-songy voice)
We had been told numerous times by the little old lady that she was leaving everything on the back porch for us. Everything. Including three sets of table legs that were missing their tops, ratty, brittle broken plastic furniture up the wazoo, and a chaise lounge missing most of it's plastic strips. Someone who seemed in charge said go for it, toss that junk out! I didn't need to be told twice.
So into the dumpster with them! We were all feeling pretty good about cleaning up the back porch. It looked...halfway decent with all the junk gone.
But. Then. I spied our agent walking back up the driveway with the aforementioned chaise. "I got caught! We've got to put the stuff back!" Crud. So we spread what remained out on the porch, to try to fill in the gaps.
"It doesn't matter," said the seller's agent. "She knows all the pieces."
We left soon thereafter.
The next day the phone calls began. "She's really upset! She's made an itemized list of everything that's missing!" "DON'T GO OVER THERE!" Yikes.
She required an apology from our agent. When he called, she demanded ones from us, too. He put his foot down and said absolutely not. She proceeded to yell at him for the next 20 minutes. She referred to the garbage on the porch as "a gift", and that it was horrible that we threw out her gifts. Because clearly, you should never ever throw out a gift. Or anything else for that matter. Then she wanted to know when we'd be back to help pack.
Let that sink in for a moment.
We came to help twice now, one time with disastrous consequences. And now she wants us back?
Um, no.
In other news, professional movers came over to give her a quote. They said there was no way they could have her out of there by Saturday. With a full crew of guys it would take seven days. (And an awful lot of money.) The selling agent's boyfriend offered to do the job for less. She turned him down.
I have a feeling this is not going to end well. Or on Saturday.

In which we close escrow

Escrow is now officially closed! No more worrying about whether it should be capitalized or not! Hooray!
All the sudden financial responsibility seems to have made me a bit giddy, so I proceeded to set up free shipping sales in both my Etsy & Artfire shops. (Or seriously discounted shipping in the case of sales not in the US/Canada.)
Go forth and buy things! Help me to buy some much needed paint! And/or fumigation!

Here are some highlights from yesterday:

• There was yelling. Oh, the yelling. By the little old lady to both my agent and hers. YELLING! "EXCEPT I'M NOT YELLING, YOU'LL KNOW WHEN I'M YELLING!!" Yeah. So we still don't have the keys, but there is hope that we will on Saturday.



• One of many things she was very upset about was that her dumpster was not yet full. As were we. So we came over to help: Dan, my little brother, our agent & his wife, her agent & agent's boyfriend & son, and me. And also to drink champagne in the driveway and laugh. We managed to fill the dumpster, and there was much rejoicing. (Or maybe that was the champagne talking...)



• And there was this:
  
  Slated to be "moved to Tahoe" (thrown out, but don't tell her that!) Well, it just so happens that we collect odd musical instruments. Especially ones that don't work that well. This will be great next to the bongos and ocarina!

In which we close escrow

Escrow is now officially closed! No more worrying about whether it should be capitalized or not! Hooray!
All the sudden financial responsibility seems to have made me a bit giddy, so I proceeded to set up free shipping sales in both my Etsy & Artfire shops. (Or seriously discounted shipping in the case of sales not in the US/Canada.)
Go forth and buy things! Help me to buy some much needed paint! And/or fumigation!

Here are some highlights from yesterday:

• There was yelling. Oh, the yelling. By the little old lady to both my agent and hers. YELLING! "EXCEPT I'M NOT YELLING, YOU'LL KNOW WHEN I'M YELLING!!" Yeah. So we still don't have the keys, but there is hope that we will on Saturday.



• One of many things she was very upset about was that her dumpster was not yet full. As were we. So we came over to help: Dan, my little brother, our agent & his wife, her agent & agent's boyfriend & son, and me. And also to drink champagne in the driveway and laugh. We managed to fill the dumpster, and there was much rejoicing. (Or maybe that was the champagne talking...)



• And there was this:
  
  Slated to be "moved to Tahoe" (thrown out, but don't tell her that!) Well, it just so happens that we collect odd musical instruments. Especially ones that don't work that well. This will be great next to the bongos and ocarina!

In which I am "helpful"

Things I "helped" pack at the little old lady's (really, our house, come Monday){Oh, did I not mention how escrow didn't quite close on Friday thanks to a certain public utility company* dragging their feet? Odd.} house today.

• Multiple fanny packs


• Gummy bears of mysterious age


• One very old package of sardines

All these items were in her bedroom. YES. BEDROOM. SARDINES. I KNOW!!

Okay. I'm going to warn you right now. This post might get long. And my little finger might just hit SHIFT an awful lot in the next couple of paragraphs. So if you like the non-complaining, happiness and sunshine Claire, just stop right now. Complaining will begin right after this photo of pugs and bulldogs, gettin' along. Ready?


OKAY. Hi. Thanks for joining me on the crabby side of the blog. You won't be disappointed.
So. Today Dan and I went to the little old lady's house to help pack, or move, or really whatever they needed. We just wanted to be of service. It was simply how we were brought up. Someone needs help? YOU HELP, or drown in guilt forever. Your choice!
Her daughter flew in from Texas the day before. The original plan was to pack everything into storage and fly the little old lady out on Sunday. Well. That plan changed as soon as the daughter came in and saw the unbelievable mass of garbage/our new house. "Oh well, things happen, it seemed to good to be true anyway", we reasoned. HA! Reasoning!
The daughter seemed surprised to see us, though the old lady was expecting us. We were surprised to be the only other ones there. Out of her six children, her daughter from Texas was the only one there to help. No friends. No church members. No neighbors. No one else. We made a grand total of four.
So, we set about to work. Dan helped the daughter to take the truck(already loaded with the daughter's things- long story) to the storage unit. The old lady decided I would keep her company, so keep her company I did.
"Okay! What shall we do?" I asked, bright and cheerful. (I had not yet had the soul beaten out of me.)
"I have a box I'm working on in the bedroom."
"Okay!" (Yes, I was way too cheerful and enthusiastic. But don't worry, they did beat it out of me.) So, there in the bedroom was a three quarter full box. But we weren't packing the hodgepodge of items strewn around the bed. We were packing random objects from all around the bedroom. Items that were exactly the size of the spaces created. Previously packed items were taken out, reexamined, and placed again. When I placed an item in the box as directed by her, she removed said item and placed it in there better. Well, she's older and wiser! I've only been through 14 moves in the past 11 years. What do I know of packing?
It took a solid half hour to "fill" the box this way. She was very insistent that everything be placed right side up, regardless of containing liquid or being fragile. Or, you know, not. But! There were AIR SPACES between some of the objects! Priceless treasures, like the box of sardines. Old expired vitamins. Hair brushes. And more "survival kits" than you could shake a dead hamster at. So we bunched up old magazine pages in twos and threes and crammed them in. "TWOS AND THREES! It gives them enough weight!"
At last! We had finished packing a box! So, I grabbed the tape gun, and noticed it was already jammed. I pulled a little tape to get it working again, and then the yelling started back up. "DON'T WASTE THAT!!!" she cried, ripping the tape out of my hands. "I ONLY HAVE ONE ROLL LEFT!" (We won't mention the two other identical rolls sitting right there on her bed in plain sight. And that, you know, there simply is no more tape in all the world to be had.) "Push the sides together like this! No! Like THIS!" She squeezed the box so it was as close to perfectly square as she could get it. "BE CAREFUL! You don't want those inner pieces to buckle up at all!" Then I readied the tape gun again, now that the sides were held together perfectly, to tape the seam. "NO!! DON'T TAPE THE SEAM! You have to tape the other sides first so it will hold together!!" It was at this point that she just took the tape gun from me and did it her way. "PRESS IT DOWN TIGHT OVER THERE! YOU HAVE TO PRESS IT DOWN, I CAN'T REACH!!" She literally spoke mostly in all caps.
While we were on the floor, the phone rang. Repeatedly. "HOW CAN I ANSWER THE PHONE?? DON'T THEY KNOW I AM ON THE FLOOR?" She turned to me "THIS is why it has taken me so long to pack! I keep gettin' interrupted!" So she walked, slowly to retrieve the cordless phone from the living room. Never mind that there are cordless phones in literally every room of the house. She only answers that ONE. And places it back on the hook every time.
Lo, it was the next door neighbor calling. "Would you like any help? I'd be happy to come over." I could hear all this because the old lady kept the phone on speaker and talked into it, walkie talkie style.
"NO, we don't need any help. I'll call you later if we do."
I wanted to yell "Don't listen to her! WE NEED YOU! Come over, quick!!" But of course I did not, as that is only something a sane person might do. Ask for help. Was she really turning down help? Yes. Yes she was.
At long last, the first box was taped. "Where's my list? And pen? And glasses?" She had me fetch them from the living room table. (HA! A table in the dining room. You're silly! That's where you store milk crates full of pills!) I lifted up the box and placed it in order with a stack of similar boxes, heavy with their burden of expired crap.
"I need a cigarette break," she said, leading the way to the porch. Hey, a break! Great! I sat across from her on a rotting wood bench so as not to be in her direct downdraft. She then proceeded to tell me of the time she rescued a "gay woman" who was in a car accident and it "gave her the willies". I. Have. No. Words. For. This.
"Look at her over there. Working in her yard. How is she supposed to be able to help me if she's doing that?" The previously mentioned neighbor was pointed at with a cigarette. She didn't look particularly untrustworthy to me, BUT WHAT DO I KNOW?
At last, the oh-so-restful break was over, and we attacked another half filled box. And so it went for a few hours. She would hand me something to pack, I would do it, she would redo it. She had a fantastically charming way of packing as well.
FOR INSTANCE:
There was a desk in the bedroom. Instead of, say, packing one drawer at a time as a "normal" person might do, she examined carefully a few random objects in a drawer, picked perhaps one to place in the box we were working on, and put some other objects atop various piles in the bedroom. AND ON AND ON. AND ON.
In this fashion we packed a grand total of four boxes in three hours...three of which were already mostly packed when I got there. Oh, how she regaled me with stories of ungrateful young punks she'd rescued from the side of the road! And shared helpful tips, such as this gem:
"Never throw out brown sandwich bags! You can pack small framed photos in them. And it's much faster than newspaper. And stronger!"
Embroider that on a pillow, ladies and gents! WORDS TO LIVE BY. And you know what? The brown bags were faster! Why, she only had to walk slowly to the dining room, dig around in the buffet for a few minutes, and return to the room she was currently packing! MUCH FASTER THAN HAVING YOUR PACKING SUPPLIES HANDY. And how wonderful to have these things clutter up said buffet when you move so very often! My, have you only lived here for the past 14 years? BECAUSE IT SEEMS LIKE LONGER.
*deep breath*
Later during a truck packing break, I spoke with the daughter, who seemed to be a really nice person. "I kept asking, but Mom didn't even let me know for sure that she wanted help until Monday. And then plane tickets were so expensive! At least I have a friend who can help me get standby." YES. THAT IS CORRECT. She was refusing help from her daughter, too. INDEPENDENCE, YO.
Now, look. I'm a fairly independent person. I get it. I don't like to ask for help from anyone for anything. But moving is hard! Especially when you've been in a place for a very, very long time and your health isn't the greatest. Sooner or later, someone has to help you lift things. Isn't that what family is for?
It was at this point that I realized that we'll probably have a crazy, expired things hoarding, stubborn, help refusing old lady live in our house forever. And ever and ever and ever.
So, how was your Saturday? Because mine ROCKED.**



*G.D.P.U.D. Uh huh. Yes, I called them out. You want me to explain those letters baby? Cause I will! Don't cross me, Georgetown.

**Special mention to a special lady, Miss C, who will soon be our new neighbor! She came over without being specifically asked to help! And help she did, allllll day long. C is a gem! We heart C! C, if you are reading this, there is a giant Falker Satherhood cake coming your way. With extra sprinkles.

In which I am "helpful"

Things I "helped" pack at the little old lady's (really, our house, come Monday){Oh, did I not mention how escrow didn't quite close on Friday thanks to a certain public utility company* dragging their feet? Odd.} house today.

• Multiple fanny packs


• Gummy bears of mysterious age


• One very old package of sardines

All these items were in her bedroom. YES. BEDROOM. SARDINES. I KNOW!!

Okay. I'm going to warn you right now. This post might get long. And my little finger might just hit SHIFT an awful lot in the next couple of paragraphs. So if you like the non-complaining, happiness and sunshine Claire, just stop right now. Complaining will begin right after this photo of pugs and bulldogs, gettin' along. Ready?


OKAY. Hi. Thanks for joining me on the crabby side of the blog. You won't be disappointed.
So. Today Dan and I went to the little old lady's house to help pack, or move, or really whatever they needed. We just wanted to be of service. It was simply how we were brought up. Someone needs help? YOU HELP, or drown in guilt forever. Your choice!
Her daughter flew in from Texas the day before. The original plan was to pack everything into storage and fly the little old lady out on Sunday. Well. That plan changed as soon as the daughter came in and saw the unbelievable mass of garbage/our new house. "Oh well, things happen, it seemed to good to be true anyway", we reasoned. HA! Reasoning!
The daughter seemed surprised to see us, though the old lady was expecting us. We were surprised to be the only other ones there. Out of her six children, her daughter from Texas was the only one there to help. No friends. No church members. No neighbors. No one else. We made a grand total of four.
So, we set about to work. Dan helped the daughter to take the truck(already loaded with the daughter's things- long story) to the storage unit. The old lady decided I would keep her company, so keep her company I did.
"Okay! What shall we do?" I asked, bright and cheerful. (I had not yet had the soul beaten out of me.)
"I have a box I'm working on in the bedroom."
"Okay!" (Yes, I was way too cheerful and enthusiastic. But don't worry, they did beat it out of me.) So, there in the bedroom was a three quarter full box. But we weren't packing the hodgepodge of items strewn around the bed. We were packing random objects from all around the bedroom. Items that were exactly the size of the spaces created. Previously packed items were taken out, reexamined, and placed again. When I placed an item in the box as directed by her, she removed said item and placed it in there better. Well, she's older and wiser! I've only been through 14 moves in the past 11 years. What do I know of packing?
It took a solid half hour to "fill" the box this way. She was very insistent that everything be placed right side up, regardless of containing liquid or being fragile. Or, you know, not. But! There were AIR SPACES between some of the objects! Priceless treasures, like the box of sardines. Old expired vitamins. Hair brushes. And more "survival kits" than you could shake a dead hamster at. So we bunched up old magazine pages in twos and threes and crammed them in. "TWOS AND THREES! It gives them enough weight!"
At last! We had finished packing a box! So, I grabbed the tape gun, and noticed it was already jammed. I pulled a little tape to get it working again, and then the yelling started back up. "DON'T WASTE THAT!!!" she cried, ripping the tape out of my hands. "I ONLY HAVE ONE ROLL LEFT!" (We won't mention the two other identical rolls sitting right there on her bed in plain sight. And that, you know, there simply is no more tape in all the world to be had.) "Push the sides together like this! No! Like THIS!" She squeezed the box so it was as close to perfectly square as she could get it. "BE CAREFUL! You don't want those inner pieces to buckle up at all!" Then I readied the tape gun again, now that the sides were held together perfectly, to tape the seam. "NO!! DON'T TAPE THE SEAM! You have to tape the other sides first so it will hold together!!" It was at this point that she just took the tape gun from me and did it her way. "PRESS IT DOWN TIGHT OVER THERE! YOU HAVE TO PRESS IT DOWN, I CAN'T REACH!!" She literally spoke mostly in all caps.
While we were on the floor, the phone rang. Repeatedly. "HOW CAN I ANSWER THE PHONE?? DON'T THEY KNOW I AM ON THE FLOOR?" She turned to me "THIS is why it has taken me so long to pack! I keep gettin' interrupted!" So she walked, slowly to retrieve the cordless phone from the living room. Never mind that there are cordless phones in literally every room of the house. She only answers that ONE. And places it back on the hook every time.
Lo, it was the next door neighbor calling. "Would you like any help? I'd be happy to come over." I could hear all this because the old lady kept the phone on speaker and talked into it, walkie talkie style.
"NO, we don't need any help. I'll call you later if we do."
I wanted to yell "Don't listen to her! WE NEED YOU! Come over, quick!!" But of course I did not, as that is only something a sane person might do. Ask for help. Was she really turning down help? Yes. Yes she was.
At long last, the first box was taped. "Where's my list? And pen? And glasses?" She had me fetch them from the living room table. (HA! A table in the dining room. You're silly! That's where you store milk crates full of pills!) I lifted up the box and placed it in order with a stack of similar boxes, heavy with their burden of expired crap.
"I need a cigarette break," she said, leading the way to the porch. Hey, a break! Great! I sat across from her on a rotting wood bench so as not to be in her direct downdraft. She then proceeded to tell me of the time she rescued a "gay woman" who was in a car accident and it "gave her the willies". I. Have. No. Words. For. This.
"Look at her over there. Working in her yard. How is she supposed to be able to help me if she's doing that?" The previously mentioned neighbor was pointed at with a cigarette. She didn't look particularly untrustworthy to me, BUT WHAT DO I KNOW?
At last, the oh-so-restful break was over, and we attacked another half filled box. And so it went for a few hours. She would hand me something to pack, I would do it, she would redo it. She had a fantastically charming way of packing as well.
FOR INSTANCE:
There was a desk in the bedroom. Instead of, say, packing one drawer at a time as a "normal" person might do, she examined carefully a few random objects in a drawer, picked perhaps one to place in the box we were working on, and put some other objects atop various piles in the bedroom. AND ON AND ON. AND ON.
In this fashion we packed a grand total of four boxes in three hours...three of which were already mostly packed when I got there. Oh, how she regaled me with stories of ungrateful young punks she'd rescued from the side of the road! And shared helpful tips, such as this gem:
"Never throw out brown sandwich bags! You can pack small framed photos in them. And it's much faster than newspaper. And stronger!"
Embroider that on a pillow, ladies and gents! WORDS TO LIVE BY. And you know what? The brown bags were faster! Why, she only had to walk slowly to the dining room, dig around in the buffet for a few minutes, and return to the room she was currently packing! MUCH FASTER THAN HAVING YOUR PACKING SUPPLIES HANDY. And how wonderful to have these things clutter up said buffet when you move so very often! My, have you only lived here for the past 14 years? BECAUSE IT SEEMS LIKE LONGER.
*deep breath*
Later during a truck packing break, I spoke with the daughter, who seemed to be a really nice person. "I kept asking, but Mom didn't even let me know for sure that she wanted help until Monday. And then plane tickets were so expensive! At least I have a friend who can help me get standby." YES. THAT IS CORRECT. She was refusing help from her daughter, too. INDEPENDENCE, YO.
Now, look. I'm a fairly independent person. I get it. I don't like to ask for help from anyone for anything. But moving is hard! Especially when you've been in a place for a very, very long time and your health isn't the greatest. Sooner or later, someone has to help you lift things. Isn't that what family is for?
It was at this point that I realized that we'll probably have a crazy, expired things hoarding, stubborn, help refusing old lady live in our house forever. And ever and ever and ever.
So, how was your Saturday? Because mine ROCKED.**



*G.D.P.U.D. Uh huh. Yes, I called them out. You want me to explain those letters baby? Cause I will! Don't cross me, Georgetown.

**Special mention to a special lady, Miss C, who will soon be our new neighbor! She came over without being specifically asked to help! And help she did, allllll day long. C is a gem! We heart C! C, if you are reading this, there is a giant Falker Satherhood cake coming your way. With extra sprinkles.