Products.

The list of products purchased for one little shelter dog, who no one would have missed from the world had we not gotten him (I refuse to say adopted; he is not a child):

• Walking harness
• Leash
• Front-clip walking harness
• Kong toy
• Second Kong toy
• Head halter
• Dog bed
• Kennel
• Doghouse
• Special couch blanket
• Interactive chewy ball
• Container to hold both kongs and chewy ball
• Two toys and one nylabone he will not use
• Citronella spray collar
• A series of 7 disgustingly ugly Ikea rugs for the main level of our home so that he can stop skittering across the hardwoods in terror
• Clicker
• a LOT of treats
• Thundershirt (monogrammed - thanks to John, not me; he loves personalization!)

Sigh. 

Teeter Totter

I have been so sure the SIBO is going to be gone. And then I get struck with fear, and am so sure it is not gone. I can't do this diet for much longer; well, in fact, I'm not doing it now. I have been sneaking little cheats more days than not. So my punishment will surely be SIBO forever, right? So it goes - back and forth, back and forth - or as my brother said when he was a toddler, "Back and thorf, back and thorf."

The results are not in yet, and today is a day where I am certain it is gone. I have noticed that I "recover" digestively from the cheat foods faster and faster; it must be gone, then, right? But I still need a little time to recover, so it must not be gone then, right? Gah!

And in the middle of it all, we're getting used to Reno. And he's getting used to us. He looms large in my daily existence; I think about him (ahem, I worry about him) when I'm away from the house. Is he bored? Is he getting into trouble? Is he eating the rawhide bone and not just chewing it properly? If he's in the house, does he have to pee or poop? If he's outside, is he scratching at the fence or digging? All the anxiety, at this point, is outweighing the fun parts. Yes, he's cute. And yes, it's lovely to sit right now with him curled up on his blanket at the end of the couch (we're doing pretty well with keeping him to his 'place' there). He is funny when he's in sniff-mode on our morning walks. But he also could give two shits about loose-leash walking most of the time, and pulls all of his 19 pounds against the leash, and then barely acknowledges my existence when John is around, he is mostly too timid to go up the stairs, and he sheds like a bastard. Life was a lot easier before he was around. I can't remember why I wanted to get him so bad in the first place.

He also hates the rain, which is really funny. He stops every third of a block to shake - which makes walking a long process - and sometimes will not come out from under a tree when it's raining hard. He stood under my legs the other day and looked me so plaintively; what the heck is this wet crap?! So the natural next step is... to buy him a raincoat! Tah dah:

But even I question - does a doggie raincoat really need a hoodie on it? 

And no - we have not used it yet. 

Last Night in Pommern, August 1.

(As written in my journal that day; grammar and minor edits only. Italicized portions are additions written after the trip.)

I'm sitting watching the sun set, and thinking how I wanted to feel the air and see the light in Africa - would it be so different? 

Yes and no. It reminds me of remote Montana or Canada in clarity and vividness - and yet there is something different. There's a heightened sense of isolation, of danger. Like, something bad happens out here and sister, you're on your own. That gives it excitement - but a wary edginess I can't shake, no matter what time of day, no matter whether I'm outside or in the mission house. 

Maybe Maslow's layer of security makes us soft Americans, but displaying a tender heart is what Pema counsels us to have. Is poverty different in a Buddhist society? Although, things that are part of society here are not stolen - our iPods would be, but that neither the pile outside the clinic nor the bikes, bricks or lumber we see outside the Lutheran church for days are. So perhaps this is as peaceful a place - minus teachers with sticks, of course!! - as it can get. Or is it a detente of sorts? A recognition that you don't take bread out of a hungry man's mouth, even you're starving too - even if you're starving more. 

I've also been thinking today, after the clinic experience, about my possessions - things here, like the little nail clippers I brought and just used, that work so perfectly for their one exact use - and things awaiting me at home, like the exact right clothing for a mood, for the weather, for a celebration or mourning at hand. And people told me, and I expected, to think of my possessions with awe at how much, too much, I have. But you know what? I don't think that.

I think... I'm so grateful to have what I do, and I have long been trying to value it all by only keeping things I love. I already work to implement rules. No continuing to wear something I don't feel great in. No more decor pieces I used to like, or was given as a gift and I feel too guilty to give to Salvation Army. No extras - we currently have only one set of sheets, a half dozen towels, no good china (just one set of dishes I like and use daily), no more clothes than can all fit into my closet at any one, single time (a full ban on seasonal wear that cycles in and out of storage!). 

So I look around here at people who own so little and I don't feel guilty for what I have because I'm not unconscious about it. It's not wrong to possess an item because it brings joy or beauty or function or ease to my life. It is wrong, maybe, to possess an item I don't use, like, or enjoy. 

So it hits me. I expected to discover totally new things on this trip - new realizations, thoughts, conclusions about human nature and history and spiritual life, revelations about the rest of my own life! But - that has - I think - universally not occurred.

Instead, all the revelations - the aha moments - and experiences and ideas here are connected to current ones. I see the through-lines of my own growth and spiritual maturation. What brought me here continues to be experienced here, and will continue when I get home. Everywhere I go, there I am. There's nothing new under the sun, or even inside me. All of the learning, here, is part of what I already wanted out of life, what I already seek - giving up control in order to be freer, calmer, more loving and compassionate and kind. Giving up rigidity in order to experience joy and surprise, to be present in the moment with gratitude. And, I sigh as I write this. It's so fucking hard. 

I stop short here of saying "be happier" though because I don't pursue happiness, as a general rule. I don't use happiness as a yardstick to measure much of anything. I use novelty, excitement, especially accomplishment and completion, to judge success. When those line up, happiness probably follows. But I'm a terrible judge of putting happiness first - usually, I end up overeating, over drinking, oversleeping or oversharing, and the thing that was supposed to make me happy makes me bloated, tired, embarrassed or hung over. 

Far better to use the other yardsticks, and far better to keep a continued, and ever-honed, sharp eye on my possessions as a tool to ensure this feeling of value, appreciation... real gratitude even in material things... is not at all out of place. 

July 21: Dar Es Salaam to Iringa, Part 2.

(As written in my journal that day; grammar and minor edits only. Italicized portions are additions written after the trip.)

On the radio, we learn a new phrase. "Drop it hot!" the DJ says. (Mom, that should be "drop it like it's hot".) Meggie and I giggle (she finally woke up!) and claim we're going to start saying, "Drop it hot" at home on the dance floor.

We stop for lunch at a nice but creepily empty tourist hotel and though it has changed so slowly, it hits me that we're in the mountains now, past Morogoro (not Ngorongoro, please, how could you confuse them?!), and when we comment that it looks like rain, Mohammed says, "No. No rain. No rain while you are here."

We drive. We get tired. People are nodding off. My dad told me an African sunset is so fast - from light to dark likethat - but our climb into hill country extends a long sunset that just gets better, and better, and better, and then - gone. (I didn't take any pictures.) It's so wide - it's a sunset that spans a horizon of two normal sunsets at home. I actually look all the way behind me to see if it meets on the dark side of the horizon.

The final 2 kilometers into Iringa Town are uphill and there's a vicious speed bump every 20 yards or so - that government again, keeping the cars slow but not thinking to put in stoplights or streetlights or sidewalks or crosswalks most of the time.

This is Iringa Town, but the photo was the next day; we arrive in the dark:

Iringa Town suburbs, headed down the hill out of town, over the speed bumps but again, taken the next day:

We arrive at the Lutheran Center of Iringa and when we step out of the car - brrrr! It is not just chilly, and we're not just road weary. It is downright COLD. We're at 5200 feet elevation and it's not more than 51 degrees with a big gusty wind. I almost didn't pack a coat, and boy I'm sure glad I did!

The Center is like a little hostel or dorm, run by the church, where each double or triple room has a private bathroom, and there's a little dining room/cafeteria. We're served the best chicken cashew curry I've ever had, over rice with a semi-crunchy slaw (ah! crunch! the satisfaction!). Cashews are one of Tanzania's main exports,  and the only street food we've eaten so far, purchased through the car window. Edward warned us last night. "I know my people, and they do not know how to cook scientifically like your people. Do not eat street food. You'll get sick. No street food." He will repeat this almost every day while we're here - no street food! And street food includes food cooked in peoples' homes. But the cashews, oh, the cashews. Roasted, totally plain, and still almost a little springy - this freshness not found in a super-roasted-to-a-crisp-for-the-trip-around-the-world-tkind at Trader Joe's.

The Evangelical Lutheran Church of Tanzania - ELCT - is the country host for Global Volunteers. So while GV is the 501 C 3 non-denominational program we've paid to be part of, GV works in many countries and in each one, they are hosted by a local organization who helps identify the needs of a given community, and run the daily schedule of volunteers. It's a serious attempt to avoid the dictatorial American approach, and in many countries, including in Tanzania, the local host is a church. Churches, after all, are used to desperate need and trying to do a lot for a lot with a little. None of our volunteers are Lutheran (I'll later find out the family is devout Roman Catholic and we so have one more Unitarian Universalist, along with Meggie and I, who dabble in UUism). But the host organization is Lutheran, and so we know we'll be asking for permission and a blessing tomorrow from the regional Bishop, and we agree to abide by the rules. From what I can tell, this is actually just one rule - if you drink alcohol, do so in the house or private fenced backyard of where we'll live in the village, but not on the front porch or in the front yard. Beyond that, blessings and prayers and gratitude to God exist and are expressed, but are far from in our face, and this little church center seems more focused on feeding us well and switching on the mini hot water heater in our bathroom than trying to convert anyone evangelically. Perhaps it's because they think we're already saved, since we're staying there?

We find out that the majority of our bags won't be coming down off the roof of the vans tonight - and tempers flare. People's politeness begins to fade, shit starts getting laid bare, the first snappy words are exchanged. I decide to not engage in one exchange when their exhaustion from 12+ hours in the car turns to pettiness, and of course my favorite co-volunteer, Leslie, has a good natured laugh at us all. She still has no bag, and no word from the airline or the Dar airport on when it might arrive. It could be, as far as we know, gone forever. And here we are, worried about one night!

That said... I keep my mouth shut and refuse to complain but, oh, on the inside, I'm incredibly grateful to have stuck a pair of underwear, a tee shirt and toothbrush into my backpack, sitting in the van with me, and not up on top! I am sad to not have my mouthguard (I never sleep without it) but the consolation is that Meggie's bag is one of the minority to come down, so I'm treated to the kinds of nice-smelling lotions and good hair goop that I often don't even have at home, and so after a hot shower, I begin journaling, under my mosquito net, but am ready to crash.

Breakfast will be at 7:30. We will buy most of the supplies and food we need for two weeks - and then we'll travel another two hours by dirt road to Pommern, our village home. The real Africa, Edward tells us. "My Africa."

July 19/20, right around midnight - Dar Es Salaam

(As written in my journal that day; grammar and minor edits only.)

Drive from the airport to the hotel... so many people out at 9 PM, running between speeding cars without any streetlights or crossings... the frightening lack of sidewalks... blowing dust everywhere, in our eyes through open car windows... little strip malls that remind me of San Jose, Costa Rica. Motorcycles have a surprisingly high number of helmet wearers - but most of them have no brake lights!

There are Karibu Obama banners on every pole (Welcome, Obama) from his visit two weeks ago. Then my Portland credit union debit cards works at the ATM! Yes! Digital travel alert win. Rebecca said to touch the ground when I land - with my feet or my hands - since it's been so long since I've been connected to the earth. I do so with my hands in sight of the Indian Ocean. I'm amazed the long transit was bearable; I am a little buzzy when I sit still right now to write, outside our hotel on the plaza. It's warm - 80s - but breezy. So many billboards are in English and we pass a huge mosque of praying faithful; it's Ramadan.

I have been glad about twenty times already that I chopped my hair off.

Meggie and I spent a lot of time observing a couple with two young kids on the plane. Incredible teamwork. I commented to her (the mom) on it when deplaning and they both sort of smiled, flustered, but at Customs we were standing by each other again, and she told us how much it meant to her to hear that, and it made her feel they were doing something right.

Waiting for my bag to come out on the carousel, I gasp. I left my beloved pink hoodie on the plane! I have no choice and no language; I rapidly accept losing it - only to glance over at a man walking by, who has it over his arm! I get it back from the older man, shuffling through the baggage claim, headed for Lost + Found.

Note from Future Me: This pink hoodie will be highly valued, I'll come to find out, as it will be much, much colder than anyone expected once we get to the village! 

This reminds me of the iPhone back at O'Hare in Chicago... I was sitting at a charging station and having my oatmeal, when a woman next to me continued to unpack her bag, increasingly frantic. She mutters that she can't find her phone. Digs more. Realizes she left it at the Starbucks and asks her kid to watch the luggage - aggressively asks - and goes over to the kiosk. She comes back and says to her kid, her neighbor at the charging station, and anyone in earshot, "Wow, the employee said it was not there, she was sorry. She was totally serious and then a customer in line spotted it on the counter! Tucked away! She asked about it and I got it back! What a sneak! I almost didn't! Can you believe that?" (Actually, I can.)

So there's a moment from hours ago to contrast how another person's possessions are treated in the U.S. and here. And I know that it can, and will, go the other way in a heartbeat. Because what does an old man need a hot pink hoodie for? An iPhone on the other hand would probably be welcome.

However, it is still my memory of welcome (karibu!) to Tanzania.

-- -- --

Two photos below of the view from our hotel room door, toward the ocean and toward the lobby. 

It's hot, humid, and smells of disinfectant mop water. We have air conditioning and a hot shower here. The hard and squeaky double bed was a welcome sight to us both! So happy to share it, and to dig out our toothpaste... but NO brushing with tap water we decided. 

Time to take our malaria pills on the new time zone; mine at night and hers in the morning. 

It's a nice hotel by Dar standards; the Western toilets flush decently if not perfectly, and there is slow wi-fi to use. It's in a very safe little public compound with shops, a grocery store, a restaurant, an ice cream parlor. We find out later that this was the first transition point to the village life we'd be in. The first night, we paid for our room and crashed into a bizarre, jet-lagged sleep. 

We awoke at 7 AM to construction outside the room; the second night was officially part of the Global Volunteers program, when all our food/water/lodging/transport was covered by the program fee.

July 18: More In Transit

Airport in Chicago. I get my oatmeal breakfast and don't realize I have to exit security and be re-screened. I dash over to the Terminal 5 International departures... there are about 150 people milling around with no apparent order. Someone near me asks, "Is this the right place for international departures?" and is told, "Yes, it was very slow earlier so we didn't set out the queue ropes." I actually chuckle out loud and think, this is good preparation for what I've heard about the so-called organization in Africa.

Swiss Air Flight to Zurich. Swiss Air is seriously better. The seats, the service, the food (free), the design of the tray tables, the bathroom sinks, the little personal TV remotes rather than touch-screens that just make you end up punching your neighbor's seat. My very beautiful seat mate, a young woman reading Hebrew but who speaks English to the steward, may be lovely to look at - but she does not believe in deodorant.

The Zurich airport at 6:25 AM is a amazing. Silent. Clean. Squared Away:

Zurich. I lost my Elemental water bottle on the plane. It's just past midnight at home but I am wide awake. I'm waiting for Meggie to arrive. The night before I travel anywhere, I distract the gods by asking John with a smile, "I wonder what I forgot to pack?" So far, over the Atlantic? I've forgotten:

• Pocket knife
• Prescription nasal spray for my post-nasal-drip issues that happen, from time to time
• To use the State Department's registry program to tell them where I'll be (if I need to be retrieved)

You learn something new every day.

Today, I learned the second half of an old idiom, that I had never, not once, heard before!

Run it up the flagpole, and see if anyone salutes.

How did I not know this!?

No bounds.

As you know, I hate throwing out consumables - namely, food. Anything that can be used up entirely SHOULD be used up entirely. And tossing a little sour milk, wilted veggie or uneaten leftover causes in me a level of anxiety inappropriate to the amount of food being thrown out.

So, it is with a laugh I share with you my delight at discovering that our bottle of Robitussin Adult Nighttime Cough, Cold & Flu has about 3 doses left in the bottle - AND it expires 11/11! It makes me so happy, even as I am sick, to know that we'll use this up before it expires, and won't have to throw out a single drop.

(And hey - I was raised by a father who put a little water in the ketchup or salad dressing bottle, to get out every last bit. At least I'm not that far gone (yet) since the gross memories of watery Ranch dressing still linger.)

In brief: 2 Tuesday observations.

#1: Just when I thought we got rid of the circular saw to the left of our house, now we have one behind us! I don't know what they are building, but they were freaking building it when I left for the bus-that-has-shown-up-14-minutes-late two days in a row now at 7:50 this morning, and they are freaking building it right now. It's been two weeks. Work smarter, people!

#2: Waiting at said bus stop, I had a nice conversation (OK, I listened kindly but contributed very little to her monologue) with a woman who was carrying a lot of cans to recycle, talked about all the gang activity in recent weeks in NE Portland, then let me know she was waiting for the teenagers at the Urban Educational Center on the corner to leave before she did "this" - which was smoking a joint at 8:05 AM - on the way to her babysitting gig.

In brief: 2 Monday observations.

#1: A large crumb (or a small chunk?) of chocolate chip cookie on top of the toilet paper holder in the public bathroom of my office building. You have to make up a good back story, am I right?

#2: Woman X in pilates class says, "What did you do today?" and Woman Z replies, "Oh, you know, made more yogurt." Long pause. "And I spent a long time in the yard." Stretching resumed...

Another new one!

The first thing in our new house broke last night! The kitchen sink!

I can't even imagine what causes water to gracefully arc out of the side of the faucet (somewhere in the middle of the neck; was it hit with a pan?), but that is what we have.

Some plumbing tape, covered with duct tape, and I said: "Heck, in my house growing up, we'd have left it like that for a couple weeks." (My father's dishwasher has been broken since 1997. I am not joking. He just uses a little bucket to hold the door up, so it does not fall to the ground when loading. Old Yankee thriftiness taken to the extreme.)

But that is not how John's family operated. Nor how he operates now. Ahem.

And because I'm nothing if not honest... this literally happened in the midst of my asking John the last time he cleaned a bathroom in this new house, the last time he swept the living room in this new house (two things I was doing at the time), and so even I have to then admit that while I may do the lion's share of the day to day, were it up to me, we'd be soon living full-time either with duct tape or be out whatever ungodly amount a plumber charges to put in a new faucet.

But, Emily!, you must be saying. Your husband has a theater degree and a finance degree! What could he know about fixing and installing things!? And so to those folks -- and those parents who might worry a theater degree has no real world application -- I say to thee three words: set design class.

The man can cut, he can measure, he can saw, he can use a power drill and more... and has a layer of aesthetic appreciation, too. In the middle of the kitchen loss, that's what we call a win-win.

Attitudes

OK, OK, if it IS all in my attitude... see below... then I'm taking suggestions, advice, directions - even orders. This funny and sigh-worthy post about entropy, and how our homes just keep marching toward disorder, is so terrifically true.

The advice I seek: how do I change my attitude?

The background: those close to me know I am, oh, um, a bit of a clean freak. And not just a clean-countertops, swept-garage sort of clean freak. I am only satisfied when all papers are filed, closets are organized (color coordinated sometimes), cabinets are stocked, bills are paid, lists are made and no item is in the house that does not get used. Not an extra set of sheets, not a sock that lost its mate, not a painting I've grown bored of, not a birthday card two months out of date. Out, out, out!

The question: with a very high need for cleanliness... which I claim brings me mental clarity and that sought-after, ever-elusive state of "relaxation"... while living in a world that tends toward entropy... how do I adjust expectations?

What mantras do you have, what patterns do you swear by or what magical potion do you seek that lets you embrace entropy from time to time, and still find metal clarity, relaxation, and life lived joyfully (if on the messy side in your very own home!)?

Conquered. (Once.)

I braved Costco today on a bad day... it was the first day their new coupons were valid, AND it was a federal holiday where some workers and most schoolchildren had the day off. I went into it with no timeline, a totally relaxed and zen approach, with a commitment to be genuinely nice to anyone I interacted with.

And?

Success! Sure, I came home drained and was emotionally unable to make the *other* errand stops I intended to complete, but I had a real smile for every employee, I let everyone push their carts in front of me, I never took the last sample from the tray. Even in both the parking lot AND the gasoline line I smiled and held open the metaphorical door for others.

I don't like to let pithy proverbs win, but it's true today: it IS all in your attitude. And when going to Costco, be prepared for the worst, and when it arrives, greet it with a smile -- and plenty of time on hand.

Impact

Our new house is just that - new. There is no need to replace, update or install sinks, floors, doors, fixtures, handles, paint or cabinets. However, to make the rule there must be one exception, and ours is that one of the toilet seats is nicked and scratched and missing paint, and also is a mismatch for the toilet itself. This weekend, we replaced it. And I realized that of all the mounds of garbage I've seen or read about in the world's landfills - the refrigerators, the toilet seats, the old drywall, the scuffed floorboards - I have never directly put part of a house in that mound. And that's a good thing for 29 years of living with rental toilets (with wooden seats), rental showers (with lilac tiling), rental screen doors (complete with rips) and rental paint (always white)... but it's also the beginning of a new search for ways to recycle all manner of trash. The toilet seat, I fear, it headed for the landfill, but John balanced our environmental pro-con list and installed this:




Our new 55 gallon rain barrel! I have to figure out how to paint it or cover it in decals, because as water-saving as it may be, it still needs to earn it's aesthetic keep around here.

Personal Inventory: Purses.

Perhaps I own more suitcases than purses. Perhaps.

Ok, yes.

I do. At this very moment.

But, there are suitcases now IN the trunk of the car, ready for the Goodwill drive-up drop-off!! I am down to three suitcases (S, M and L) a backpack and two more overnight/weekend-sized bags. What can I say? Suitcases represent travel, and travel represents financial flexibility, and financial flexibility represents happiness. It's a very snug, neat and comforting loop.

But, on to the purses. The classic women's accent piece.

I own six. Two are regular sized, every day types. Four are very small "going out dressing up" bags.

Hmm.

First, I am not a purse person; I don't salivate over LVs or Birkins or the like. But in the personal inventory department, this count seems poorly planned. Of the two normal ones, one was a college graduation gift (circa 2003) and one is badly shaped and can barely zip up (circa 2008).

But the four tiny (and adorable!) ones... they hardly take up any space! One is shiny! And gold and from my wedding day! Could I pare down to two from four? Taking a boulder of salt in hand with my first world problems here, it seems reasonable to have a 5-to-1 ratio of shoes to purses. Keeping that previous inventory at 20 means keeping this at 4. Two tiny and two normal.

Oh, I know what you're asking. Is it OCD-like behavior to create a 5-to-1 ratio? Certainly. But in a consumption-based society, without any limits, with endless pressure to buy! buy! buy! and replace! replace! replace! with new! new! new! items, I respond well to firm boundaries.

Besides, when I say it out loud, FOUR PURSES seems insane. Who needs three more things to back up the one thing they carry!? That hauls around even more stuff?! It's madness! And it's decided. 5-to-1. I will report back with obituaries on the two tiny purses that get the axe.

PS. I have not included my briefcase computer bag in all this. It's, like, a totally different thing, duh!

Personal Inventory: Shoes.

Heading into my 29th year next week, it feels like a good time to take some personal inventories. And what easier way to start than with the tangibles? So we begin with... shoes.

Oft called a woman's favorite thing, I have not normally given them too much thought. However, with a professional job and princess-and-the-pea feet who steadfastly prefer fine brands, this is as good a place as any to take stock, and start a new trend of consuming consciously.

Current count: 21 pairs. This includes two pairs of flip flops, which need to be tossed and replaced with one quality pair. It includes one pair of Sorel winter boots (because you will never really be able to take the Montana out of the girl), and one pair of heels that will be given to Goodwill after they are worn in a wedding later this year. It does not include a pair of ski boots or a pair of scuba diving booties, as I think these are sportswear and not footwear, and it does not include thoroughly beat up, mangled, old, scuzzo sneakers that live in the car permanently -- in case it breaks down in the middle of nowhere and I need to walk a distance (again, see girl + Montana).

In my heart of hearts, I'd like to own no more than 10 pairs of shoes at any given time. However, even for me this is pretty ambitious, the ugly American that I am, so I'm going to start with a solid 20 as the limit. From here on out, if a new pair gets bought, an old pair gets tossed. It already gives me goal... one old Payless pair of sneakers for real athletic shoes and the other old Payless pair for cute (non-running) sneakers; one old pair o' scuffed boots for work-appropriate fancy-lady boots, etc.

So, onward! And next up: purses. (We may as well get the classic women's wear out of the way first.)

So of course... if you'd like to share... how many shoes are in your closest(s) and trunk(s) and garage(s) and hallway(s)?

From the Annals of (New) Homeownership:

Things built or put together this weekend:
- 3 curtain rods (2 for curtains, 1 for displaying an antique quilt)
- industrial strength garage shelves; 3 shelves, roughly 6 feet high by 6 feet wide and the most glorious example of organization I have ever assisted in constructing
- 1 dimmer switch
- 1 bookshelf-from-a-box

Things gotten rid of this weekend:
- all the weird mish-mash of plants in the front yard (remaining? a great lavendar, a great rosemary and a mysterious but adorable shrub)
- all the boxes from moving
- spider webs from all around the eaves and front door

Things given to us for free by neighbors this weekend:
- 2 very large bottles of beer
- the salad greens for dinner, rinsed and sitting in the colander right now

And now the real accounting... things bought this weekend:
- 1 large living room rug
- 1 large rug pad
- 1 chocolate brown cozy living room chair
- 1 delicate pink throw that the guest room NEEDED
- all the parts needed for constructing the aforementioned garage shelves
- 2 throw pillows that will be returned (probably)
- 1 bookshelf-in-a-box
- 18 other necessary items, ahem, from Home Depot

Meals bought at a restaurant (take out) this weekend:
1 lunch, 1 dinner

Meals cooked at home this weekend:
1 dinner, 2 breakfasts

Meals eaten at someone else's house this weekend:
1 dinner

The best part of the weekend is that we put the boxes on Craiglist for free, and shoved 'em to the end of the driveway. Two minutes later, one of our very nice and friendly neighbors asked if he could have them... and took about 90%. Then he brought us two large beers as thanks! Quoth John, "He took away the boxes AND gave us beer? Now that's a win win."

Arrival: Adulthood

This past weekend marked a huge milestone in adulthood... the final stop, in fact! I'm financially independent, sure, but this past weekend all of my worldly possessions made it into ONE place: my apartment. (And car.) Nothing I own lives at my parents house anymore, and there is a coziness in knowing that I operate from one base in the world. Starting now.