Scarlett’s Daily (or so) Diary 2/19/2013 – Tampons, Ice Cream and Beer

Tampons, Ice Cream and a Beer

The highlight of my day? I guess so. A trip to Walgreens for tampons and ice cream. Now, to cap it off with a beer.

Moving is a bitch. Especially considering it’s my fifth move in five years. I’m moving the contents of a three bedroom house to two bedrooms in my mother’s house, which, by the way, are both stuffed full of the accumulation of the nearly fifty years she has lived there. Everything she thinks she should keep but doesn’t really want or know what to do with has been sequestered into every nook and cranny in these two bedrooms. As far as I can tell, this matter consists mostly of old, dusty bank statements in boxes so ancient, the black magic marker has faded to pink, utility bills so old, the monthly bill cost, in total, about what a kilowatt hour costs now , recipes she’s never cooked, newspaper clippings, old paperback books, magazines from the 1960’s, a stack four inches high of my Facebook timeline news my dad printed for her to read over the course of several years, that are now well over a year old, and so, no longer news, and other oddities people gave her that she is keeping out of duty, or guilt, and that require dusting. This has required three telephone conversations, so far, today. I’m a little afraid of what may be stuffed in the mattresses, as they are a bit stiff and unforgiving to sleep on, and so will be replaced with my lovely, new, pillow top mattress immediately upon arrival this weekend.

On my end, I am orchestrating the exodus from Sacramento, where I have lived (or nearby) for the past thirty plus years, back to Napa, where I grew up. I am not particularly delighted by this, though everyone I talk to seems a bit envious about it all. According to The Atlantic, today, Napa is the happiest town in the United States, based on a 10 million tweet study. How? My assumption is that the tweets, which were measured on their contents of “happy words”, like “food”, “wine” and “cheers”, were strictly from tourists, not residents. Tourists who got to go home after luxuriating in Napa and shop in their town’s nice shopping malls and work out at premium health clubs and shop at a grocery store like mine, that has a bier garten and live music. These things do not exist in Napa. I guess what Napa lacks in good shopping malls and gyms it makes up for in wine. Truthfully, I can get a wider selection of Napa wine for way less dinero at my favorite shopping center here in the Sacramento area. I guess I’ll come back here to shop, work out, and buy wine. I’ll sleep in Napa.

Regarding the move, though, I am quite proud of myself. My adult children are all off, busy with their lives. I have no man about the house, mine is not so conveniently located 3,000 miles away. My mom is 89 years old and though she means well, is not much help at moving stuff. I single handedly packed 55 boxes, loaded them all into a cargo van, drove it to Napa, unloaded it completely, went out to lunch with Mom, drove back to Sacramento, and helped my son move an enormous couch, television and entertainment center to his new abode. In one day.

This coming weekend, again, without any assistance other than my VISA card and the internet, I have carefully delineated the rental of two different moving vans, two men in Sacramento followed exactly four hours later by two renta-men in Napa to load and unload the big stuff. I have also coordinated with to the moment precision, the transfer of all my utilities, internet, and phone services via a chat session online. I think I could run a war.

Tonight, after my beer, while enjoying my Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream, right out of the carton, I am going to try to bundle up another twenty boxes of my life, all carefully labeled and sealed shut with color-coded, room specific packing tape. I am preparing for full mobilization this weekend, carefully balanced with looming project deadlines at work, a strict fitness schedule which was forsaken yesterday and today, and a social life. So, as they say in Napa, “cheers”!

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