by Mark Perlberg
How odd to look across the way and note
the Hymans, neighbors for a generation,
are gone. Strange not to see a glimmer of light
in any window as I pass by, or Ida, bent and wiry,
climbing her stoop with a bag of groceries,
or tending the doctor, neatly dressed, asleep in his chair
on the porch, his light dimmed by a succession of strokes.
I was shocked when Ida called to say she sold
the building: two stories high, smooth gray brick,
solid as a bank. Then, one day, the big truck came,
Thirty years gone. Just like that.
Don't know whether it's appropriate or coincidence, but life has moved quickly here in the last week. We are in the midst of buying a house about 200 miles away from CinCity.
A retreat of sorts. Make that a retreat with no furniture and a yard that needs mowing but, I've got lots of books and mismatched linens to fill up empty rooms. And, a telescope I believe will be much more functional away from the city glare. In fact, the house here is being slowly dotted with hot pink Post-It notes of potential items to be disentangled from the clutter that is attached to our life.
Did I mention the second house has a detached 2 car garage with utilities? That's what sold it for my hubby--he's in some serious love. The rest of us love the fact that we're four houses away from some serious water. The grrrls envision sunbathing. I envision contemplating. To-may-toe/To-mah-toe.
This falls in the midst of the painting-palooza in HoneyHaired's room and caring for an 84 year old mother who doesn't want any help, except when she does want help which is rightdamnnow. And an inspector--Clousseau I hope--from the Payusbackorwebreakyourlegs Loan Office is coming to our home on Tuesday. Hubby's working, HoneyHaired's working, which leaves an open field for me to sort, toss, and clean without anyone asking why I'm throwing away that magazine or this empty coffee can. I realize both could come in very handy someday and I will rue the day, but we can get more. Right down at the local IGA. Tons of magazines and big, plastic coffee containers looking for homes.
At work I've been asked to take over the Preceptoring committee, also to give an 8 hour lecture on Neuro to the new critical care nurses in orientation. I'm not really certain how to get 8 hours of "the skull bone's connected to the eye bone, the eye bone's connected to the jaw bone..." unless maybe I do it in mime, but you can see there is big thinking to be done here.
I may be around the blogoshere, but if I am, please nag at me to get my work done. It's time for Grasshopper to get busy. Apparently lectures don't write themselves and Snow White isn't stopping by to tidy up. Who knew?