It's been very nice staying at the new house. Very exciting. Also very frustrating. We have a lot of conversations that go something like this: "What shall we have for a quick supper? Mexican pizzas sound good?" After the agreement, we pick up a can of fatfree refried beans while we're out and about looking for a clothes hamper. I already have the salsa, the cheddar, and the jalepenos in the fridge, as well as the tortillas, so it seemed like a logical supper. We get home and stand there looking at each other, me holding the can of refried beans. The can opener is at the other house. Back out to get a can opener.
Last night, we just decided to get a pizza, since I had to run to the store to get shelf paper. Neither of us was actually hungry hungry. So I get the shelf paper and the pizza and get back home. I find myself standing stupidly (yet again) in the kitchen holding the shelf paper. "We don't have scissors here, do we?" (Of course we don't...) We also don't have the baking sheet for the pizza. (Oh this is getting better by the minute...)
That is one of the downfalls of moving a little bit at a time. What you need is always at the other house.
We had one wangdoodle of a storm the night of the can opener debacle. I drove down our brick street and watched the water rushing from the uphilll driveways like actual rivers with currents. (We are one of the uphill driveways, btw.) I was in water so deep that it 'threw' the car as I moved through the water, which was a little frightening. The lightning was brilliant and the rain so torrential that inside the store it was all that you could hear, the rain on the roof. Tornadoes touched down twice just over the New York State border. (We are about 12 miles from the New York State line.) I tried to remember. I don't believe that we've had a storm this violent during the whole course of the summer. We kept the radio on, since we do not have the internet hooked up yet at the new house, nor the television service.
Other breaking news? Well. We've got curtains in 5 of the 26 windows. (Woot!) We've got our bedroom set up and it is nice. I've got my cappuccino machine there. The newspaper is switched over and coming to our house downtown. When I called to change the delivery address, the person verifed the old address, entered the new address, and then said, "Where do you want it delivered?" Me: (blankly): "Um...at the 417 address?" The person, patiently: "I mean, where do you want her to put your newspaper? Front porch? Back porch? Driveway?" In the country, they just put it in your newspaper box at the end of your driveway. I've never had a choice before, and it made me laugh. Life in the 'big city' is going to be different alright. Remembering the water rushing out of the driveway, I told them to leave the paper at the side portico, to insure that my paper didn't wash down the street during the first storm. The side portico is covered, and there is no need for the paper person to walk all the way to the back of the house.
This morning, I was ironing my 'professional attire' for school. There was a knock on the uncurtained window that nearly made me jump out of my skin. Justin stood outside the window grinning. I let him in and he blabbed to Tim while he finetuned the flame adjustments on the gas stove. Somehow, our neighbor had managed to miss that we were living there now.
At school, under the advisement other students, I just decided to meet with my advisor, the one who had gotten so angry. We'll discuss the situation. It is unfair for me to be in a situation where I feel that one wrong word is going to get me pulled from field work next semester. I've got too much invested in this to lose the opportunity to graduate. My grades are solid, and I've done the work. It should not all hang on one disagreement over a letter to an elected official. I've also been advised that there is a counselling center, where you can request an advocate attend the meeting with you. I'll give her the benefit of the doubt, that she also spoke hastily and angrily, saying things far more strongly than she meant to. If however, this meeting does not go well, I will request another with an advocate.
Tim has an appointment with a neurosurgeon in Erie next week for his back/leg/foot/pain/numbness/burning. He'll be released to go back to work this week, which I don't quite understand, but we are hopeful that this can be 'cured'. He's been miserable, and so have I.