Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Welcome... please come in... I was just meditating...
Did you hear knocking? We all heard knocking, from downstairs. The doorbell went out ages ago, so you have to knock and hard to be heard over our daily din.
Our front door is all glass, and there are large sidelights on either side, so going downstairs is a risk and commitment. You will not get even half way down the stairs unseen by anyone at the front door. Cleaning up breakfast in pigtails, pajama bottoms and a freshly tie-dyed sports bra, I was in no state to be greeting whoever it was. It was too late to sit quietly as though no one were home. All the windows are open to breeze the early heat, so the knocker surely heard dishes clattering, laughter and "Is someone knocking?" I stood mouth agape: "O-h my Gawd," I scrambled around looking for jeans, a blouse, a hairbrush. Nothing. My jeans are downstairs in the basket of clean laundry. The hairbrush must be in the car. I pulled on a T-shirt and went to the window, just as the gentleman knocked even harder.
He's looking for Bob the landlord. They're supposed to meet. He has files or plans, something. He looks like an architect. He studied his watch, turned over his cell phone. He said Bob was going to meet him here...
Are you feeling my panic? Okay, I admit it: The house is a mess. I jack-up all trades and master none. Oh, let's be fair... I've been packing, teaching, cooking, nursing, and did I mention the tie-dye? Why is Bob meeting him here? Is it a mix-up? Are they coming back later? Should I leave town for a few days? Should I quit blogging and clean like crazy (That is crazy. I know futility when I meet it.) We all agree, don't we, Bob should have called 72 hours in advance? And what about the greater implications, not just of my immediate shame and domestic embarrassment, but does this visit mean that Bob's permits are granted? Does this mean our moving day is really and truly looming? Are you feeling my panic now?
And where are we on house hunting? Answer: Square 1. We may apply for a place north of here, which means a longer commute for Geoff. He went to Ikea and bought two beanbags, which he keeps under the desk in his cubicle, so he can work his 19 hour shift then pass out.
Let's sum up... I am in a state of simultaneous embarrassment, shock, despair, denial and reality overload. Our tie-dyed T-shirts came out really neat. I'm running low on moving boxes. Any questions, suggestions and/or prescriptions can be sent to our forwarding address... eventually.