At any normal time in our lives, time passes gently. We think nothing of letting two weeks go by before we remember to get to some project or event. Now, suddenly, we have three weeks left before we are gone forever, and we are losing our minds over little delays. The transmission for the husband-sitter (project Jeep) was dropped off at the shop five weeks ago. The man made the mistake of telling them he was going away for a few days, so it wasn't a critical rush. They shelved it and never even glanced at it, until he went in a couple weeks later, and found that it was just sitting on the floor, gathering dust. He made another unscheduled visit this morning, and told them that by the end of the week he would either be picking it up and paying for the work they had done, or just picking it up. Either way he will be leaving with it. We keep adding in tasks that must be done immediately, like correcting a power of attorney (because having a middle initial versus a middle name spelled out is apparently a huge problem) or paying in person for someone to come measure for carpets, and the crucial elements of packing and prepping are getting pushed down the priority list. I'm responding by shutting down, and my counterpart is responding by having a hair trigger and no sense of humor. We forget just how much we hate moving until we are in the thick of it. We both wish we could say this was the last time ever. It might not even be the penultimate time. There will be more moves, more stress.
Inventory is drying up in the housing market we're trying to enter. Most of the houses seem to get listed on Fridays or Saturdays, and are assumed to be gone by the following Monday or Tuesday. That worked to my advantage when I was listing my condo (which should be closed on Thursday, god willing and the creeks don't rise), but as a buyer, it sucks. There is no chance anything I look at today will still be available when we finally get out of here and get on the market, or worse, when we get a contract on this place. I don't know why I bother to look sometimes. It's going to be a harsh summer, waiting for the Park to sell and trying to get a winning bid on a house out West.
I looked at one house that listed six days ago (which is, in all likelihood, under contract now). It was so perfectly preserved that it was eerie. It was like stepping back into my grandparents' house in Seminole, Oklahoma, from 1977. The furniture was vintage but immaculate, all the wallpaper and fixtures original and in perfect condition, and even the chatchkis were straight out of the Carter era. I could feel every texture, from the macrame plant hanger to the nubby white bedspread to the pushbuttons on the electric coil stove, by looking at the pictures. I wish I was there to tour this time capsule before it sells. It was fantastic.
The last big club event of the year was tonight. I have a perfect record. In more than a decade of playing end of the year bingo every year, at chapters of this club in three states, I have yet to win a single round of bingo. And now, when I'm about to leave and probably never join another group like this, I did nothing to mar my record. Did not win one hand nor one doorprize drawing. Ah, well. Why start now? It was nice to have one last evening with the ladies. I will miss so many of them. I will probably never have another chance to see most of these women, the ones there tonight, and the ones from the last several years of constantly fluctuating membership. I have to believe that someday I will cross paths with the ones who meant the most to me. It depends on how quickly time passes from here on out.
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