I’m happy to say Mister and I are completely out of the hotel. I’ll be in a post-move coma for the next three days or so, and then I’ll get my groove back.


Now – if I could only find the box with my underpants…

And on the 7th Day, They Rested…



Actually, there’s no rest for the wicked, y’all. So today will find me cleaning the hotel and doing the final clear-out. And that’s all good.


The closure will be healthy. I can’t take much more of my multi-fractured attention. I’m a reverse diamond these days. Instead of my various facets and angles reflecting light, all my parts are dull and flat from being stretched too thin.


But don’t cue the violins. I’ll be fine. I just have to unpack for the next 6 weeks or so and adjust to the new place. Let me re-phrase that: I get to unpack for the next 6 weeks or so and I get to adjust to the new place.


Blessings. Sometimes they’re hiding in plain sight.

Wall of Boxes



Transitions are interesting. Depending on one’s attitude, a transition can be a beautiful gift or an unwanted pain in the neck. I’m not proud, but I’ve known both.


Last summer, Mister and I had an unwanted move forced upon us. It was rough. It was probably made tougher due to the dark cloud hanging over the entire scene. I can see that now, with the benefit of hindsight. At the time, however, I was wearing blinders, dark glasses and a ski mask.


Now, Mister and I are on the verge of a chosen move. It’s still rough in spots, but it’s made smoother by the glow of sun and excitement. I don’t need hindsight for that, as I feel it in my cells. And that’s to the core, yo.


Until the move actually takes place, we’re living with a wall of boxes, in a state of disarray. It’s wacky, but it’s okay. It really is.


And I’ll tell you something else – I don’t have a clue about how this will all go down, or what it will be like. But that’s okay, too.


One day at a time…

Best Laid Plans



I’ve heard that if you want to make God laugh, make plans. Well, friends, God must be chuckling away.


Mister and I are in the move groove and we’ve tried to schedule, finagle, cajole and mold all the details into a pretty, pertinent package. And we’ve done so well, y’all. Multiple service appointments on one day, during the same service window. Cleaners and movers in the proper order. Atoms swirling and stars aligning. Real beauty. Truly.


And then came the laughing from on high.


The move has hit a hiccup. But it will eventually happen. It will. If I keep telling myself that – often enough – it will come to pass. Right?


You don’t have to answer. Because I believe. I do.


And as it happens, I love the sound of laughter. Especially from on high.

House of Booze



I packed most of the liquor yesterday. It won’t all fit, and for some reason that makes me very happy. And I’m not even drinking right now!


Actually, seeing so much alcohol made me wonder about a few things. Like, where did all this booze come from? And, am I not acknowledging a problem here?


Then Mister and I realized something very important: we keep our booze right out in the open. Many people with alcohol problems go through a lot of effort to hide their drug of choice. We, on the other hand, put our drink on display for the whole wide world to see.


I think the thing that strikes me as the oddest is the fact that I often forget alcohol is even a beverage option. I just don’t drink that much. Maybe seeing it in my living space has turned it into decor. If that’s the case, it’s a pity. Because there’s some mighty fine drank up in dem boxes, yo!

Meanwhile, Back at the Hotel…



So as I’m getting closer and closer to leaving the hotel, I’m trying to look at this place with appreciation. I mean, the hotel provided Mister and me with shelter at a trying time. It’s been safe. It’s been small, too, but it’s also been home for a short while.


One of the things I noticed the last couple of days is the Rabbit Art in the above photo. This is near the hotel, so I get to enjoy it on a regular basis. Now you may be thinking this is more than a little off (as one friend commented), but the truth is, I like things that are a little off. And I’ve enjoyed the many carnations of this particular yard display. The red Santa pants and headless Santa shirt? Loved that weird thing. The autumnal floral sculpture before that? You betcha.


I probably won’t see whatever comes after the rabbit. And that’s okay. But for now, I can honestly say I’ve enjoyed this person’s expressions. The creations have been odd and grand. I mean, a Hotel Hare. Who’d've thunk it?

Same Old Love



I’m trying to maintain a modicum of sanity as I dive into the deep end of change. Mister and I are on the edge of another move, and the last one (a mere six months ago) is still fresh enough to provide a little guidance. Maybe.


I don’t want to lose touch with the things that keep me stable. Like painting. At its best, studio time is pure meditation. At its worst, it is at least nice social time with all my painting buddies.


Reading is a good one. I recently shared how Mr. Tom Robbins helped me cope with particular stresses. I should probably crack a new spine – soon – so that I can retreat to another author’s world when my own is just too daunting.


Exercise. This one’s a biggie. I was out walking about 4 miles on Saturday morning, and I marveled at how good it was for me. I was sweating, breathing hard, and I’d run out of water. And you know what? I still loved it.


Laughter. When Mister and I are on, we crack each other up, y’all. Now, even if no other soul on the planet gets our humor, it doesn’t matter. We get it. And when we start rolling down a grassy hill of laughter, nothing in the world feels better. And the after-effects are long-lasting.


Six months ago, Mister and I took our moving frustrations out on each other. So far, we’re not doing that this time. (Touch wood.) I hope we can keep up the love. And as we head into the final days of this month, I hope we find ourselves in a new environment, in a new part of town, in a new home.


But I’d like to keep the same old love. It’s none too shabby.

Wheels Up



I’ve not been sharing a part of my life with you. (I don’t share a lot of my life in these posts, but that’s just to spare you the boring minutiae that is my world.) I’ve chosen to keep quiet about certain goings-on, in hopes of keeping the goings going on.


You see, Mister and I are on the verge of another move. That’s right – we’re moving again. Soon. And there are about a jillion details to tend and a jillion hoops through which somebody’s got to jump. Right now, just call us “Somebody.”


I keep waiting to feel excited. Because y’all, honestly, I don’t feel it yet. Maybe it’s all the paperwork. Maybe it’s all the negotiations. Whatever the reason, I’ve not yet crossed over to that place of “yippee.” Instead, I’m in the state of Hand-Wringing, its capital city being South-What-the-Frick.


When I was a flight attendant, I learned to never count on that trip taking place until the wheels were up. I could be on a fully-loaded plane, doors closed and pulling back from the gate and it still didn’t matter. That plane could be brought right back to the gate for some reason or another. Heck, I’ve been on planes that have actually taken off, only to turn right around and land at the airport again. Why? Various reasons, but there was always one common factor: the wheels weren’t up. Since learning this lesson, I’ve kept it in mind when traveling by plane. To this day, Mister and I know that until the plane takes off and the wheels are up, we’re not for sure going on that trip. It isn’t cynical. It’s real.


Anyhoo, back to the moving front. As we don’t yet have keys in hand, I guess I just haven’t allowed myself to get excited yet. The wheels aren’t up. We’re on the plane, on the runway. Our belongings are packed. Seatbelts are buckled. But the danged wheels just aren’t up, y’all.


I’ve got one week to go on this runway. Seven days. I do hope this plane takes off. I’m so ready to get where I’m going…

Homeward Bound



The home quest continues. It is a fascinating ride, too, friends. California is a crazy place to live, not only for the unbelievably high prices but also for the unbelievably high number of documents one must wade through in order to secure an abode. In other words, Mister and I are up to our earballs in “what the heck is going on?”


As we were up late last night combing through page after page of stuff-that-must-be-addressed, I’m too pooped to post. Forgive me. I don’t know when, but at some point I’ll be back in the saddle again.


Dang! That line sure does make me want some chili.


Some would say I’m not nearly focused enough. But I say…


Oooooo! Butterfly!

Up To My Earballs



So Mister and I are working on finding our next abode, and friends, I’m up to my ear-balls in logistics. I’m not complaining, mind you (for reals), I’m just sayin’.


The world is a beautiful place. Wacky, sometimes. Beautiful all the time. Lately I’ve been able to remember this. Even when I’m wading through the unknowns of the moment. I don’t know what to tell you. I guess I’m just doing a good job of handling life right now. I’m not bragging, mind you (for reals), I’m just sayin’.


I hope I can keep it up. It feels true and it feels good. I’ll take true and good any day of the week. And you know what? There’s plenty of true and good for all of us.


I’m just sayin’.