Settling In

The last three days I've been running on adrenaline and wonder if today will be my crash day.  No wait. I have to take John to San Antonio today to she can return to California for the rest of our things.

We left off in Van Horn. John got up before dawn and I followed about an hour later. The drive was gorgeous but of course I was driving so could no take pictures.  I stopped at three rest stops and to get a bite to eat so that when I pulled off the freeway John was right in front of me!  My heart swelled to see that big old U-Haul and the Caddie, dull but still elegant, on the trailer behind.

The house looks like it did in the photo. It's the smallest on the block. And this block has some of the smaller houses of the development. Up the hill are gorgeous big mansions with views of the golf course and hills.  It appears that many of the homes are vacant, I see no life. John says there're vacation homes for people from Dallas or Houston.

So. We pull up, go in to pee, get the pets settled land the moving helpers arrive. The plan is to bring in beds, table, chairs etc. and finish the rest tomorrow. I still do not venture a peak into the U-Haul. I'm afraid to. Turns out that John did excellent packing. There was not one inch of free space. It was as if a giant vacuum sucked all our possessions into it and compressed. The result was that nothing was broken (except a knob off the washing machine). But as the guys unloaded - bringing first a mattress, then a chair, then bedding - I understood that things would not be in any sort of order.

After two hours we had my box springs and mattress but no sheets; the footboard but not the headboard or sides of the bed. We had no glasses or cups, plates or untensils.  No lamps.  We could not even offer the workers a drink of water!

Here's the thing about this neighborhood. It looks like a movie set - Stepford Wives, or the Truman Show. No one parks on the street, or even in their driveways. Cars are in garages. Lawns are mowed. Plants are trimmed. Many of the yards are white rock with drought tolerant plants.  One yard down the block is ALL white rock, with a gnome like creature sitting on a bench.  The house immediately next to us is uninhabited. Must be out of towners?  Or people on vacation.  I met a neighbor down the street, late seventies, I'd guess, who just returned from a 32 day trip to China, Mongolia, Cambodia. And this, after being home only two days from a road trip to California!  "So you're crazy?" I asked.

The fellow across the street, Hilton Ferris, is a retired school superintendent. He said he was happy to see us moving in. The previous tenants had "kids" who parked cars all over the street.

The tenants, or the landlord, patched holes in the walls but did not repaint. The house is actually more my size that our Coarsegold home. I like the design because there are varied angles and it's wide open and bright. We can't see into anyone's windows.  The houses seemed to have been designed for privacy. I like the open lot next door which is thick with green grass.  It's wet with dew in the mornings.  Right now it says 60 degrees outside, but I was perfectly comfortable walking in a long sleeve tee shirt.

But back to Sunday night: John went out and got me a salad from McDonalds. But I could barely eat. I used a curtain for a sheet and went to bed but laid awake, my mind racing. The bedroom has white blinds that let in the moonlight.  Audrey thought this was just another hotel and cuddled up with me and Walter was disappointed that I made him sleep in the hall.

Monday we expected two more guys to come at 10 to finish the unloading. We went to Albertsons - a disappointment, the produced sucked and I'll try HEB next time which supposedly carries local produce. (Albertsons had moldy California strawberries.  We grabbed some breakfast and headed back to the house.

The guys were darling, athletic college students from San Antonio.  They brought in the rest of the furniture and stacked boxes in aisles in the garage.

Here's what John could not fit in the U-Haul: standing lamps, my recliner, my platform rocker, my printer, plants, the microwave, the big box with the print of Santa Monica Bay and other paintings . . . tools.

So here we are with only one old hammer, no screwdrivers or wrenches.  I have a simple tool set - a little hammer, screwdrivers, and it's in a wicker basket along with my lotion, nail polish, soap.  Do you think I can find it? I thought I remembered Marcus saying "Where to you want this?" and being glad it was found. But did I imagine this? Dream it? It's driving me crazy.

Sheets were found in an unmarked box containing two table lamps.  So on Tuesday, after the phone man came and set up our phones and internet and the Dish Network guy set up the satellite, I was able to make my bed. I hung all my clothes - some must become rags, I can't wear them here! - and put away a lot of the kitchen and did a load of laundry (which I hung on racks because the dryer needs an adapter), and got my bathroom pretty well set up. 

We bought a decent shower head and a wrench to install it and I took my first wonderful shower in soft water.  "It's river water" John said, not the rusty, manganese rich well water we've been used to that stained everything orange and left my skin feeling parched.  It dawned on me that more than the water was hard in Coarsegold - when trash day comes I can drag the can to the street.  I can drink water directly from the tap instead of having it delivered. I can walk to the curb to pick up my mail, instead of driving 2 miles.

I'm starting to understand why John wanted to "get back to civilization".

The other thing is this: there's a feeling in the air that I have not experienced before. People seem to be happy.

After leaving three unanswered calls for my mother, I get a call from Lauren that Alice is in the hospital with an infection in her leg. The air is taken out of me. I try the hospital three times and finally talk to her just after she's given a sedative. The doctors want to keep her there until Friday.

Worried sick is what I am. But there's nothing I can do from here.

More later . . .