111 boxes. I think I've got about 8 or 10 left to go. I know what you're thinking: that's a lot of boxes. And you'd be RIGHT. We don't have that much stuff. It feels like it right now, because it's all exploded onto table and countertops and not very organized, but in truth, we genuinely only hold on to things that we use. So. Where did the need for all the boxes come from?
Poor. Packing. I'm sure it was a LARGE case of CYA on the part of the men sent to pack up our belongings...except for the death of the limited-edition Bowie 45 that I found tossed into the bottom of the cd box...
This is Mr. Potato Head. He's a keychain. I own one (mine is wearing his black bowler hat) and last night while looking for important yet elusive paperwork, we came across him. Wrapped in two-three sheets of paper ALL BY HIMSELF.
Don't get me wrong. I love my Mr. Potato Head keychain. I have him hanging from my bulletin board and when I get stuck or bored I fiddle with him and it's amusing. But Mr. Potato Head is plastic. And he fits inside the slinky, which was also wrapped by itself.
You see where I'm going with this.
Anyway, this is what the guest room looked like after the movers were finished with it:
It's better now, but only slightly. Most of those wardrobe boxes are Steve's. Most of the clothing boxes were Steve's. (Think back to that envious story of the crazy boss, the closet full of expensive Italian clothing, and Steve's new Wardrobe...right.)
That picture is just funny to me. It's boxes of Chicken broth.
Oh, and our Home Depot looks like it was designed by the Jetsons, which I dig. I've been there a lot. You can imagine.
After the last post, there was (obviously) the move, but there was also a trip to Switzerland:
And a wedding:
(Steve on left, looking less Jewish than beloved life-long friend on the right...who is also not Jewish)
All good times. Going to try and keep the house-related blogging over on the design blog...for whatever that's worth now. Trying to keep the post-move melancholy to a minimum as well. Anyone who's ever picked up and moved across the country will understand. For the most part it's great, and then there comes that moment when I think "it'd be really nice to catch up with someone right about now" but then I look at the clock and realize they're sleeping/commuting/etc because they're in a different time zone. Blargh.
Also...melancholy is probably spurred a little today by Sad News. I know that no one likes Sad News, but it is part of life. So I'm going to share, in the hopes that it will make me feel better. Because it's my blog and I can.
Last night my mom called to tell me that the Uncle's Partner (for the better part of 2 decades) has fallen ill. Before Christmas he had a heart attack and has had several since and the prognosis was bad enough that they took him off of the support machines yesterday. She'd just gotten off the phone with her oldest sister. I met him once, years ago. I stayed in their house in San Francisco. I remember him as quiet, pleasant, and very warm. I was shy, he was shy, and we were in the company of close siblings who don't get to see each other enough. But I genuinely like him and enjoyed his company. It was also clear to anyone with eyes that he and my uncle truly truly loved each other. They became the anecdotal argument I used whenever anyone opposing gay marraige said something heartless like "gay men are promiscuous" or "it's an affront to traditional marriage." Their relationship, to me at least, proved that love transcends all of those arguments.
Several of their friends gathered with them. They played cards and were singing songs and generally having as positive an atmosphere as they could. He passed in the night.
My heart breaks for my uncle. I am sad that the world is now missing a soul like Michaels.
We sent flowers, of course. It took me ten minutes to write the card.
I truly hope that at the end of my time with Steve that we are surrounded by friends and family and we can say that we had long, happy years together. I wish that for you, too.