The Move: Days Three and Four

Sunday: We spent a good chunk of the day arranging furniture, rugs, lamps, etc., all the while pleading, "Move, Grady -- I mean Brace." (If that little voice in your head ever tells you something is probably too heavy for you to pick up, listen to it.) We didn't have a refrigerator yet, since that little detail got lost in the flurry of paperwork, packing and procrastination, so we were subsisting entirely on food from a HUGE gift basket from our friend and realtor, Deborah. Who knew Jelly Bellies could give you such energy? They should be their own food group.

At some point our doorbell rang, and a neighbor from down the street was waiting on our front porch with his adorable little girl and A PLATE OF CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES. John and I must have looked like idiots, standing there with our mouths hanging open, so I explained that our first encounter with our old neighbors had to do with the weeds in our garden. That is why this is one of the happiest pictures I have ever taken:



Monday: Very first thing in the morning, I dashed out to my car to look for something and locked myself out of the house. With Grace inside. At this point I had met the neighbors on either side of us, and they had yet to see me in anything other than pajamas or a combination of pajamas and street clothes. The guy to the south let me use his phone to call a locksmith, and the guy to the north suggested that if I was going to make a habit of this, I might consider giving one of them a spare. I hadn't had any coffee and hadn't showered since Saturday morning, and Grace was inside wailing (a little melodramatically, I think), unable to get off the couch and OPEN THE DOOR FOR MOMMY, but I kept my cool. The locksmith was there in ten minutes, and I so wish I had taken his picture. He looked like a combination of Dennis Leary and Keith Richards, dressed all in black, with a silver chain on his pants and lots of silver rings. His tools looked nothing like those of other locksmiths who have come to my rescue, and I got the distinct impression he had decided burglary was just too risky these days and he might as well go straight and get paid for breaking into people's homes.

Later I went to buy a refrigerator, which I was dreading because the opening left by the builders would require a smaller than average fridge. But here I learned an important lesson: the fewer options you have, the easier it is to make a decision. I settled on one in less time than I've taken to pick out wine. Seconds after I got home, the truck pulled up and voilà! Isn't she pretty? Now we can have our Jelly Bellies chilled.