Misha Day

 I just got back from a week of cooking for a Girl Scout camp on Sunday. Got home by 2ish, started my laundry, cuddled the cats, finished my book (The Goblin Emperor by Katherine Addison) and went to bed waaay early.

To explain the fire joke: I started using Flameswind as a teen for writing my best friend - we were both Mercedes Lackey fans. And then I burned down the kitchen. So I have to disclose! Especially when I chose it as my camp name... and then promptly set off the stupidly sensitive fire alarm with a little steam.

Last year that camp had been desperately looking for volunteers and in the middle of it, their kitchen manager had to step down - so it was almost an entirely new crew and manager, and we had to change the menu up and some plans when the propane ran out Friday night. It was frantic, and tough, and an absolute blast.

So of course, I did it again.

It's a long week of long days in the kitchen: lots of standing, and my feet were absolutely killing me by the end of every day. (Note to self: look into standing shoes for next year.)

But there's a beautiful lake just out the back door, and while it was a little chilly to swim every day, the waterfront crew/lifeguards were very accommodating and I could stick my poor feeties in the chilly water and just be for a little bit almost every day. The afternoons just floating on inner-tubes were the best.

The crew is fun and funny, and all willing to crack on with their jobs, and crack jokes while we're doing it.

There's something just so immensely rewarding in feeding all the girls and the adult volunteers.

And it's such a sharp contrast with my normal routine - I get a real screen-break/vacation from being online. There's wifi (I sleep almost right under the router) but I had little enough time away from the kitchen: I checked the proof-of-life pics from my cat sitter each day and then went out to the lake or snagged one of the two vastly comfy recliners in the lodge and knitted or read with my feet up.

This year we had a better plan: we didn't try to schedule breaks days ahead of time and then not take them, but rather the menu was planned so we'd have a nice break in the afternoon. We did have some issues with the water heater, but we were able to work around them.

I hope to go back and do it again!

Then Monday I laid around all day and did ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. Blissful.

Welp. 

I am now the proud owner of a brand-old spanking Singer Sphinx treadle sewing machine from 1901. 

It's in fantastic shape - the previous owner never used it, but there's some receipts in the drawers and lots of extra new leather treadle band, and a dozen bobbins. The wood could use a little tlc, but the sewing action is butter-smooth. I have a feeling it hasn't been used much as a sewing machine, but was cared enough to not deteriorate. There's a full accessories case in one of the drawers just chock full of all the original bits and bobs. 

It'll be a small project, to do a full restoration (refinish the wood, take apart the machinery, clean and oil it, put it back together, and repaint the iron base) but in the meantime it's beautiful and functional as is. (I also forsee many Youtube restoration videos in my future.) 

The seller and her twin brother carried it down a flight of stairs to the car, and I managed to luck out on a passing neighbor offering her assistance. I had opened the back of the car to sort of assess how heavy it might be and maybe take a picture, and she offered up her strapping son home from college to carry it to the elevator and into my condo. 

I had painted the low wall between the kitchen and living room yesterday - she's sitting against it opposite the dining table (that is really the home of my modern sewing machine and serger.) 

One year in my new home today. (I closed in June last year, then there was a rent-back and staying with Ali and Nevada and a heatwave, and let's just call it August 1st for my own sanity and recordkeeping)

My father had been agitating to see his grand-daughters after almost 3 years, and while my sister-in-law tried to propose something in Las Vegas (as being close to him in New Mexico), I convinced her and my brother just to let him come up for Easter weekend and then I was going to put him to work helping me fix up the condo. He, of course, was delighted to be of assistance, especially after the year I spent in NM, and he also had 7 boxes of beads and some other art stuff of Mom's that I'd dibsed when we packed up his house.  

Se he drove up with the boxes and a few power tools. 

Then the Family Drama commenced because he left early to beat the snow and my brother calls me: Dad's early, I use the guest room when I'm on call and Niece #1 is getting braces! So I played go-between, told Dad to slow his roll, and Dad still gets to Bend a day early, but spends a night in an AirBnB, has a blast chatting with the host and everyone is happy. (I don't think my nieces really know what to do with Distant Grandpa, but I'm still holding Favorite Auntie status)

Dad showed up here Sunday night. He spent the night at an apparently HORRID AirBnB and I proceed to put him up at a local hotel instead for the rest of his stay. The front desk gal was awesomazing and got us a discount AND free parking even without us asking for it all. I would have taken AAA and been happy! Really pays to be nice - a little bit of commiseration over flooded apartments and BAM!

I took Monday off. We headed to Kitsap and cleared out the last few things in his storage unit in Belfair (the remnants of an attempt to move to the PNW 15+ years ago) There were three large boxes of Christmas ornaments that I hadn't found the spoons to deal with at the appropriate time last year, and of course, at Easter no one wants them. We might have left them on a table in front of the one thrift store that was closed. I felt so naughty, donating and dashing. Realistically, they'll get tossed, but the onus is no longer on us. 

The rest of the week I've been attempting to put in at least half days at work, and letting Dad work on things he can do himself, and lending the extra hand where needed. We've replaced the old track lighting in three places, the dining room fixture (I took it down months ago so as not to knock my head on it every time I stood at my standing computer desk) and the three baseboard heaters, tore out the old drop-in stove, cut the countertop and shoved a shiny new stove in its place. Dad patched and I painted the ceiling where some of the track lighting was and the old incandescent bulbs had scorched the old paint a bit. 

The stove I got at the Best Buy outlet up in Lynnwood. It was sort of funny - Dad had already cut the slot for a standing stove, as drop-ins are a dying breed of stove, and I had selected my replacement standing stove when I saw it: a drop-in stove! One, solitary stove. (At a steep discount, too.) But the cuts had been made, and the standing stove was STILL cheaper. So. 

Today we finished it all up with replacing one of the thermometers that was broken, shoved my books and my big-ass green chair into storage, and went for ice cream. Whew!

I still have a long list of Things Which Must Disappear, so as to genericize and blandify my space enough to fool people into buying it, but the tasks which required power tools, three hands or the willingness to puzzle out a wiring diagram have been done. 

 It's been months, and today I finally emptied the last box... only it wasn't. 

Today I emptied and broke down the two big wardrobe boxes. One of them held two lamps, a spinning wheel and eight pillows. (Sadly, I have replaced all of those with newer pillows whilst in New Mexico, and pillows are frustratingly hard to dispose of. I hate putting them in the garbage, but NO ONE wants them.) Now, this WAS the last of the large cardboard. On the other hand, all of my books... ok, 95% of my books are still in their boxes, with the boxes tucked away on the shelves. Mostly for lack of space in which to unpack, but let's not go there. 

And yes, I've been back here three months now. It gets complicated. I keep going... Wait, it is too much. Let's back up. 

Mom and Dad tried to move to the PNW 15 years ago. Failed. But the attempt involved a 10x20 storage unit in Belfair filled to the brim, which is about a 2 hour drive around through Tacoma onto the Kitsap Peninsula. (Or involves a ferry trip. There are several options, but in summer it's usually with an additional wait.) Trips to visit the children and grandchildren would sometimes involve a trip to the storage unit to fetch some such another thing. (and then my brother throwing away half of the box of old plastic toys because the plastic had degraded so much.)

But what is left... ah. I'd sort of been chipping away at it over the years, but it's hardly convenient. More recently in New Mexico,when I had got my head around the parental finances, I took over the storage unit payment. Yeah, they could not afford it last year and right now Dad is... well. It also gives me the incentive to Get It Done. I didn't want my brother to do it because he'd just consign everything to the trash heap. I agreed that 90% needed to go, but dammit, let me at that 10%!  Also, I'm closer, and it does help shield my brother from Dad's attempt at gifting. The latest is 'oh, he'll want the two giant boxes of LGB train sets!' No, Dad. No he won't. 

So while I've been going through my own belongings, and trying to mindfully address things that I'd heretofore squirreled away, I've also been going over to the Kitsap Peninsula and weeding through my parent's shit. My first estimation of a time or two has since been hit upside the head by the Reality Bat. Months and several trips later, an end is in sight. I have had a few sidetracks, like two weeks ago, when I spent an hour waiting for the ferry, and only realized while we were docking that I'd forgotten the storage unit key. 

Saturday was the redo of that aborted trip. Bookcases, tool chests and some very nice blanket chests went off to Habitat for Humanity, while a carload of art came back with me. Half of that, (the crappy watercolors my grandparents produced in retirement) went to Goodwill. But I had to open and review all of that giant pile of nicely packed up (and numbered. Mom had it all numbered and in a spreadsheet, bless her heart.) art to see if any of it was something I'd want to keep. There was one sepia-toned watercolor of a tree that Mom had done that I really wanted. 

And the kicker is: some things aren't simple trash. There were so many boxes of really nice china that I took to the local thrift store. The furniture to HH. Friends of SPL took 22 boxes of my parents books in July. Today, I brought a crate of old propane bottles to the household hazardous waste. And two weeks ago I finally brought a couple of boxes of old ammunition to Lynnwood Gun. There's a box of my grandfather's photo albums I want to ship off to my uncle. Can't just trash that stuff. 

I mean, not gonna lie. The whole process is exhausting. There's only so much sorting I can do over there before I just bring it back and then sort here. In my tiny little space. Or out on the loading dock. And I'm limited by car space - which is not a bad thing, since it does make me sort what's in the car and empty it before heading back.

But all of that - I really haven't been focusing on my own home beyond making sure I can work and eat and sleep. And working from home means pants are optional. 

 So. Today was supposed to be Closing. The pods would be loaded and locked and gone, and Dad would sign all sorts of papers and we'd drive north.

That didn't happen. 

Two days ago a few things stacked up: the seller's bank hadn't gotten everything necessary for the title company, Dad screwed up the Pod pickup and he wasn't far enough along packing to be able to get them filled properly by the next day anyway. And to top a shit sandwich, I got the notice that next week my condo is repairing the asphalt in the driveway, and there'd be no way to move back into my condo once we got back to Seattle. 

Closing on the house is now scheduled for next week instead. I've been cracking the whip on Dad, and we're in the last phase of packing-tetris to make sure everything fits. (and a few things will go to Dad's new girlfriend's place until he can come back to ABQ.) 

And me? I'm stressed and low on sleep. I rejiggered my vacation, and will probably take two weeks off all told, but I've still been working to try and sort things out enough to put all my work on hold for those two weeks. Today I hit a wall: there have been roofers making repairs (they got delayed a day because of high winds) and today was the absolute end. Stomping and hammering directly above, and by mid-afternoon I was almost crying. They finally left and I was able to lie down for an hour and catch a nap, but the hour before that was a painful ordeal of not being able to concentrate on anything, but not able to nod off. 

 So the moving pods for Dad got delivered today, and now there's a swarm of folks from his church out there already packing things in. 
They're doing it wrong, but I have to remind myself: not my circus. I told Dad the pods should come Friday, to give us the weekend, but there will be stuff that won't go in until Wednesday. I honestly hadn't thought he'd have help and now all the people swarming the house are making me anxious. Half of them aren't wearing masks ore aren't wearing them right. 

Deep breaths. One more week and I'll be on the road back to Seattle, back to my little condo. 

So Dad's house is still for sale. It's probably priced a little high for the shape it's in (15 years of no updates-shabby). Dad doesn't have the money to update it but he still goes to Lowes for rose fertilizer, and comes back with flyers on replacing the old electric range with a shiny gas stove (there's a gas hookup, but still. No. No, you can't afford it; No ,the carpets will still be shabby and pink. Just. No.) 

We've gotten the routine of quick clean and clear down: visibly clean and no cat accoutrements (especially the litterbox!) in sight. Mocha goes in the car with us, and Darlene... well, she hides under the bed. She's shy enough she won't come out while strangers are there, so I'm not worried for the 1/2 hour we're out of the house for a showing. Also, wrangling her out from under the bed after we've run the vacuum? Not happening. 

It's disruptive, though. A half-hour showing requires 23-30 minutes of clean and clear, and be out of the house 10-15 minutes before the half-hour showing. That's upwards of an hour and a half. Just to pile into my car, park around the corner out of sight and wait. I have some handsewing and Dad stalks them on the doorbell and front door security cameras. 

And my condo is still for sale.  I had extended the listing through the end of March, and well... it's March. My agent says the housing market is hot, but anything with shared spaces or walls... just isn't moving. The idea of moving back in to that little place makes me tired and sad, so I think (especially as we approach summer) that I need to consider renting it out. I may need to refinance to make it all work right, but if I can get it to break even, then I can get into a larger place. 

I'm juggling the idea of renting for a year or two. I might need the time to re-gather a down payment if my condo doesn't sell. I'm also going to need to talk to my boss about continuing remote work. To date I've said (with the assumption of moving back to Seattle) that I'd want to do something like 3 days in the offce, 2 wfh. I want to remain in the PNW (and there's the complication of my things in Pods can't go far without having to take everything out to shove them in a moving van - that idea is exhausting.) but working remotely full time might be in the cards.

I've set myself the mental date of June 1st to get back to the PWN. It's a ballpark, based on all the factors. That'd be a year in NM. 

I had set my mail forwarding to expire in January, with the assumption that'd I'd be on the ball enough to continue it if I still was in NM. Then Mom died, and yeah, no. I was 95% done with my taxes before I realized that yeah, I really needed to check my mail before I tried finishing them. I'm mostly sure I have everything electronically, BUT. I'm hoping to fit in a quick trip next weekend. 

Still in New Mexico. 
Still not King. (to recycle an old fandom joke.)

Last Tuesday I reduced the price on my condo and extended the sale until the end of March - it had been set to expire at the end of January. There were other units for sale in the area that were making my place look too expensive, so. I am more than ready to move out of New Mexico: I just don't have a place to go TO. 

Last weekend Dad and I took a trip down to Las Cruces. Our main purpose was to look at a condo down there for him. He'd found it online, and had been making noises about renting it first, and then putting this house up for sale empty and I wasn't feeling it. But we'd have to look at the prospect first. So we went.

It was a nice drive down: we stopped along the way a few times, and made it to Las Cruces by noon. Dad took me straight to the airport (of course - this man knows where every little county airport west of the Mississippi is, and he's aiming to start a business down here). There's a little BBQ place that had melt-in-your mouth pulled pork. No sandwich - you have to order the bread extra! But between the good pork, excellent fries and decent slaw, I didn't much mind. The condo is right on the Picacho Hills golf course, and it's a good size. It's a little over priced, but it has good bones, and hopefully the price will mean that it won't get snatched from under him. 

Because he's not ready. This house needs to sell first. Then he can buy. And the prospect of attempting to get this house showcase perfect ready has me exhausted just thinking about it. 

The tangible goal of the condo has Dad getting things done: We're shuffling things around and he's working on packing: we're down to just the garage, the kitchen and clothes, so I'm left looking at my own detritus in the back room... again, with the exhausted. 

And Mom's memorial is next weekend, so there's that to contend with. Wow. I had some energy when I started writing, where did that all go? Anyway, Dad's gotten it into his head that a Quaker-like service on Zoom is a good idea, especially given our far-flung family. Which it is... maybe not exactly what Mom might have wanted, but... memorials are for the living. So. He asked me about a local memorial (for a friend's father) and I had to prompt him to remind him why an in-person memorial is a Bad Idea. 

There is organization happening though, in the betweens. I started in on inventorying Mom's jewelry: not just a few gold and silver heirloom pieces (Dad's keeping HIS mother's 30's era squash blossom silver necklace.) but ALL the beaded pieces she made. It took me most of a day just to go through and photograph the necklaces. Some of that was because the cats would come over and plop right down in the open space I was using to lay things out. Or paw at the lovely dangly things. Once I get everything inventoried (and squash down the guilt for not having done my own jewelry when the nice insurance lady asked me to years ago) 

 Two things have prevented me from flinging myself into the wide world and going LALALALALA FREE! (I mean. Cabin fever is a thing, yo, and I would properly mask and social distance, etc.)

One: My parent's church is determined to feed us. They delivered dinner the last two nights and today is pulled pork sandwich fixings, good for lunch or dinner. I had to wait for the delivery. The pasta salad was DELICIOUS. 

Two: Sparkling Wine. 

So: background. Mom and Dad don't drink. Well. Dad has confessed to imbibing on rare occasions, so I've felt less impetus to hide my consumption of alcohol in front of him, and have ordered multiple cases of wine in the last six months. The latest, from Gruet, a local NM winery that specializes in champagne-method sparkling wine, should be delivered in the next week. I had a single bottle that I'd picked up at Wine World and cracked it today. Basically: ALL the pomegranate mimosas. 

ALL OF THEM. An entire bottle's worth.

Interspersed with pots of tea to maintain hydration, the lack of which means the Bane of Hangovers. 

Because headaches suck and tea is also delicious, if not quite as prone to altered states cognition. 

So, Dad is out of the house. He has been wanting to go down to Las Cruces for Business Reasons. (my brother and I are rather skeptical on the outcomes of said Business Purposes, 'schemes' as it were, but he's pursuing his passion and he even left early to go bird-watching at this sanctuary/preserve along the way. Which is so great. 

But now that he's out of the house, I feel a little free to IMBIBE as it were. 
And drunk-call my brother. 

Who is playing DnD with my nieces, so that is a thing of awesome to listen to. Youngest niece has just zapped a grell with her AWESOME lightning powers, and then has been POISONED - will her Sister Heal her with her AMAZING powers? Listening to them run through the dungeon is pretty entertaining, especially while drunk. 

Death sucks, but ongoing life is still pretty good.