Transient Life Takes Its Toll

Monday, December 11, 2009

Page 11

AT THE SIDEBAR (Column)

Transient Life Takes Its Toll

By J’AMY PACHECO

I’m not the most organized person in the world. I have moments of organizational genius—occasionally—but when it comes to moving, any skills I may possess in that area seem to desert me.

My family moved last weekend. We’ve moved before, of course, and while it’s never been what I’d describe as smooth or easy, it usually works out okay. Eventually.

This time around, we threw in a couple complications just to make it more interesting. Instead of moving to the other side of town, as we’ve done periodically over the last 20 years, we decided to move 50-some miles away to a community on the other side of a mountain pass. We did so in the middle of winter, virtually guaranteeing we would have to contend with weather issues.

We bought a house that needed a lot of work to make it habitable, then tried to figure out how to manage the renovations from 50 miles away.

We also decided that for our daughter’s sake, we would split up as a family for two weeks, allowing her to change schools over winter break. My husband now lives in the new home, while my daughter and I are living out of suitcases at my mother’s house in a retirement community.

The good news is that I now have experience living as a single elderly woman. That might come in handy someday. The bad news is that I can’t find anything I need, including anything else that might come in handy right now.

We started packing weeks in advance. Every night, when I might otherwise have been watching television, I packed and purged. I got rid of everything we didn’t want or need, from my daughter’s old math papers to a big platter bearing the image of a blue chicken. Everything we did need, I put in boxes.

Day after day I packed. Every time I thought I was close to finishing, I’d open another cabinet or closet and find more “stuff” that needed to be dealt with.

A friend spent an entire day helping me pack, and we still didn’t finish. I was still packing when the movers drove up.

Despite all of my advance work, I ended up throwing stuff into boxes to be sorted out later. I thought I’d done a good job of separating the things my daughter and I would need during our two weeks as elderly single women, but I was wrong.

My husband’s company holiday dinner is taking place in a few days at a fancy Beverly Hills restaurant. In our suitcase, I located my daughter’s sparkly black skirt, an elegant white shirt, and some black tights.

The only shoes I can find, however, are her bulky black snow boots. Heidi Klum could probably pull it off, but I’m not sure my teenager can. So now, we’re going to have to go shoe shopping.

I have black slacks, shoes, socks and a festive holiday cardigan to wear. What I don’t have, unfortunately, is a dressy blouse to wear under that cardigan. About the best I can do is a gray t-shirt bearing the image of Ralphie from the film, “A Christmas Story,” with the words, “You’ll shoot your eye out.”

Heidi Klum could probably pull it off. This middle-aged mommy can’t.

The renovations aren’t finished, either. My husband is getting ready for work in a bathroom with an exposed concrete floor because I haven’t had time to pick out tile. I hope he found his slippers. I can’t guarantee I didn’t purge them.

Moving close to Christmas has got to be the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. By now, we’d ordinarily have three advent calendars going, would be at least in the process of decorating our tree, and would have a front yard so over-decorated that strangers would stop by to admire my husband’s kilowatt-sucking creation.

Instead, our daughter has to be satisfied with window clings of Disney characters sporting reindeer antlers stuck to the windows of our car for her Christmas spirit.

Our new neighborhood is lit up like Times Square, and our unadorned house sticks out like a sore thumb. We may have to unpack the Christmas stuff before the dishes just to avoid alienating the neighbors. Or buy a menorah, but that’s probably an inappropriate reason to convert.

One of these days, we’ll be a family living under the same roof again, with tile on the floors and the suitcases stored in the garage.

I hope it’s soon. Life as a single elderly transient isn’t for me.