The official countdown commences.
In one week, the 25th of March, my own March Madness will start its four block caravan east, from the Casa de Flatulence to Sans Souci. To say my own gut is in an uproar is a minimalist understatement. Hyphen is officially back from her break so maybe I will be able to see her before the regular Monday appointment. But, let's be honest: I am really doing fine. A tad stressed, perhaps immobile from the daunting tasks before me, but basically alright. Sans Souci is indeed sans. The floors were finished yesterday and are happily drying. The painting will be finished this Saturday. Sunday we can move the rugs in, put the music room together, clear out and transport the items in the refrigerator, and put together the TV stand as well as the storage bench for in front of the picture window for the cats to watch their new world pass by. I will run my dishwasher one last time and pack up my current kitchen. Monday...one last day of work, dentist and Hyphen before packing on Tuesday and moving on Wednesday. Not too much furniture to move from the condo; just a few chairs, my home office with the huge antique desk, coffee table and books...lots of boosk and CDs. Mister Van will be bringing most of the furniture from his warehouse: dining set, bedroom suite and a new sofa.
However...the more I ponder this move the more stressed I am becoming. Thank God for spring training baseball. This is my saving grace right now. I go home, pop open a Coke and camp in front of the TV watching the baseball season take shape before me. Hope does indeed spring eternal. So in the spirit of the season I shall quote not Chaucer and his piercing of the drought of March to the root, or e.e. cummings' world of mud luscious and puddle wonderful, but my own two cents.
"Spring has Sprung, the Grass has Riz...I Wonder Where the Birdies Iz?"
Adieu.
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