I am in my second day of the crazy week of extremes. this time Millie is up at 5:30, which is an improvement over 5:15 I suppose, but still, too early!
It's stinky hot outside, though at this moment just after sunrise (at 5:21 today) it's quite bearable. Not that I can do anything yet. Millie is with me and the renter has until noon to move out -- two impediments to getting things rolling.
I eat breakfast outside. Every home I have ever lived in had a lovely side to it, even the tiny two room space on ulica Nowowjejska. The room I shared there with my sister was noisy (tram stop underneath the windows) but it had plenty of sunshine! The first house I ever moved to, back in 1984 -- a suburban split level that looked like it would come in first in a contest for "the most ordinary," had a small spot for my first perennial patch. And Sally's House? Well, the porch with the ugly view. I screened off the row of garages in the back alley with plants and once it was warm enough, I ate all my breakfasts here.
I dont really wish that Steffi's House had a screened porch. I suppose if I had stacks of gold hidden under my mattress, I'd think about putting one to the side of the kitchen, but it would be a major construction project and it seems that even for a wealthy person, it's a lot to spend on a whim that would benefit only one. (I write this as I happened to be looking at a NYTimes article about houses for sale in the Hamptons, What are these people thinking?!)
Still, will I take my breakfast out on the front porch? Will there be bugs? How would Millie go in and out? None of the houses in the new development have screen doors in the front -- I suppose that housing style disappeared once every new home got an AC unit. The girl wont be able to step in and out as she does here, at Sally's House. Ed suggested I put up a screened tent outside the garage -- a way cheaper solution than building out a porch, but the aesthetics of it just don't do it for me.
* * *
As I sit and wait for Millie to finish her nap so that I can take her to doggie day care, I think about the news of the day, and that brings me back to the 250th and my fluff thoughts about becoming American. So, we a smitten with our dogs. What else?
Here's an obvious one: we are full of genuine smiles. They're not fake, nor are they forced. Completely sincere. Is our collective grin born of eternal optimism? Is it because Americans have great teeth? Is it that we want to compete with others in the "happiest nation" rankings? No, can't be that. For one thing, we're only 23rd on the Happiest Nation scale. Many countries outperform us, though we did beat out Afghanistan.
I think the smiles express our light-hearted approach to social encounters. I look at a photo of a gathering of my Polish friends and they are all so serious! No one cracks a smile. American photos, on the other hand, are full of laugh wrinkles and goofy grins. And that's the way we greet people too. In stores, in casual encounters. The French may have their obligatory "bonjour," but we deliver that big, robust smile. We like feeling proud and happy and showing this side of us to others (even if inside, we're deeply anxious and, as I said yesterday, probably lonely).
* * *
Well, I got up to put something away and Millie immediately woke up and followed me, so I may as well take her to doggie daycare. It gives me time to pack some more boxes.
(awake and aware)
And at noon, I go over to Steffi's House, thinking all the while -- what if... What if he hasn't moved out? Is it like a hotel checkout -- you get an hour's grace? And what if it's a disaster inside? I'm sweating on this one and it isn't the fault of the heat outside.
* * *
I peak through the window into the garage. No one there. No red car, nothing. I try the code I'd put into the garage two years ago. Still works. I go inside. A little muddy in the garage, but nothing a hose and a broom can't fix. I step inside the house.
The first thing that strikes me is how cold it is. The renter liked the AC to go full blast. I keep my thermostat at 78F/25.5C. He's at 70F/21C.
The second thing? I am stunned at how clean the place is. Spotless counters. Swept floor. The stove? Looks like it's never been used. Refrigerator? Like new. Oh sure, my critical eye picks out stuff that may need a scrub, but trivially so. Basically, the house is in great shape.
Who was this guy?
He cared nothing about the outside, but in here -- not a scratch on the wall. Not even a nail hole for a picture. (Except the garbage -- he forgot to empty it. Totally forgiven. And in the basement? No trace if a meth lab! I feel like sending him a letter of gratitude!
For the first time ever, I look at the house with the eyes of a person who is about to live in her own home. It's delightfully smaller than Sally's House. Truly a cottage. With windows everywhere. I am mesmerized by all of it.
And I am energized. I call Ed. He comes with his truck and dumps a load of chips on the driveway. I'll get to those tomorrow. We clean out the truck and go over to load up plants, rugs, boxes, wall paintings. We make just a couple of round trips. I can see that the heat is really getting to him. Me? A motor has been turned on within me. I want to get on with this move!
We cant do much though. The house has to stay empty until the cleaning crew goes over it tomorrow. And even then, the upstairs will be off limits until the carpet crew gets done the next day. But I've stacked most of the important and breakable stuff in the garage (after scrubbing the floor clean) and I put out some plants on the front porch and I am feeling so good!
* * *
I pick up Millie. It's been a long day for me, and for her as well. Normally I just let her go to daycare for half-days, but of course, this week, I want her busy and happy all day so I extended her playtime there.
We stop by the young family's house on the way home. The kids are all in full day programs this month which is good, because I have this move to deal with, but it does mean I see less of them. So I do these quick drop-ins just to see their young faces.
My next move? You're going to have to wheel me out of that house in a wheelchair as I struggle to remember my name and yours. That's how long I intend to stay at Steffi's House.
with so much love...
