Hi There

It’s been a while, I know, but I’ve been busy. Work has exploded, which is a very good thing, and I’ve been busting ass at home trying to finally finish the move. See, I had to pay rent at the old place through this month, so I was taking my time getting the nonessential things moved. I had been slowly, reluctantly bringing boxes over, but last week I gave up and hired movers. Awesome decision, by the way, and totally worth the cash. But I did ask them to unload everything into my dining room to save time (and my money), so I’m still schlepping boxes.

And I keep getting distracted, because . . . THE BOOKS. I can’t decide which books should live in which rooms . . . and while most people might let that slide while they do more important things, like locate the crock pot or, I don’t know, uncover the dining room table, I want to play with my books. Do I want my most beloved books in my bedroom, so I can sleep with them, or do I want them in the living room, where I can see them all the time? Or how about behind the glass doors of the dining room built-ins? Because then they won’t get dusty! And clearly, each room needs a dictionary, but the other reference books can go in the office. Although maybe the books about television and movies should be in the living room?

See what I mean? The Boy’s books go in his room, and the cook books go in the kitchen (or maybe they should go into the dining room built-ins, because the kitchen isn’t exactly crying out to have more things crammed into it), and then . . . sigh. I just keep moving stacks of books around, because it makes me happy. Lugging shoes or clothes or (effing) Legos or bundt pans doesn’t thrill me at all, so I avoid it. (Speaking of books, when I’m not moving them I am reading A.S. Byatt’s The Children’s Book. I’ve had it for a while, but had been putting it off until I was in the right mood, and I LOVE IT. It’s rich and thick and layered (yes, I’m hungry—so what?), there are tons of people in it that need caring about, or disliking, or worrying over, and even though I’m not entirely sure where it’s headed, even after two hundred pages, I am in love.)

Anyway, the apartment is empty but for some trash and recycling that I couldn’t fit in the alley Sunday night and a china cabinet that I have to post to Craigslist (unless anyone local wants it—it holds a ton of crap and it has lights). I feel like I am NEVER going to be fully out of there, but I guess that’s to be expected after six years, right?

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Did you see that the awesome Betty White is going to be on SNL? While it's sad that there are only two Golden Girls left, I get the feeling that Betty (my eldest Birthday Buddy) and Rue are fairly sanguine about being old, and that makes me kind of happy in a weird way. I mean, the Golden Girls are excellent role models--they're positively counter-cultural revolutionaries in this era of Forbidding Women to Age--but it's nice to know that the actresses are also great role models. They own being old ladies, and all that entails, and I'm glad to see it. It gives me hope that I will be a sprightly, caftan-sporting old broad who can happily slam a door in someone’s face. (Yes, Betty is my Birthday Buddy and I love her, but my Golden Girl of choice is Dorothy.)

And speaking of celebrities, did you see Judd Nelson at the Oscars? He looks so unlike my precious, bad-ass Bender that I may not have recognized him if he weren’t in the context of the other Hughes-ians. Duckie and Ferris haven’t aged enough for a change to have registered, and Anthony Michael Hall filled out a bit but looks much the same. Judd Nelson, though, looks like he spent a lot of years living pretty hard. Maybe not Mickey Rourke hard, but something along those lines. (Ha! Lines! See what a cool drug reference I just made there? I’m so hip.) Here’s hoping some casting director noticed him and offers him a similar come-back role.

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Okay, moving, reading . . . oh: Knitting. I haven’t knit more than six or seven rows of anything since I moved. I tried the Class Sock in the Sensational Socks book, and it was moving along fairly well, but my carpal tunnel struck and I dropped it. Then I picked up some lovely silk yarn from my stash, in beiges and creams, and pale pinks that I thought might make a pretty spring scarf, but I created a disaster when I tried to roll the hank into a ball while sitting in the car waiting to pick up The Boy from reffing. So I’ve been trying to untangle that while I watch TV, but I’m not getting very far. Because all I want to do is read The Children’s Book!

I’ll get back to it one of these days. You know, once I’ve finished the book, finished unpacking, painted the living room and dining room, put some stuff on the walls, started the outside work on the house, and figured out which rooms my books should live in.