Carnival Week

As promised, here is the NOW famous photo of me & Brini. I had to do some serious cropping of this photo because she is much thinner than I. Brini was our Carnival Week fund raiser. I think we made $25 after expenses. But she was very generous with her time.
I like to call them the Blondettes. They had some of the best music and got more attention than some of the floats. I didn't realize until the end of the parade that they were my neighbors.

The theme this year was "Peace, Love and Go-Go Boots," and never was there a more appropriate theme for this town. In fact, it should always be the theme. What was particularly good about this year's Carnival was that everyone in town got dressed up whether they were in the parade or not. Lots of Afros, tie-dye, head scarves and yes, go-go boots.

What was particularly bad about this year's Carnival parade was that I watched it alone. I didn't have to. I just needed to get through another one of those rituals that is enjoyed together, not singularly. I was going to be a baby and not watch the parade at all, but the music started and I couldn't resist. I didn't think I would take one more carnival photo--they start to blend--but this year was exceptional. Like one big flashback! But not of Carnival week.

Now it's Friday. One week from today, the moving truck arrives. So, it didn't come on Carnival Week. And it's not Labor Day weekend. That's good. They will drive away with my belongings and I will live in this house until Sept. 1 when I will either close on the new house, or pay the current owner rent, taxes and whatever until I do close.

I travel back and forth on a very slow train that stops at excitement, sadness and fear and then back again. The excitement and sadness are understandable. The fear? I think I'm afraid I will be even more remote and removed from the world then I already am. I was just getting to the point where folks would stop me and chat with me on the street as I walked to work. Now, there will be no one. During the summer months I will be living across the street from people who are renting beach cottages. During the winter, it will be me and Ollie.

I need more friends. How am I going to get them? Maybe I'll start knit night again, or a cooking club, that would be fun. I could run an ad in the personal column: Fun loving cook, looking for same to start cooking club. I don't think it would be fair to call myself fun-loving. That might be misleading. Miserable good cook looking for fun-loving good cook to start dining club. Why do all of my friends have to live so far away? Whine. Time to return to packing.

When Life Hands You Lemons

I am sitting on the couch. I drank coffee this morning. It did not agree with me. It is 98 degrees out. The humidity is 65%. I need to go back upstairs, clean out under the bed. Try to make room for the movers to come and remove furnishings from up there. You can't walk up there right now. I am out of boxes because nothing really gets delivered on Sunday. Now what am I going to do? I could fantasize some more but it's a bit counterproductive given the scope of work that I need to do.

Instead, I made myself my usual breakfast, made a couple of phone calls, read three sections of the the NY Times, fell asleep, woke up and made myself a bbq chicken sandwich with sliced tomato and left over potato salad, which is always better on day two because you don't have to make it, it's just there. Still not motivated. I think I'm dog tired.

What am I going to miss about living here? The view. Absolutely, the view of the harbor, Eddie's orange dory, the old fishing boats coming and going. But then, I can walk to the pier every day from work and I won't really have to miss the view. I will miss being able to cook dinner in the kitchen and still being able to see the view. I will miss my pot rack. The ceiling in my new kitchen isn't high enough to accommodate one. I will miss being able to walk to work and running into people who are just beginning to recognize me. I will miss my dogs and my marriage.

What I won't miss. The street sweepers and garbage trucks outside the bedroom window at 4 AM. The crowds getting out of the bars drunk at 1 - 2 in the morning. The lack of air conditioning on a day like today. Having to walk up a flight of stairs with 8 bags of groceries and the car temporarily parked, then trying to find a parking space. Maintaining the deck and stairs that are completely peeling and moldy. The baby birds that I find dead on the last step of the house because their stupid parents keep building upside down nests in the telephone/electrical/cable fixture attached to the top of the house. The ever cracking tiles in the kitchen. The fact that there is some electrical problem going on which keeps popping the circuits breakers. The lack of closets, the lack of closets, the lack of closets. Not being able to use my ice cream maker because the freezer won't freeze the insert. The inability to have my own garden. Struggling to trust my spouse. All of these seem sufficient reasons for change.

So now that it's been forced upon me, I'm packing my lemons. Once moved I'm unpacking a pitcher and a squeezer, first thing. Stop over for a glass. Just call me first. I want everything to be picture perfect.

Family Week

Where I Live -- For the Moment

I took off from work today. I've been doing this randomly lately out of extreme anxiety. My fear is about the near future when a large moving van takes up half the street during a busy tourist season to cart my belongings over town lines. There are many problem scenarios rattling around in my brain.

I live in the middle of Provincetown, a unique, quirky, theme-filled place with narrow streets, houses nipping at each other's shingles, uneven brick sidewalks that can't contain the throngs that roam them. Picture one of the video shots of Beijing with the mobs of pedestrians, the bicycles, the taxis, right down to the rickshaws. Throw in a trolley and cops on Segways and you have my little town. 3 miles long and 3,000 year round residents. Summer comes and we're looking at 60,000 people a day.

Now picture an 18 wheeler trying to maneuver through this. It requires renting police officers to oversee the ordeal. An 18 wheeler set in one place on this street, the main street, could stop production of meals in over 60 restaurants because the food purveyors can't get through with the day's goods. And everyone will know I caused the loss of thousands of dollars income that was going to help them survive the wickedly cold, desolate, gray winter.

Fortunately, it's family week now. And I don't have to worry about my semi running over anyone in a stroller or wearing balloon hats that don't resemble animals, though the guy sitting in front of town hall who makes these confections thinks he's a wizard at it. No, what I have to worry about is two weeks from now. Two small weeks. Now really less than 14 days. That is when Carnival Week is held. Carnival Week, free beads, lots of body parts showing, lots of floats, and one day when an estimated 100,000 people stand in the streets, hang from balconies and rooftops, and garner choice seats in the front windows of restaurants to watch a slow extravaganza. Carnival. My nemesis week. My moving week.

Why am I doing this now? Let's say it's time to move on. Let's say someone doesn't love you anymore and you need to git along little doggie. Let's say someone bought you out. Let's say you just need it to be over.

So I took the day off. I am surrounded by 44 boxes filled with books, crystal, and china. And I haven't scratched the surface of packing. And I can't give the mover an estimate on the number of boxes because I can't imagine how much more I have to do...alone...during the busiest work time of the year.

On a happier note, I'm enjoying a particularly good relationship with Lilly Pharmaceuticals. In the coming days, when I have a spare moment, I will be posting photos of objects that I should or should not take with me. Coming from a family of packrats, I can't tell anymore what I should pack and what I should leave behind. Admittedly, I've packed too much already. Feel free to be harsh and tell me to get rid of things. Like that carton of Everyday Foods that I already packed, or the issues of Martha Stewart Living carefully placed in matching blue magazine holders.

In my mind, my future has a spartan, antique Swedish aesthetic to it. So far, it doesn't look hopeful.