Moved In

We are, moved in that is. And except for a brief emergency hiatus that involved flying to California to see my family a scant four days after the moving truck pulled away, and ON HARRY'S BIRTHDAY, it's been progressing smoothly. By which I mean, the boxes are gradually diminishing, decisions about what goes where (or at least on which floor) are more or less decided, the number of chores to be done (install new smoke detectors, hang the closet hardware, FIND the book I was reading!!!)are also leveling off.

I had hoped that the unpacking phase, wherein ALL the boxes were emptied and flattened and sent to the trash - would be over before I flew off to visit my beloved dysfunctional family. (I actually did accomplish this on one move - four days from truck to DONE! - but I was much younger then. ) THIS time the living room was still awash with unidentified boxes when I was forced to pack what I could find, hoping it would do for the target climate, to go off in a fatigued daze.

I actually did have a pleasant visit, as these things go, with my family. Sometimes when you belong to the kind of screwed-up nexus my family represents (I will go into this in more detail sometime) you focus on the chaos - of which there was plenty - and forget how lovely it is to see people who love you (and have known you since you were born) and how terrific it is to see the changes time has wrought in some of them.

More on my family at some other time. (Or on some other blog.)

I returned to my new home find my Harry happily ensconced in this pretty house, a large and sunny space that did not seem my own. In CA I had been imagining Harry, while we talked on the phone, in the OLD house...

Well, okay. The neurotic dog has adjusted,kinda, (although she has apparently forgotten she's housetrained), the cats have come up from hiding places in the cellar, and all of the kids have been to visit. (One has actually moved in for the summer.) We're here.

We've been talking about getting married. (We bought wedding rings ages ago, but this is serious - a ceremony, with kids and others. A big party, for everyone we know?)

Don't get me wrong, I think Harry and I should be married, but I can't help worrying about what it all MEANS. Not just a big party.

Probably I am just as dysfunctional as the rest of my primary blood relatives - only one of whom, in living memory, has contracted a marriage that works. I hesitated to marry the father of my daughters - and I was right! - I was never one of those (little) girls who fantasize about wedding veils. And, at the moment, one of the big issues I have not shared with my beloved Harry, is I HAVE NOTHING TO WEAR!!!

Think that's trivial? Fuck you.