Dumpster Heaven

I've spent the first part of the day sitting around being useless as my friend worked on my lap top since that will be the only computer I will use in New York. This friend, now more family, is the older brother that I wish I'd had--yes, he doesn't like to admit that he's older. He never seems to run out of patience with me since I'm always asking him for help with some annoying thing that has me flummoxed. If I were to list all that he's done for me these past seventeen years, well, it would make this blog ridiculously long and tedious. When he left today, we didn't say 'good-bye,' truly an impossible notion for me. How do you leave behind someone who has become part of your foundation, the foundation that provides support unnoticed by the rest of the world? I know there will be no replacing him in my life. How could anyone get so lucky to meet someone as generous and caring as him a second time? I am ecstatic to report that he left our house with a pound cake, one of the two that I baked yesterday. I have two cakes baking today for distribution tomorrow.

My office is now full of piles of stuff, some that will end up in the dumpster due to arrive tomorrow, and others that may get donated. It's becoming clear to me why people move to the suburbs and stay. All that space creates the illusion of need. For instance, I found a large box of envelopes, the kind of box used by companies that actually send out a fair number of correspondences, in the back crevices of the cupboard in my office. Now, why would any normal, non-business person have a need for such a large box of envelopes? If only I could say that was the only large box of a useful item, perhaps not so useful in such a large quantity, that I have discovered in my house. I suppose it's all that Costco living that suburbanites seem to relish. No doubt I fell prey to the lures of that warehouse, full of things that no sane person needs in the ridiculous quantities that we all bring home. Hence, the industrial size bag of flour, the reason for all this frenetic baking.

I'm nearing the end downloading our CD collection. I don't know about any of you, but I'm always creating soundtracks for different periods of my life. Or certain albums become part of the mosaic of my time in a specific place. London is all about 10,000 Maniacs "In My Tribe" album. My summer at Ewha University is all about New Order, Andreas Wollenweider, and Salt and Pepa. My time at Yale University Press is all about Babyface's "Whip Appeal." My sophomore year of high school was UB40's "Labour of Love." My first fall in LA was Seal's first album. It's amazing how certain albums transport you to such specific memories. Or they do for me. My husband would never admit, but I've secretly believed he fell for me because of my music collection, which he found impressive for its expansiveness. Yes, I did have Miles Davis' 'Kind of Blue' among the many others, all of which I still own today.

So, this time of transition, purging, and farewells is all about Prince's cover of Joni Mitchell's "A Case of You," which I'm listening to endlessly as I drive down familiar streets, seeing everything through new eyes. It's a wondrous thing to see something you've driven past a zillion times, truly noticing it as if it were the first time. I'm trying to, like everything else I seem to be cataloging in my life, take note, storing the memories of squat buildings, houses with extraordinary gardens, trying to drown in the images of this town. Yesterday as I drove to pick up a friend, I was teary, again Prince's song played over and over again, as I realized that I will not be driving to her house to pick her up for much longer.

When I'm tucked inside on those snowy days when venturing outside is too uninviting, I will, hopefully, remember the burst of Fuschia colored bougainvilleas in our backyard. Or the hummingbirds that seem to love our rose garden. And if the pictures are too dim, I will simply put on the song from this time and remember the insane baking and stress of trying to move our family 3000 miles away.