Heavy Lifting
This morning I went out to brunch with my friend Jim Brunet and his lovely wife Anne (whom I had never met before) who were in town for a friend's birthday. Jim is a friend from online, but we've met a few times--once when he brought his daughter up to look at colleges, and again last year at Noreascon. It was surprisingly lovely to go out and be a grownup--which is to say, to talk about anything we wanted, without having to explain anything to the kids. Returned home and somehow found myself embroiled in YG's plan to renovate her room. This involved taking almost all her furniture out of the room and replacing it with other furniture. A loft bed built atop her desk, dresser and cabinet was swapped out for her sister's old dresser, and the bed which goes under the loft bed. Bookshelves were moved. Many things were singled out for yard sale, donation to her school, and the trash bin. I am not certain that there is any point on my body that doesn't hurt.
Before we began moving things, I made her take all the books and games and crap off the bookshelves; this stuff is still in boxes, and tomorrow when YG is at her guitar lesson (and then goes to a birthday party) I am going to force organization on the room. It won't last long, of course, but for a moment I can pretend that life is a manageable thing.
Before we began moving things, I made her take all the books and games and crap off the bookshelves; this stuff is still in boxes, and tomorrow when YG is at her guitar lesson (and then goes to a birthday party) I am going to force organization on the room. It won't last long, of course, but for a moment I can pretend that life is a manageable thing.
2 Comments:
From Dave Smeds:
Ah. Jim Brunet. One of the many denizens of GEnie in the good old days. Only met him a couple of times. He was in the writing group down in the Greater L.A. area with Denise Lee and Deborah Ross (Deborah Wheeler), who've since moved to northern California and become buddies of mine. Sometimes we all end up hanging out together at cons.
I'm frequently startled by how small the world is. Or at least my chunk of it.
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