the ocean

Last week Ian and I travelled to Quincy for two days to pick up a bunch of my grandparents' old furniture from storage and bring it back to fill up some of the many empty spaces in our new home. It was, frankly, quite a production. We had to rent a Penske van from a very chatty lady who felt it was necessary for us to know the entire history of the van, as well as the entire history of her apparently sometimes contentious relationship with her boss. We had to fill that van up with beautiful but long-neglected midcentury modern items, which also entailed cleaning off archeological-level layers of dust off said furniture. And then Ian had to drive that van five hours across the state (plus a fifteen minute break at Hardee's of Springfield) whilst I watched him worriedly in the Prius' rearview mirrors. Oh, and there was also all the lifting. Turns out they made furniture very solidly back then, which explains why it is still in good shape today but also why my back hurts.

Anyway, we got some nice items to show for it. The big priority here was my grandmother's desk, since my office has been completely empty except for several boxes of CDs we cannot part with for emotional reasons. Now I do not actually have to work from my bed, although I probably still will sometimes. We also brought back a cute bookcase with a sliding glass front and a giant dresser for our guest room, in case anybody decides to bring every item of clothing they own for a visit. There were also some odds and ends. For example, the bust of Mendelssohn my great-grandmother bought my mother as a child because my mother wanted a Beethoven one (like in Peanuts) but my great-grandmother thought he was too ugly. Mendelssohn was definitely more of a looker; shame about the music, though. Also: boxes of books and records (non-fiction and music, not like "books and records" in the Sarbanes-Oxley sense, law nerds), some beautiful paperweights that could also double as murder weapons in a pinch, and a toy cash register that presaged my own stinginess as a child. Treasures all, I assure you.

Ian has been in Ireland for work for the past week, leaving me with sole responsibility for the care and feeding of one very high maintenance beagle, as well as our palatial estate. It has been interesting. Aubrey actually seems to be trying to help in some respects, such as actually eating her breakfast during the morning hours, rather than staring at it with disdain until roughly 3 PM. She has not been super helpful on her bathroom schedule, however, leading to far too many incidents of me saying "potty" six dozen times in a variety of different tones over the course of ten minutes. The house has not shown any interest in being helpful, and has continued to toss off items for the good old to-do list on the reg. It has not burned down, however, and I'll give it credit for that.

As the person who is generally the one traveling for work, I do have to recognize that being the one left behind at home is in some respects far preferable. I don't have to sleep in a tiny, hard European bread or eat cold breakfast every morning. And I get to keep my normal schedule. But this has given me a good perspective on what Ian faced when I was, for instance, sent to China for three weeks straight or Texas for five. Within the same four-month period. As he said back then, "It's starting to feel a little bit like this is just normal and you were never here." So here's to being here, or there, depending on how you look at it. And here's to the Hard Rock Cafe Dublin merchandise I feel confident Ian will be bringing when he returns.

I'm watching a woman brandishing an umbrella as a weapon as she creeps through her darkened kitchen in a Lifetime movie right now. It somehow feels like a fitting end to this holiday weekend, and to the end of summer, in tradition if not the actual calendar. And I hate it. I'm not one of those people who's like "oh yay, pumpkin spice and sweater weather." I would take summer year round if that wouldn't require moving to Florida or California. (Nothing personal, but I don't like reptiles or driving.) 

Not that it wasn't a nice weekend. We went to a wedding in Madison, or rather in a barn near Madison. (Not like an actual functioning barn with manure and such, like a retired barn where they can serve alcohol.) The actual ceremony was short, the bar was very much open, and there were late night sandwiches, so it was a win on pretty much every level. Plus, we listened to the entirety of the classic Ashlee Simpson album "Autobiography" on the way back, for some reason. And suddenly I was transported back to a simpler time, when comically large belts and freaking out about terrorism were still in style. 

Today the journeys continued with a visit to my sister's family, where we barbecued, as is legally required on Labor Day, and were pelted repeatedly with soccer balls by the kids. And I ate a lot of corn. So it's been great, aside from the fact that I haven't seen the sun in three days. It's not like it keeps us alive or anything.