Lots of firsts this week. First wrong turn trying to find the new train station, first visit to the new grocery store, first time realizing that I have absolutely no clue where the vaccuum cleaner bags are. Today was not, however, the first time I realized we have to get our furniture reorganized as soon as possible. Not because we don't have anyplace to sit, or because there's merely a narrow pathway between the piles of boxes and lamps to the door, but because the current configuration (everything shoved up against the walls willy nilly) allows the cats to clamber up on top of the mantel and thence to the unanchored bookshelves. This, you will readily allow, is a recipe for disaster. It's not the cats I'm worried about, either. It's my furniture and my plants.
The cats really are happy here. They love this new set up with unlimited access to delightfully precarious and forbidden heights. Keiko's warily interested in venturing out the front door, but Natasha is less inclined to leave. Dixie, on the other hand, loves her yard so much she doesn't want to stay in the house with us anymore. She begs to be let out the back door as soon as she's done wolfing down her dinner or comes back from a walk. It's just like having a teenager. Still, we're happy she's happy.
We met another of our neighbors across the street. They own a Dachshund and three cats. Also maybe a child, but we didn't pay attention to that; we just care about their pets. The nice young couple we met the other night informed us of a dog park somewhere within easy driving distance. We discovered on Sunday that this county doesn't allow dogs at either city or county parks. Poor Dixie! She will have to settle for pooping on lawns (and yes, we clean up after her. Every coat either of us owns has pockets stuffed with plastic bags for dog duty). I am going to really miss weekend outings to Bol Park in my old neighborhood.
Boy, I won't miss the housing search, though. I read in Monday's Chronicle that the median house price in Palo Alto jumped 43% in one year, now weighing in at $685,000. And in many cases we're not talking about a fabulous house, either, just a plain, ordinary, 60 year old two bedroom one bath bungalow. It is to plotz.
Work is as busy as ever, yet I no longer stay more than five minutes past closing. I now catch a train at 5:38 instead of 6:05, you see. It's strangely liberating. Reservations are going undone. Deadlines are being missed. Phone calls are not returned on a timely basis. I'm working as hard as I possibly can, but things are still sliding and there is nothing I can do about it short of working an extra hour or two for free every day. Mais non, ma petite, jamais encore. I worked an extra half hour for free every day for two years. Done with that. Over it. They gave me a raise last Friday. I am most appreciative, but it doesn't buy my free time now that I have a new train to catch.
I ought to be unpacking my big box of pants and shirts instead of writing this, but I'm bushed and I need to spend some time tonight just loafing around. We went to Target and bought some essentials: a wall clock, two welcome mats, half price Easter candy. Prior to that I walked the dog, fixed steak and baked potatos for dinner, and did a load of laundry. I'm a hard workin' woman, and I need my down time. So instead of unpacking, I'm going to excavate some clothes that can reasonably be said to match for tomorrow, and leave it at that.
Perhaps I'll go to bed early, as well. Now that would be a first.
and some of us are discussing nostalgia for the good old days.
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