One week, one day...

... and the unpacking continues.

Saturday I hit the crazy-making phase of unpacking -- the point at which you are looking for particular objects you know you packed, somewhere, and are running out of boxes in which they might turn up. I had a list of seven refugee possessions that I was specifically seeking, and I was getting a bit stressed out over their stubborn non-appearance.

But then I found four of them, found suitable substitutes for two of them that let me do what needs to be done until the real thing turns up (or I give up and purchase replacements), and figured out that my father probably swiped the last one. So my stress level declined.

Only I've now thought of four more objects that I need and can't find.

Methinks it's going to be a while before I'm fully settled in.

I've gotten far enough, though, that unpacking no longer needs be my full-time occupation. Yes, I still have a three-page to do list of unpacking-related chores, but I'm (almost) settled enough that I can attend to other things primarily and finish the unpacking and organizing an hour or so at a time. Granted, a lot of my new activities still have to do with relocation (paperwork! paperwork! paperwork!), but the feel is a bit different.

My cousins M and J drove down from Santa Barbara yesterday to visit. It was great fun to see them and to hear their exciting news about both of their careers. M, a professional organist, put Grandma's organ through its paces. J used our internet connection to catch up on cyberlife, from which she has been cut off for several maddening days with a connection problem (which we may have figured out how to solve). GrandDad and I missed our naps to see them, but it was worth it. We're going to go visit them within the next few weeks.

I've been "making" dinner every night since last Wednesday, which so far consists basically of warming up food other people have given us. Tomorrow we're making an expedition to the Navy Commissary to restock the pantry, and I'll start cooking for real. (GrandDad's a retired Navy officer, and the base a couple of miles away is where he does the bulk of his grocery shopping.)

The discipline of getting dinner on the table is a constraint that I'm not used to, but I'm finding it incredibly therapeutic. Left to my own devices with a mammoth task like unpacking, I'd typically forget to eat until well past my hunger point and get completely isolated from the rest of the world by my need to keep making progress. It's good for me to have to interrupt whatever I'm doing and plan and execute a meal, even if it is a hodge-podge of leftovers. And it's good for me to have someone to share that meal with. Even when we don't talk much.

I think that I would be something of a basket case if I had just moved to a new community and didn't have an outside job to start right away and didn't have someone to share meals with. As it is, I'm doing well.

Shout out to all the dear ones who have sent encouraging messages -- here, by e-mail (yes, whatever e-mail address you have for me still works), by Facebook, or by phone. I will get back to you in due course, but for now I'm going to cheat with this broadcast acknowledgment. It's good to hear from you.

Back to work.


Robin said...

Yes, your father absconded with the blue water-spray bottle -- which is identical to mine (OK, slightly lighter shade, but close enough to be confusing). Now that I have two of them, I recommend that number. Though you might want to choose different colors.


Rachel said...

Color confusion wasn't really an issue when we lived on opposite coasts. Guess I've got a new excuse to visit the 99 cent store.

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