In between days

Well, one half of us is getting all settled in and acclimated to life in London, whilst the other half of us has entered stage 2 of getting to London in the first place--unpacking and repacking all of her clothes (and some of her husbands) in rural Louisiana. This is not as easy as it sounds, believe me, especially when the goal is not to have to pay anything extra for luggage on the flight over.

The upside of being in rural Louisiana, unpacking and repacking many seasons' worth of clothes, is that I am getting to spend some quality time with family and catch up on much needed sleep. But the countdown has begun and in T minus 4 days, I will be able to post some pictures of our first London adventures together and, instead of hearing about how awesome London is from a different time zone, I will be able to talk about how awesome it is myself! Jim reports that the parks are beautiful and everywhere, the tube is easy to use, the architecture is incredible and old, and that he has walked more in the past couple of weeks than he did in about a year in Texas. Also, that the food isn't bad at all.

I can't wait!

The Queen of U-Haul

If you never need advice on renting U-haul equipment, look no further! I am, officially, a pro. I have also become an expert car saleswoman (with a little help from my friends) and a professional packer.

Moving to London is going good so far. Jim already moved. I, on the other hand, am still in Dallas with our neverending stuff, but at least we are half way there and the other half (me) is getting there thanks to our awesome families.

A word of advice for any who are planning an international move at any point in your life: become a minimalist immediately! We filled a large U-Haul trailer to the breaking point and still have more to go. And that was AFTER getting rid of a large amount of "stuff." Fortunately, my neighbors are more than happy to take any furniture we leave on the curb, so things are working out.

Current house conditions: disaster. State of dust bunnies: Dominant. Current state of mind: frazzled. Current sleeping quarters: air mattress.

I love moving.

The Tale of the Two Dancing Girls

Once upon a time, there were two young girls. The older one was named Claire and the younger one was Kate. They grew up on a farm on the banks of the Mighty Mississippi and happily rode their go-cart, jumped in cotton, climbed in trees, roller skated on the porch, tortured their younger brother, and did all the other care free things that farm girls do.

The girls went to school in a town nearby. The school was small and mean. The girls tried to fit in at the school by wearing large bows in their hair and baggy gap jeans and oversized polo shirts. Claire even cut very small bangs on her forehead in the hopes that she, too, could have pinwheel bangs, like all of the mean girls at school. Kate was more refined and did not consider bangs, but both girls knew that they would fit in if only they could do one thing: DANCE.

So they decided to learn. The girls signed up for a jazz dance class once a week. Their teacher was small and thin and smoked cigarettes during class and complained about her husband and her children. She instructed the girls to do twirls and leaps and jumps and spins, but never paid attention to their form or their positions. Her lack of focus prevented her from noticing that Claire and Kate were consistently twirling in the wrong direction.

Eventually the time came for the girls to have their first recital. They were decked out in their jazz dance finest, with leggings and gloves and frilly collared tank tops. They waited on stage and as the music began they started to twirl and shake and dance, dance, dance...in the wrong direction and without any rythmn. They crashed into their classmates with wreckless abandon. They twirled back and forth, flailing their arms. They were the dancing queens! And then, suddenly, the room went dark and all you could see of the girls were their glow in the dark outfits, twirling and twirling....

Sadly, the girls never really learned to dance in a sychronized fashion. They did grow up to be quite ravishing and after many nights of dancing to bands in New Orleans clubs, they got rhythm, but not coordination. They also collected fabulous costumes, which they wore throughout the years with wigs and glitter and boas and platform boots. But none could hold a candle to the glow in the dark costumes of their youth.

Claire's Anxieties

Today I woke up at 4:30 am, with two cats walking on me and lots of thoughts in my head. So, naturally, I went running. The moon was out, so it was actually lighter than my usual running time (6am) and I was surprised to find that there were several other people out and about (running, riding bikes) that early in the morning--psychos!! Maybe they are having trouble sleeping, too.

While I was running I had my first feeling of real remorse about leaving Dallas and everything that we are so comfortable with. I don't know how long it will be before I have a job again or where to even look for a job once we get to London. I won't even have a work permit for a couple of months, so I just have to get used to the idea of being unemployed and trying to be productive and adventurous in the meantime. We are also moving with no furniture. A furnished apartment seems like the most rational and easiest way to deal with this problem, but what if that is not where we decide to land? How will we get furniture to an apartment when we have no car? Will we take our mattress on the tube? Does Ikea deliver?

I didn't figure any of this out on my run, but I did remind myself that I've moved to a new city before (that's how I'm trying to think of it) and that it always has worked out in the past. And I heard a screech owl, which was cool (and appropriate since it is October, after all).

Cedar Fever, By: Buster Brown

This has been a horrible day. Naturally, there are embarassing pictures of me in a very fragile state: I am allergic and it is NOT funny! This morning, after a night of torture, I was rushed to the vet where they shaved my chest:


I look like a plucked chicken!

The good thing is that I get to eat bologna a lot for some reason. The bad thing is that they keep spraying me with this cold stuff that really @(#*&$ hurts. I don't want to humiliate myself further by rolling around on the ground in agony, so I use all of my energy to stay upright and just rush from point to point while foaming at the mouth in a manly way. Good thing my Dad knows how to make me feel better:

Never ending stuff

It is very hard to become a minimalist after a lifetime of pack rat-like behavior. But that is what we are forced to do as we start the moving to London process. One would think that getting rid of everything wouldn't be that hard, but when there is so much of everything to get rid of, it is not that simple. The key, I have found, is to check your sentimentality at the garage door. Yes, yes, that Christmas ornament that you made with your sister and your then-boyfriend, now-husband, is sweet, but it's a piece of crap, so get rid of it. The outdated public health books that have been in boxes since 2000? Those go, too. If you haven't consulted them in six years, you're not going to start now. Pictures albums are tricky, because even though you can't remember the names of half of the people in your college photo albums, their pictures do trigger memories. If you have six guitars and a banjo, but you only play one of them, keep that one and sell the rest--even the one that is just like Robert Smith's. What to do with that box of costumes dating back from the days when you had no qualms with walking down the streets of New Orleans in barely more than your underwear? Do you really think that you would be caught dead in any of those slut costumes now, much less in five years?

And we haven't even gotten to what's in the house yet.