Oh, hi! Since last we spoke, I’ve moved to Encinitas, California. And boy, has it been quite the drama.
I arrived on May 1, when it was monumentally hot here. The Horse Whisperer was still in San Francisco, finishing up work, so I made the journey with two miserable cats and a full car. The day after I arrived, our movers unloaded box after box (after box), and I picked up a wonderful friend at the airport, who flew down to help me unpack. The first week was mostly fine – totally overwhelming, but fine. I think I was mostly in shock, but I hung in there, and got a lot of things done.
The Horse Whisperer was scheduled to arrive on Sunday, May 11, and that’s really when all hell broke loose.
The morning of his arrival, I decided that I absolutely must get him a gas grill. And so, off I went to the Home Depot, determined to accomplish this surprise. I purchased the grill and propane tank, and headed home. Luckily, the grill was preassembled, but I had to move it from the car to the back yard (note: we have a back yard! It is tiny, but it exists!). During this task, I thought to myself, “I probably shouldn’t do this by myself. It might not be the best idea.” And yet, I charged onward. I got the grill in place, and then began to load the propane tank into the base. If you’ve ever done this, you’ll understand that a so-called twenty-pound propane tank does not feel like twenty pounds. There’s this tiny little hooked ledge that is supposed to hold the propane tank, so I gamely attempted to lift the tank onto the ledge. In the second attempt, however, the propane tank slipped and came crashing down on my left hand. My first thought was, “f@%* f@%* f@%*, I have broken my finger!” As I removed my hand from the place where it was wedged, however, I noted with relief that my finger was fine.
My engagement ring, however, was not fine. I HAD COMPLETELY SMASHED IT.
Friends, I cried. I bawled. I hadn’t yet cried since leaving my beloved San Francisco, and I made up for lost time in a big way. I sobbed giant crocodile tears. I called a few local jewelers, and learned an impressively negligible amount about antique jewelry repair in the San Diego area. I cried some more.
The Horse Whisperer arrived home that night, assured me that we would figure out the ring situation, and loved the new grill. We hung out for a day, and things were fine. He was dismayed by the number of boxes remaining in our house, and I was dismayed at his disappointment, given that only fourteen of the ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY TWO ORIGINAL BOXES remained. We both quietly fumed for two days.
And then, all of San Diego caught fire.
You probably saw this on the news. It was horrible. There was ash literally raining into our yard. The Santa Ana winds were strong and crazy hot, and the finest bits of ash were blowing into our windows, covering everything we owned. The new house does not have air conditioning (locals continue assuring us that there is no need for AC most of the year… I remain unconvinced), and it was over 100 degrees outside, so closing the windows was not an option. On day two of the fires, it all caught up to me: the ring, the move, another saga involving That Which Shall Not Be Blogged. I was not feeling happy, and I expressed as much (probably in a very whiny tone of voice), and my darling husband, the light of my life, felt the need to suggest that I should “toughen up.”
And that, friends, is when I totally LOST MY SHIT.
Not since my teenaged years have I cried like that, for hours and hours and hours into the night. I woke up feeling hungover, hazy and headachy. I got in my car, discovered that the air conditioning and fan did not work at all, the windshield had suffered a major crack, and the front left blinker had died. We got a recommendation from one of the Horse Whisperer’s new coworkers, and took the car to the garage. They called, excitedly let me know that the AC repair would only cost about $350, but that they had felt something strange in the steering. They told me they would call back after checking it out. A few hours later, we learned that the car was going to cost around $2,800 to fix.
So. Here we are. We have a grill, there’s now only one box remaining to unpack (not including our extensive framed-item collection, which is flat packed separately), the fires are under control, temps have finally returned to the low seventies, my kitchen is actually functional, the car is going to be ready for pick up in four hours, and I have not yet found a jewelry repair person. Honestly, I’m exhausted. Things are getting much better (sometimes, losing one’s shit has the longterm effect of cleaning out the pipes, as it were), but it has been dramatic and not super fun. I miss my friends. I miss my town. I love the beach, but we don’t have much weather-appropriate attire, so that’s challenging.
Why am I writing this all down, after such a long hiatus? I’d like to remember this. I’d like to remember that the first week we were both here was ridiculously bad. Comically bad. I’d like to keep perspective, so that if and when we move again, I remember how it was. And I’d like to have a marker for how much better it gets. Because let’s be clear, it will get better. I can feel awesomeness on its way, and I’m SUPER MEGA DUPER looking forward to it. But I also want to appreciate how far we’ll have come.
Encinitas, over and out.