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feelings

a moving blog post

abby mumford

On Friday, I moved from a rented studio apartment to my own two-bedroom condo. One of the moving guys said, “I love how everything in here is perfectly apartment sized.”

“Me too, until the moment I bought a two-bedroom condo and now nothing fits,” I replied with the bitter and overwhelming taste of “what have I gotten myself into” on my tongue.

It was a two plus year journey for me to reach this adulthood milestone. It took my dad 46 years of working before he retired and could now offer to come up on a weekday to help me get settled.

Big changes for us both.

My dad is a whiz with numbers and directions, but tools and construction and handyman work were never his forte/passion. I got neither his ability with numbers or directions, but the gene pool did give me his handyman abilities, which is to say we were quite the pair in attempting some minor condo renovations this weekend.

It turned out “strength in numbers” worked. His logical brain + his math skills + his previous experience with some power tools + stubbornness to get the job done + my practical brain + my ability to fit through a window +  my flower covered tools + my sous-chef-but-in-handyman-term abilities + stubbornness to get the job done = I (mostly) feel at home now.

Together, we installed a shower rod, a Nest thermostat, a mailbox, new electrical outlet and light switch covers, some exterior pipe insulation, and window shades. We repurposed bar stools, silverware holding containers, garbage bags, and shade shavings. We jerry-rigged a drain pipe and discovered another benefit to the bottom of my stairwell and went to Home Depot six times and figured out the best way to get out of the driveway and found new ways to navigate my neighborhood via car and foot and ate some amazing meals to cap off our grueling days.

He showed me that even when you think you know someone, your prior knowledge can be out of date. It’s important to keep your expectations flexible, your mind open, and your heart full. That way, you’ll be able to recognize the handyman sized shadow your dad now casts.

You’ll also be able to recognize your own changing reflection in the mirror.*

*That your dad hung in 5 minutes flat.

feelings

11.30.16

abby mumford

“Hi Maga. It’s Abby.”

“Oh Abby dear. Isn’t today Wednesday?”

*hangs head in shame* “Yes. Yes it is.”

“Where are you now?”

“I’m actually in my new place. I’m doing some cleaning before the big move on Friday.”

“Do I have your address? And phone number?”

“My phone number will stay the same as usual. I’m going to mail you a letter that will have my new address on it.”

“Oh, please do. And could you include your new number?”

“It’s the same as before. You must have it.”

“I’m sure I do, but with all the moving I’ve been doing lately…things have gotten jumbled. Why don’t you tell it to me again? Your new number.”

“You have been moving a lot. Were you able to take any personal things to the rehab center?”

“No, no. They’re all at Lowry.”

“Isn’t it good to be back there?”

“Well, yes and no. It’s full of odd people. Oh don’t tell anyone I said that. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s between you and me, Maga.” [AND MY BLOG] [with its whopping 10 readers]

“I lived in my other house for over 60 years. It was so comfortable.”

“But Lowry is better than the rehab place, isn’t it?”

“Oh, for certain.”

“Well, let’s focus on that that.”

“I was going to call you later tonight since I didn’t hear from you last night.”

“I am so sorry. I actually sat up in bed at 11:30 last night and said out loud, ‘It’s Tuesday. I never called Maga.’ That’s how frazzled this move is making me. For no good reason, I missed our usual phone call and by the time I remembered, it was too late to call you.”

“Why don’t you give me your new number?”

“There isn’t a new number. It’s the same as before. It’s the same as the one I’m talking to you on now.”

“Mmmhmm. Yes. Why don’t you tell me your new number?”

*sighs* *continues Swiffering floors* “Do you have a pencil handy?”

She somehow did and so I gave her my cell phone for the dozenth time because my guilt over forgetting to call her was as thick as her determination to record some portion of the changes I was going through.

feelings

11.22.16

abby mumford

“Hi, Maga. It’s Abby.”

“Oh, Abby dear, hello! Are you on your way to the soccer game?”

“You are right on track with our schedule.”

“What’s that?”

“Yes, we are. I’m in the car now which is why I’m calling a bit earlier than usual. And which is why it’s a bit loud in the background.”

“I checked the Denver Post and couldn’t find out what channel the game would be on. Do you think it’ll be broadcast?”

“I imagine it would. But maybe on a cable channel like ESPN or something.”

“Oh, they wouldn’t have that listed in the paper. What time does it start?”

“7pm here, so 8pm there.”

We went back and forth about the time for awhile. I never was sure if she just couldn’t hear me or if my severely jet lagged, 4am wake up call brain was hindering my already tentative at best math skills, so I switched gears.

“What are your Thanksgiving plans?”

“J and P, flying home from Hawaii right now, will come over to the care center.”

“Oh, how wonderful!”

“Well, not really. The food they serve here will be for old people.”

“Well, yes. That’s probably true, so maybe focus on the company you’ll have instead.”

“Yes. Good point. I should do that. And how many will be there with you?”

“13. M already has the table all set and it’s gorgeous.”

“Oh my! That’s a lot. A packed house!”

We went over the details of the guests and, again, I think she guessed who was going to be there more than she could actually hear me. It was a combination of ambient car noise + the tone of my voice. She sometimes can’t hear my tone so instead of repeating myself, I have to think of another way to say something so the vowels and consonants rearrange into a deeper tone of voice she can hear.

Unfortunately this time, there were limited options on how to say the guests’ names.

“Oh, Abby. Hold on. There’s someone at the door. Yes, hello. Who are you, please?”

It was someone to take her blood, so I quickly tried to disengage before she could tell the person to come back later. It takes a village to raise a child, and, addendum, make sure the elderly (who have decades of making their own decisions) take proper care of themselves.

Because even though we won’t be at the same Thanksgiving table, I want to keep Maga’s (relative) good health on my list of things to be thankful for.

general

conversations with strangers #135

abby mumford

11.14.16

The automatic door forgot its one job, so the man in front of me labored through the heavy door and held it for me.

“There you go,” he said.

As my hand replaced his on the frame, I pushed it a little more. “Oh. There. It caught. Of course. Now that we’re both through the door.”

“Just my luck,” he said.

For that brief moment, we were together in the same boat. Stuck in the midst of a non-working world. Which, yes, is a direct analogy for this post election USA.

general

11.15.16

abby mumford

“Tell me about your visit with my mom and dad.”

“It was wonderful,” Maga said. “So wonderful to have them here. Your folks look great. Your mom always looks great and I’d say retirement agrees with your dad.”

“He is freshly retired but keeping busy!”

“I’ll say. They stopped off at the house to get the green car and they had rented a car at the airport so they had two cars and could go in different directions if they wanted.”

“Did they need to go in different directions?”

“Well, I’m a bit of a collector as I’m sure you’re aware.”

“Yes.”

“And so they had to go through a lot of stuff. Get rid of it. They had to take things to places where you can leave them if you don’t need them.”

The lack of ability to recall the word dump or goodwill or salvation army was not due to her 95.5 years of age. It was solely due to her status as a “collector.”

“And they didn’t even invite me to go with them.”

“Maga! Surely you didn’t want to go. It wouldn’t have been fun for you.”

“Yes, I guess you’re right.”

Actually, I lied to her. I knew it would have been fun. Far too much fun in fact because what’s one person’s trash is always Maga’s treasure.