Move

8:15 a.m.

1. Hornet update: We put the bag(s) of hornets into the plastic bin, taped down the lid, put it in two more bags, and then out on the curb with our trash Thursday evening. I laid awake for several hours, because the curb isn't too far from our bedroom window, which had to be open (no one has air conditioning here, the fools! yes, it is in the fifties at night, but it is in the 80's and 90's during the day and the house gets quite warm) and I was having all of these terrifying visions of the frozen hornets thawing and coming to life and methodically chewing an escape through seven bags and RUBBERMAID, and then in a thick swarm, flying right into the bedroom window and stinging us. Also, in these mental scenarios, the hornets STAYED in the bedroom the entire next day, and we would have to stay under the covers in the bed and pray and have to pee so bad. SO BAD.

Fortunately, none of that happened, and they were probably dead, and they went to the dump. Rest in peace. Etc.

2. Saturday afternoon I went out with the dog and he grabbed his favorite outside toy--a miniature tire that's huge and black and hard to destroy--and cantered laps around the yard with it, which is normal for him. Suddenly he stopped, dropped it, took a few steps forward, and proceeded to pee (which is also normal for him) but this time he also proceeded to accidentally soak the toy in his own urine. (Our dog is 80 pounds--he can make a lot of pee.) I stood, horrified and unable to move or speak, as I watched him finish peeing, turn around, and grab the urine-drenched tire in this mouth to start running again. Pee droplets were splashing everywhere, including on his face, and I snapped out of my slow motion paralysis to finally have a movie-moment type "NOOOOOOOooooo" and then a "SPIT THAT OUT. DROP IT! DROP IT! DAMN IT MONK DROP IT DROP IT GET INSIDE RIGHT NOW DROP IT."

And then we called him Pee Mouth the rest of the day.

3. The move is starting to seem very real to me, very close. The house is fairly free of furniture now. Since we have a split level, J and some friends thoughtfully took all the heavy stuff down to the garage so that I wouldn't die on Wednesday and/or drop a couch on J's head. That was fairly likely, because a) one awesome side effect of this medicine is that I overheat really fast and think I am going to die and b) I'm over a foot shorter than J. I started feeling much better in the last few days, though, and we've gotten a lot done. Almost everything is boxed up, we have no couch to sit on, and we have those classic moving annoying random things lying around that didn't fit properly into a box category, or that we'll need up until Wednesday. I still have two or three friends to see, still have the final cleaning, and there are the last minute errands that never ever ever seem to end. (I think we're getting our cable and internet turned off tomorrow, so it'll probably be a week before I can post again. From Iowa!)

We're ready to go. I'll miss a few friends. I'll miss the state, the wildness and the openness and the sky that suffocates you with its sheer weight. I'll miss how the earth is formed here, and the miles of nothing, and the freedom that comes from lack of trees and abundance of land. I'll miss the wind. I'll miss taking the dog out to the field when there's a foot of snow and the windchill is far below zero, feeling reckless and alone and a little savage.

It was strange and awkward here. I'm glad we came.

But we're ready to go, we're ready to start the next phase.

Eastward ho,

black sheeped