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There's a Bright Golden Haze on the Meadow

...and it's the glorious sheen of my generic Zoloft.

But first:  A big blonde thank you to Neysa The Reader, who unwittingly, and therefore extra-awesomely, comes riding to the rescue regarding a certain incident involving The Bridemobile, a mailbox, and a seventeen-year inability to back.  Neysa The Reader is one of those people who apologizes for sending free money, quote, "late."  I hereby deem Neysa The Reader officially "late" in the sense that Indiana Jones was late to freeing an old, bearded James Bond from a burning building, only... I'm not... you know... Scottish.  Or in command of a submarine.

What I want to know is why the mailbox lay in wait for me to have an absolutely clear view of it.  When I left Ginger, this is what I saw out the back window:

But not to worry! There was plenty of clearance out the front passenger window:

Feelin' fresh on the move


As foretold, my next stop isn't Mobile; it's a month-long writing residency in Colorado.   That means I'll need cooking utensils, clothes, office crap, and Jell-O shot supplies to last me a trimester.  And, well-- you know how a space can look really really big, and then you start, like, putting things in it, and all of a sudden it's really really small?  And then you're left with two boxes of books and a casserole dish and a butane torch and The History of the National Space Transportation System strewn all over the sidewalk and nowhere to put it?  Exactly.


I mean, it was mostly toothpaste and half-empty boxes of Bisquick-- things which I assume that Oklahoma manages to import-- but as I stood there, hands on hips, conceding that there was no physical way that this here stuffed inchworm was going to make it into that car, I also conceded that every single German antecedent was at that moment spinning him or herself a good foot and a half deeper into the ground.  I was... going to have to... throw away... perfectly good things.

Twelve hours earlier, I had gleefully shoved quarter-bottles of colored sugar into the hands of our Lutheran pastor, thrilled that the church pre-school could make use of three-year-old Christmas cookie topping leavings.  Also, twelve hours earlier, it wasn't two in the morning.  What had to go... had to go.

So I cried, there in the night, over the pantyliners bought with a coupon, on sale.  It was the Sophie's Choice of non-perishable goods.

I pulled aside the stuffed bear given unto me last Valentine's Day, the space shuttle book, my mother's harvest yellow measuring cups handed down on the day I moved out.  And I ran upstairs and placed a Gund horse, a Tinkerbelle stationery set, and a near-full pack of toilet paper in the room that was once my office.  I left it for the family of six which would be taking over the lease the next week.  It was... stuff.  Useful stuff.

Crap, really.

I grabbed onto it with both hands, I think, because the four weeks in Colorado before me are, at the moment, downright terrifying.  I will be Josh The Pilot-less, and sharing  a house... which I already do, granted, but with a bendy left-brained person, not four other Official Creative People.  I don't do well with taking turns being the shrieky nightwalker.

Then I saw a gate.

As the 1200 pound blind spot and I entered the Ozarks, the granite chipped into the hillsides said hello, and I said hi back, and now we're friends.  And the granite said, "There's more where I came from."  And I said, "I am not going any closer to Branson."  And Andy Williams said, "F-you."

And even that was okay.

life in a tub at:  mbe@drinktothelasses.com

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Reader Comments (10)

[...] up on the migration:  The pantyliners Mary Beth left behind Share and [...]

I hope the worst of the trauma is over! May your new home in OK and your temp-abode in CO have stores with excellent wine selections nearby.

March 18, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterEm The Reader

I'm sure that what you lost in useful stuff, you gained in good Karma :)

March 18, 2010 | Unregistered Commenterred pill junkie

I know the feeling. On one level, I was surprised how much of my life could fit in a '96 Ford Taurus, and on the other I was busted up about the things I couldn't take with me.

Did you have to ditch your pantyliners, too?

March 18, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterMB

Woo hoo! MB is only two states away from Anne from Iowa.

*Note to self: get stalker shoes ready...

March 18, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterAnne from Iowa

Hey MB,

I'm an old fan and logged on (in a fit of procrastination, I admit) to read about your latest adventures involving the writing residency and detachment from Josh-The-Pilot.

If it's any consolation, I've been living apart from my beau, my husband of 8 years, to take a job in Chicago. I live and work in Chi-town and he's in The Bend (2 miles from ND). We see each other for about 29 hours each weekend. It's a sucky, sucky existence but Hallmark was right when they wrote mushy greetings about absence making the heart grow fonder.

I *hate* it when Hallmark is correct about matters of the heart!

This, too, shall pass. Strong marriages and friendships only get stronger! You guys are in my prayers during this tumultuous time.

March 21, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterDorrie

OK, now I feel better. Long distance SUCKS, and I wish you the very best. I'll pray back atcha : )

March 22, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterMB

Always knew Andy Williams was a potty mouth!

March 24, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterSara N

[...] have a lingerie bag?” she asked me. (They always ask me. For everything. Because I have it. The Bridemobile was loaded to critical mass in Virginia, added to in Oklahoma City, and thinned out only marginally as I crossed the Continental Divide. I [...]

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