Minda Goes West

Youngest Kid and I spent this weekend at a church retreat at Bishop's Ranch, a couple of hours north of San Francisco. It was nourishing in many ways. First, it was nice just to get out of the city. We chose city life very deliberately, and I love living in San Francisco, but I am discovering that getting out into nature every month or two is a key part of happy, healthy city living. This really hit home for me in October, when I stayed with a coworker one night to save myself three hours of commuting between Day 1 and Day 2 of a workshop at another office. The coworker and her wife live out in the country, and as I listened to the crickets chirping through the open window as I drifted off to sleep, my soul relaxed a piece of me I didn't realize had been tense. The ranch is far from being in the wilderness. It's adjacent to a Clover Dairy farm--our noses were well aware of that at times--and the nearby hills are covered in vineyards. But there is no city noise, growin...

Today I called Progressive to cancel our car insurance, because we no longer have a car to insure. My husband sold both our vehicles back in Vermont before flying out to join me here in San Francisco. Even though I've been living carless for two months, and even though I know we can choose to buy a car if being without ends up not working for us, it is strangely unnerving not to have a car. Or car insurance. And I find the fact that I am unnerved unnerving.

Tomorrow, if all goes well, our moving pods will be dropped off in front of the house next door in the morning, and the teenager we've hired to help us unload them will show up at one. We'll unload the pods and assemble at least the beds before WriterMan leaves for Vermont early Wednesday morning. But so many things could go wrong. For example: The SUV with Oregon plates currently parked in front of one of our temporary No Parking signs (posted by the city over the weekend) could still be there when the pods arrive. The pods could not arrive. The teenager could not show up. The teenager could show up but not be strong enough for the three of us (he, WriterMan, and I) to haul the heavy furniture up the two flights of stairs to the front door. Beautiful mango-wood table, I am looking at you. One or more of us could injure ourselves hauling said furniture up said stairs. Given WriterMan's history of sprained ankles and my history of breaking my foot on stairs, this i...

I arrived Sunday afternoon, and it's now Wednesday morning. In no particular order: There is a palm tree on my street! I know, I know, this should not be shocking. And yet somehow, it is. There is another person with my same name living in San Francisco. Well, it's possible we have different middle names that start with the same initial, but I know the middle initial is the same. I discovered this when getting a public library card, so at least the other me is also a reader. The librarian, an immigrant judging by her accent, asked me if my first name was common. No, no, it isn't. Card management is going to be a thing. In addition to the usual credit card, ID, and debit card, I now need to manage my work ID and the pass that lets me past the building lobby, as well as my Clipper card (for riding the Muni). I think a different wallet might be in order to help me easily access the Clipper card while keeping the others less available. I'm also surveying coworkers on ...

Tonight was Youngest's graduation from elementary school, which is a thing here. It's held in the evening. The kids process in. There's a speech, and slide show. Each name is called, and the kid walks forward to shake hands, get a diploma, pose for a picture. Afterwards, there's cake. "Mom, do we have to move?" Youngest has a good group of friends--six boys who get along well, have fun, and challenge each other. A month ago, it looked like they were scattering to different middle schools, which was making the move a slightly easier sell. But now they will all--except for Youngest and one kid who is a grade behind--be at the same school. I know that middle school years are a time when many elementary school friend groups implode or explode or silently drift apart. Maybe it's better to leave before that happens, escaping the confusion and hurt feelings and the pain of watching it fall apart. But at 12, Youngest doesn't know that's probably ...

WriterMan pointed out to me that we are operating under a conservation of stress. We can apparently only stress effectively about one thing at a time, but there are many items on our Things to Stress about list, so as soon as we resolve one stressful situation, we get only a brief reprieve before we start stressing about the next thing. First, we were stressing about whether we were going to move. We found out the move is on. Yay! So then we stressed about finding a place to live. We signed a lease. Yay! Then we stressed about one of our twins, who had yet to find a job for after graduation and didn't seem to be looking. Then he found a job. Yay! We are currently stressing about choosing a moving method and date. Driving the moving van ourselves? Filling pods and having them moved? Or tossing frugality to the wind and hiring someone else to do the whole shebang? Stay tuned for the next episode of Stressing with Minda.

Moments before we left for the airport last Tuesday, we received a phone call from the landlords of our top apartment, telling us that we could have it. While WriterMan talked to them about the logistics of getting the lease signed (via email, once we were back in Vermont), I danced around the hotel room and Youngest looked glum. At twelve, it's hard to understand the value of sticking to a somewhat arbitrary budget, and he really liked the budget-busting option. I am relieved to have the question settled, in part because I was not looking forward to the pressure of picking out an apartment on my own, which was our backup plan. It also helps in the decluttering process to be able to picture the space where we will be living and the amount of storage available to us there. I'll share more about our new space once we are there. For now, I'll just say that it is one floor of a house in a quiet neighborhood.