Currently, the sorting method I am using is both effective and very slow.  Progress is being made as I am able to see greater and greater patches of carpeting and, I hope, there is significantly less chance of my floors caving in on the neighbors below me.  Part of this relates to not knowing where any given thing is packed, because over half the packing was done in the flurry of activity that occurred after the movers got the furniture from the house into the storage facility or to the apartment.  Most of the large things arrived at the correct place.  Then they were covered by boxes of very mixed content.  I have taken an approach whereby I find an item or items that fit into a particular category as I wander the maze and then place it on the appropriate pile somewhere else in the apartment.  This seems to be a relatively logical approach at first, but results in as many or more cluttered spaces than are seen in the "after" pictures in the series.  A pile is even devoted to picture frames, one of which is a chrome license plate frame and will have a small collage of vehicle pictures.  Eventually.  The piles are simply a bit more homogeneous than they were before. 

There are piles for tools, electronic equipment and parts, two piles of kitchen utensils (those I might actually use and those I cannot even identify,) computer stuff, linens (anywhere from twin to king sized,) books not yet separated by the most general of topics, things to be sold, even a pile of over 30 unmatched socks.  The socks are a good example of the Catch 22 that slows me.  The pile is itself clutter, but I have not sorted through all the other clutter to know if they have mates hiding somewhere else in the mini-mountains.  The same sort of problem exists for the other categories.  One reader noticed that I have two ironing boards leaning against the kitchen counter.  True.  One is a regular, stand-alone type and the other is a smaller style that hangs over the top of a door and folds up when not in use.  So where is the problem?  Just keep the smaller one.  Well, the door to the laundry, furnace, and water heater area is a bi-fold door and will not support it.  Other location choices include closing myself in the claustrophobic bathroom, placing it in the narrow entry to the office area, or hanging it over the front door in rather public view.  The full sized board is worn and clunky, but functional.  I will likely keep the full sized one and try to stuff it into the available space in the laundry "room."

I made one last trip to the house to retrieve a forgotten sailplane winch last Saturday.  On that trip, I rescued the mutant toilet bowl brush Christmas tree, so I now have a use for about 10% of the Christmas lights and ornaments that were moved.  Where are they?  Here?  In the large closet miles away?  Dunno.  I'll have to look into that, but I'll be quite satisfied with three ornaments and a single string of lights.  Perhaps I'll even have a space large enough to put it soon.

I believe that I have done relatively well at being positive and not whining up to this point.  Well, bummer.  I must put in a feeling or two about my last visit to what was once my home.  It is becoming beautiful.  All of the back windows and the door have been replaced and upgraded.  The floors throughout the downstairs and upstairs are nearly all finished, being redone in hardwood.  A new energy efficient furnace, air conditioner, and water heater have been installed.  Curb appeal has been greatly improved by much pruning, shaping and cutting of the flora.  The new owner, his family, and his friends have simply done wonders in such a short time and the house will again be home to a family which can appreciate and care for it in a way it deserves.  But they murdered my their flowering plum tree.

A Different Kind of Gone

Good bye to that past

Won't be goin' back no more

They cut down my tree

-----

The flowering plum

By the neglected driveway

Kept alive 12 years

-----

It's OK, really

Don't make me no never mind

I took their dollars

Peace, Doc

Copyright © 2007, Thomas A. Blood, Ph.D.

"There are no regrets in life, just lessons." - Jennifer Aniston

It is about 6:00 a.m. Saturday and I seem to still be up sorting "stuff."  In part I am reverting to a sleep pattern that I have tended toward since I was a kid - up as late as possible and sleep in as long as possible.  In part, the nature of the sorting task is very different than I had planned it to be.  Plans are like that. 

The Boys and I had a peaceful Thanksgiving and an elegant repast of Fancy Feast chicken and egg souffle, a turkey sandwich, and if one was not too full, catnip.  Bittle overdid dessert a little bit and became a possessed beast, writhing, scratching, biting, and glaring suspiciously at anything that moved for several minutes.  Then he took a nap.  Overall it was a quiet and subdued day during which we appreciated our new surroundings.  There were no interrupting telephone calls from relatives and no visitors to disturb our sorting routine.  I texted holiday wishes to the offspring and spoke to one friend.  1960's Golden Oldies were playing.  It was calm.  I liked that. 

Black Friday was avoided as fervently as the Black Plague.  I only ventured out as far as the dumpster to dispose of some more of the useless detritus of my life.  Sorting is slow, sometimes bizarre, and often bittersweet.  One box contained a hand sized sledge hammer, a pamphlet on saliva, a drawing that a patient had made for me telling me how not to worry (partially in Polish,) a tennis ball, two dinner napkins, an X-acto knife, a spray can of Kilz primer white paint, and a crystal candle holder made in Indiana, USA, of all places.  Other times, like overnight and this morning, have had more substance.  I found (and read nearly cover to cover) the first yearbook published by Hebron High School in 1914.  Of the four people that raised me, Mayme and Helen (fraternal twins) appeared as seniors.  Gertrude appeared in her sophomore year.  Tom, being the baby of the family, born in 1900, did not appear as he would have been in eighth or ninth grade.  He did appear in a 1917 picture, in his Hebron High School basketball uniform. 

I found my grandfather R. P. Blood, MD's stethoscope and printed glass bottles from his drug store (Telephones:  Office 27-b, Res. 27-a.)  Trip diaries that Mayme Nolan wrote were also read, especially the one from 1963 when I was sharing driving duties with Pop.  I remember that one quite well because I got to drive through Dallas-Fort Worth.  I think Pop was a bit intimidated by so many lanes and exits on a highway.  This worked out well because at that age I knew everything and drove through with no problem.

Other less pleasant memories and feelings emerged as I leafed through many medical bill receipts, funeral arrangements for four (all the same style of casket, arranged in advance) the crucifixes for each, and even the very insistent demand I made that Pop damn well would have a Fourth Degree K of C honor guard at his funeral, and I didn't much care who had to take off work for as many years as he was a dedicated member.

These were just part of this morning's memories.  There remains a great deal of sorting out to be done.  This may take longer than I initially thought.  I don't let go of the past easily.

Peace, Doc

Copyright © 2007, Thomas A. Blood, Ph.D.

"I have more memories than if I were a thousand years old." - Charles Baudelaire

It has been quite some time since I inflicted any of my bad mood haiku upon you.  I sneezed a disc out of alignment and awoke to an overenthusiastic furnace and acute lower back pain.  If the following Thanksgiving haiku seem somewhat cranky, that is at least part of the reason.  The haiku are not consecutive, or even necessarily related to each other except for the commonality of the muse.

Bad moon icing rain

It is not appreciative

Though given shelter

-----

Torso will not cool

Temperature far too high

Sweats in sleeping bag

-----

He writes and complains

Lamenting his misfortune

Cat sleeps in his lap

-----

Thursday morning cold

Icy rain beats window pane

Battered glass shatters
-----

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.  I'm thinking that mine has to get better after cleaning and bubble wrapping numerous dealer showroom model cars and car banks.  The turkey sandwich won't hurt my mood, either.

Peace, Doc

Copyright © 2007, Thomas A. Blood, Ph.D.

"It is necessary to the happiness of a man that he be mentally faithful to himself." - Thomas Paine

A relatively irritating message on my Spaces Live home page has prompted this post.  A person was upset and sent what was apparently a form email to those who had not responded to their request to be friends.  While I have been in the throes of packing, moving, unpacking, and trying to salvage that which is likely to be either useful or has a sentimental attachment, I have not been able to attend closely to my messages, requests, comments on posts, and the like.  I have certainly not been able to respond to everyone who has commented, though I did find a moment or two to avoid the tasks facing me and respond to a few friends.  I have neglected all but one of my other blogs entirely, despite the check from Google.  I noted online activity, but had not had time to deal with it.  That will have been rectified by the time this is posted.  The convoluted syntax is used because I keep archival copies of all that I delete, and that task was not completed when I began writing this post. 

I have declined all of the 26 requests to be friends that arrived over the past month.  That is simply not a normal number for me and it coincides with a tenfold increase in spam to the address connected with this space.  Out of the thousands of spamules I have recently received, however, I must thank the fictitious Consuelo C. Hightower for her alleged desire to help "make your trouser python huge and rock hard."  I am not so amused by the breast enhancement offers, though. 

There is a serious element in this post.  I apologize to any reader who followed any link-backs on comments which led to obscene, vulgar, and pornographic sites.  They have been documented and deleted now.  I am simply sorry that I did not notice and remove them sooner.

Regarding the invitations to become friends, I am certain that I have erroneously declined several real requests, and for that I am sorry.  Anyone who still wishes to be on the friends list should simply make the request once again and send a brief email to tabloodphd at gmail.com, telling me who you are and how we might know each other.  All but a few of the requests I tracked led to new sites with no blog on them, closed sites, or otherwise seemed suspicious to me.  I may still be a little funny in the head from the move, I fear.

Peace, Doc

Copyright © 2007, Thomas A. Blood, Ph.D.

"Trust your friends but always cut the cards." - Old Irish Proverb

I believe I may have neglected something.  This is the article that was to be posted with the pictures in the series.  Oops. ...

Overall, the chaos became even worse after these pictures were taken and a few dozen boxes and bags of various sizes were added.  The tide has now turned and more stuff is leaving the apartment than is entering it.  I have followed the "baby steps" advice that several of you suggested.  I would have suggested the same to others but I was busy being overwhelmed and forgot.

Several square feet of floor space are now visible, a few things have been placed where they belong, and the sight of empty boxes is becoming a positively reinforcing operant for me.  Each carton, like a box of Cracker Jack, seems to hold a surprise.  The last that I worked on revealed a 30 foot long, somewhat dirty and greasy piece of cargo parachute strap.  I am ecstatic.  It is the tow rope that was used to haul my Gas Class coupe around the pit area of US 30 Dragstrip between runs by my 1956 Chevy sedan-delivery wagon.  In truth, I have little idea what will be done with it, but it will remain a beloved possession.  It might be carried in my car trunk and possibly be used for its original towing purpose or a small piece of it might find its way onto my planned Wall of Golden Memories.  Or both.  Can one wash parachute strap?  Should one?  It might lose some of its mystique.  So many possibilities present themselves with the blank canvas of a clean space.  So many original ways to clutter to tastefully decorate my new surroundings stun me.

Now that I have become somewhat re-energized, questions have arisen as to the appropriate places to put things.  Some are self-evident to me.  Cleaning products go under the sink, in the laundry, or in the bathroom, depending upon their purpose.  Does a vacuum cleaner go in the laundry area if there is room?  I know where my spoon, fork, knife, and can opener will go.  Where does one store all the other stuff that makes it appear to others that one knows how to cook?  Is there a protocol for which cabinet holds what item?  May the oven be used as storage space?  For tools?

Many more observations will be made in future posts and I am in the process of developing a quasi-scientific (it uses numbers) method of determining how much stuff will remain in relation to its uselessness or its owner's lack of common sense.  Just now, however, I am quite ready to get back to work.  I have had a high speed Internet modem installed since a week ago Wednesday but have not been able to get to it.  I now see that a straight line path to it is possible.

Peace, Doc

Copyright © 2007, Thomas A. Blood, Ph.D.

"The secret of good old age is simply an honorable pact with solitude." - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Old rat in new maze

Unfamiliarity

Cats and future here

Rest assured that since I am officially moved in, whatever that may turn out to mean, I will be making up for lost blogging time.  I will have a few more comments and a brief pictorial about moving before my return to my usual level of abnormality, however.

Peace, Doc

Copyright © 2007, Thomas A. Blood, Ph.D.

"No one knows what's next, but everybody does it." - George Carlin

It appears that quite some time has passed since I last wrote anything to post.  I have enough material from events since that time for at least a dozen posts.  At this point in time I am uncertain whether to write them when I get the chance, condense them into two or three semi-digestible summaries, or try desperately to forget the whole week.

A very short update is in order, however.  The Boys are doing fine, although their meals are being served in a somewhat unorthodox manner.  They drink from a Waterford crystal bowl and eat their Fancy Feast from the inverted lid of a cottage cheese container.  Their dry food is served from a carefully cut portion of a tissue box.  I am glad that this does not bother them too much as I couldn't find (or have not yet dug deep enough into the moved cartons to find) their usual bowls.  Bittle has only vomited on my carpet once from too-spicy treats.  They have found four excellent observation posts and have taught me how far and at what angle to leave the blinds open for their viewing pleasure.

The AT&T land line was installed two days ago, and today Comcast installed their three service bundle - TV, Internet, and telephone service.  The bundle was cheaper more economical than the basic TV and Internet alone would have been.  Actually, the "Music Choice" feature on Comcast is the reason I am writing now.  I found a late 50s and all 60s channel that grabbed me by the ears and hasn't let go.  The first song I heard on it is one of my all time top ten favorites and the first tune I ever downloaded, The End of the World by Skeeter Davis.  Surfin' Safari  by the Beach Boys, another of my top ten is playing now.  That is why I am not asleep.  They have played about 346 of my top ten and how could anyone sleep through that?

Later today a new sofa and a mattress and box spring set will arrive at 25% off, courtesy of Firstborn, and with no delivery fee, courtesy of her second in command at the store.  I will again empty the rented cargo van and pick up most of my computer stuff at the house.  Saturday and Sunday should have me completely separated from the house with the removal of the final batch of old records to be shredded, hobby tools, and a few toy airplanes.  My landlord may be a little surprised to find a 16 foot wingspan, near-scale model sailplane hanging from the living room ceiling but one has to keep them on their toes.

Peace, Doc

Copyright © 2007, Thomas A. Blood, Ph.D.

Late Entry from 11/01/2007

Yes, I moved.  This statement refers more to the assertion that I lived through the night and that I now find it possible to move various and sundry body parts for brief and painful moments.  Most of the furniture is either in storage or has been moved into the apartment.  The movers were worth every cent in courtesy, efficiency, and care.   They were equipped with all the expertise and muscle required. 

Before anyone makes any quick (but not necessarily inaccurate) judgements about my sanity, there are a few contributing factors in this continuing adventure that should be mentioned.  They are not listed in order of importance because they all seem crucial to me  and I am unable to do much to fix them at the moment.  Firstborn, in response to my crisis call, made with near-dead cell phone batteries (no little stripes showing at all on the charge indicator because I lost the charger) came to my rescue with my prescribed medications and a six pack (of Ensure 350 calorie dietary supplement.)  She did not have time to to find and buy a charger for the cell phone. 

AT&T screwed up the land line installation order confirmed on October 24th.  They were to have overlapped service between the two locations four days ago.  The installer called while I was surrounded by movers to tell me that I could not be hooked up because I was "in a different area" and he couldn't get a tone.  Recognizing that something was amiss, "Cindy" from AT&T Customer Service called back to tell me that they were routing the request through another office, that I would have the number I requested, and that service would begin shortly.  Much of this was predictable but the word "shortly" bothers me.  My interpretation of it is measured in seconds or minutes; theirs, I am sure, would be at least days or possibly weeks.  I don't want to think further about it.  The result is that I am cut off from communication with the outside world, short of rolling down the stairs and howling outside Barb and Roger's front door.  The above also prevents me from complaining to AT&T or arranging for Comcast broadband services.

Why wouldn't he just go to the store and get the stuff he needs, one might ask.  Because I am in so much generalized pain and was so recently impaired by a biochemical, fatigue, and sleep deprivation induced dementia that I am still "afraid" to.  I had been awake for at least 36 hours before the movers arrived, and nearing 60 hours by the time I got to the apartment for the final time on the 31st.  I had subsisted on two Ensures and several Pepsis for the entire time.  Number One Son called sometime past midnight on the 31st after I had texted him begging for help and offering the promise of great rewards.  He arrived at the house by about 4:00 a.m.  We packed enough for one final carload of stuff to the apartment.  He complimented me for being so calm under the circumstances.  I thanked him and did not disabuse him of the idea that calmness had nothing to do with it. 

I was already into the beginning stages of exhaustion and sleep deprivation, not to mention what I had done to my body chemistry by the physical demands I was placing on it without replenishing anything it really needed or wanted.  I was not fully rational, and #1S had somewhat different ideas of what was necessary to move than did I.  He gathered all my tools so the dreaded moving personnel would not make off with them.  I desperately tried to get all the large items finished for the movers to take.  On the large furniture pieces, I only failed on one huge bookcase and a computer desk, both of the cheap fiberboard variety.

The move was made, first unloading the items to go into storage and then on to finish the job at the apartment.  I was pleased to learn that the move had been completed under the quoted price and somewhat under the estimated time.  I went back to the house to get another load of small things to take to the apartment and to distribute the promised largesse to #1S.  After packing a load of items, I returned to the apartment and carried the boxes in.  On the way back to town, I knew I was headed for trouble.  I got mentally lost five times on the way from the house back to town.  I never made a wrong turn or drove stupidly, but momentarily hadn't a clue as to where I was.  I rested a while and had a cure-all Pepsi.  Something important was missing (besides my cognitive faculties.)  No cats.  OMG!  NO CATS!!  I have to go back for the cats!

Back to the house I went by a somewhat circuitous route.  I knew that I used to live out somewhere near Wasco, but I couldn't find it.  This turn of events frightened me.  From the apartment to the house is a relatively short distance involving a turn from one major road onto another with a few squiggly curves to get to the house from the subdivision entrance.  It took seemingly forever.  A twelve minute trip took well over half an hour.  When I entered the house, I knew what I had to get but I could not remember where these things might be, what room they were in, or in all honesty, where the rooms were located.  Finding my own bedroom came as a surprise to me as I couldn't remember whether it was on the first or second floor.  Packing was a nightmare.  I picked up everything I could remember, carried maybe one third of it to the car, and got The Boys loaded in without losing either.  I don't think I have ever been as thankful to close a car door in my life.

Stupid me.  I had somehow believed the nightmare would be over then.  Oh, oh. I had to get back to the apartment.  With relative confidence, I backed out of the driveway and had a 50/50 chance of turning in the correct direction.  Actually, either way would have been fine because both end in a T, turning onto the same main road.  Somehow I got lost many times.  I managed to stay lost for over an hour.  I passed hundreds of signs and landmarks that I recognized but simply could not connect with what I should do about them.  I have traveled these roads thousands of times.  I am sure this would frighten anyone.  I guarantee that you have no idea whatever what it does to a psychologist.  I have lived in this area for nearly 40 years and I did not know how to get home.

I will not go into detail here, other than to say that I passed buildings which, had they been able to speak, would have shouted at me, "Go straight ahead for a mile and you're there, Nitwit!"                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           they d  Primarily by accident, I did proceed straight ahead at one point and drove until I saw the large globe lights that marked the apartment complex entrance.  To say that I turned there would be akin to saying that I almost rolled the car.  I made it into the complex - by the wrong entrance.  I could see my apartment, but not quite get to it.  The extremely difficult task of going back out that entrance, turning right, driving 500 feet, and turning right again lay before me.  I had serious doubts about my ability to accomplish it.  Being the daring adventurer that I am, however, I tried it.  IT WORKED!  I have to admit a bit of trouble remembering how to get to my apartment from directly in front of it, but we made it. 

I took minimal care of The Boys and slept for 14 hours, woke briefly, fed the cats again, and ate applesauce.  Don't laugh too hard.  People food was one of the things I forgot.  I am pleased to report that more sleep, cuisine with significantly more nutrient value, and Firstborn's arrival with a generic cell phone charger worked well and have returned me to my usual somewhat off-kilter mental and physical state.

Peace, Doc

Copyright © 2007, Thomas A. Blood, Ph.D.

"I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto."