The wind has been absolutely dreadful the last two days. Trees are down, shingles are flying off of rooftops, I lost 10 lbs because they simply blew away.
I hate Troutdale. I want to move.
I've wanted to move since the second week we moved here 3 years ago, when the wind started blowing and didn't stop for 8 days. I thought I was losing my mind. (Please refrain from comments.)
It's not always as bad as it is right now. In fact, this winter has been blessedly free from wind, comparatively speaking. The last two days, however, I've prayed - more than once - "Lord, please hold our house together!"
I helped a colleague move today. I have a love/hate relationship with helping people move. I hate it, because it is so much daggum work. And a really terrible way to meet people's families. I love it (love it? okay, not really) and I keep volunteering to do so for several reasons.
It's a nice thing to do. Moving is hard work, and it's even harder to do with no help.
It's great exercise. Sure, it requires a good soak in the hottub at the end of the day (for a few days), but all that weight lifting and stair climbing .. dang! Can't be beat. (I still worked out for 2 1/2 hours this afternoon, so maybe that's where those 10 pounds went.)
It results in free food. And that food never tastes anything short of amazing, because you've worked so hard for it and you're always beyond starving by the time it's served. (Oh, Papa Murphy's, how I love your Gourmet Garlic Chicken Pizza! How I wanted you for dinner even though I just had you for lunch!)
It makes you want to get rid of stuff. It's a little disgusting to realize how much stuff we all have. Filling box after box and room after room with stuff is great incentive: the more stuff I can get rid of now, the less I have to move when it's my turn. Look in my garbage can right now (go on, do it! and take a big whiff while you're at it!) and you'll see a few pairs of beat-up shoes. Look in my donation pile, and you'll see several ill-fitting shirts that were the casualties of a preliminary sweep through my closet. Look in my recycling bin, and you'll see empty bottles of expired medicines. (Do I still need the stuff to combat my constipation from pain killers back in 2001 when I had my Valentine's Day kidney stone? I loved you because of the holiday and all, but I pray not.)
It quells my own desire to move, despite the wind. And that's all I can really say about that, because it is a temporary, fleeting quelling. I know the desire will rear it's ugly head again tomorrow if I wake up to continuing violent winds.
My colleague moved from a less windy portion of Gresham to a more windy portion of Troutdale, but still not as bad as the tunnel of flying debris and destruction that is my street. "Welcome to the neighborhood," I said, then laughed maniacally. I tried to just do that in my head, but it kind of popped out. Oops.
So I want to move. But I don't. So I drank a glass of wine to relax and will soon be heading off to bed, earplugs in, and pray from some relief tomorrow. In Troutdale, that usually means rain. I'll take it.
(PS. Just as I was previewing the final draft of what I wrote above, I heard a loud metallic crash outside. I knew in an instant that one of our window boxes had flown off the house. Steve and I were just talking about that today, as in "wouldn't it be awful if that happened?". Well, it happened. I can't wait to see the giant holes in the siding tomorrow. Yay! The silver lining is this: Steve is supposed to be home tonight. He's working overtime, therefore his beautiful car is not parked where it was earlier. Because it most certainly would not have escaped the falling window box unscathed.
Lord, I know it could have been worse. But this isn't exactly what I meant by holding my house together!)
I hate Troutdale. I want to move.
I've wanted to move since the second week we moved here 3 years ago, when the wind started blowing and didn't stop for 8 days. I thought I was losing my mind. (Please refrain from comments.)
It's not always as bad as it is right now. In fact, this winter has been blessedly free from wind, comparatively speaking. The last two days, however, I've prayed - more than once - "Lord, please hold our house together!"
I helped a colleague move today. I have a love/hate relationship with helping people move. I hate it, because it is so much daggum work. And a really terrible way to meet people's families. I love it (love it? okay, not really) and I keep volunteering to do so for several reasons.
It's a nice thing to do. Moving is hard work, and it's even harder to do with no help.
It's great exercise. Sure, it requires a good soak in the hottub at the end of the day (for a few days), but all that weight lifting and stair climbing .. dang! Can't be beat. (I still worked out for 2 1/2 hours this afternoon, so maybe that's where those 10 pounds went.)
It results in free food. And that food never tastes anything short of amazing, because you've worked so hard for it and you're always beyond starving by the time it's served. (Oh, Papa Murphy's, how I love your Gourmet Garlic Chicken Pizza! How I wanted you for dinner even though I just had you for lunch!)
It makes you want to get rid of stuff. It's a little disgusting to realize how much stuff we all have. Filling box after box and room after room with stuff is great incentive: the more stuff I can get rid of now, the less I have to move when it's my turn. Look in my garbage can right now (go on, do it! and take a big whiff while you're at it!) and you'll see a few pairs of beat-up shoes. Look in my donation pile, and you'll see several ill-fitting shirts that were the casualties of a preliminary sweep through my closet. Look in my recycling bin, and you'll see empty bottles of expired medicines. (Do I still need the stuff to combat my constipation from pain killers back in 2001 when I had my Valentine's Day kidney stone? I loved you because of the holiday and all, but I pray not.)
It quells my own desire to move, despite the wind. And that's all I can really say about that, because it is a temporary, fleeting quelling. I know the desire will rear it's ugly head again tomorrow if I wake up to continuing violent winds.
My colleague moved from a less windy portion of Gresham to a more windy portion of Troutdale, but still not as bad as the tunnel of flying debris and destruction that is my street. "Welcome to the neighborhood," I said, then laughed maniacally. I tried to just do that in my head, but it kind of popped out. Oops.
So I want to move. But I don't. So I drank a glass of wine to relax and will soon be heading off to bed, earplugs in, and pray from some relief tomorrow. In Troutdale, that usually means rain. I'll take it.
(PS. Just as I was previewing the final draft of what I wrote above, I heard a loud metallic crash outside. I knew in an instant that one of our window boxes had flown off the house. Steve and I were just talking about that today, as in "wouldn't it be awful if that happened?". Well, it happened. I can't wait to see the giant holes in the siding tomorrow. Yay! The silver lining is this: Steve is supposed to be home tonight. He's working overtime, therefore his beautiful car is not parked where it was earlier. Because it most certainly would not have escaped the falling window box unscathed.
Lord, I know it could have been worse. But this isn't exactly what I meant by holding my house together!)
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