Patiently Waiting...

It's morning. I'm not usually up in the morning. Being a lifelong night owl, I prefer to rise closer to noon, though I do actually like mornings. One of my favorite memories of my college years was sitting in the cafeteria having tea and watching the sun rise over the ocean. Even then, I was not a morning person. I would be there after working nights cleaning the floors at the hotels and country clubs of Miami. It's crazy how memory works, isn't it? I often forget why I walked into a room, if I seasoned the chicken before I put it into the oven, or if I turned the fireplace off before I left the house. But I can completely immerse myself into a memory that is 45 years old, even to the extent of feeling the calmness that the ocean caused in me, seeing the crumbs and half eaten muffin on the plate and tasting the warm sweetness of my morning tea. Even the mild pain the rising sun caused my eyes. But ask me where I put my hairbrush this morning, that is a trick question.

I am up this morning waiting for the moving pod to arrive. Boxes are piled high in the living room and my bedroom. We will have one week to fill the pod with all of our earthly treasure to be moved south, and it is late. We were told that it would arrive between 8:00 and 10:00, and if it had, Karen would be here to greet it. Instead, I am patiently waiting for it with the bank card, a gift from our other sister, Brenda. Time is slipping by, and I am getting less patient with the passing. 

I was hoping that it would in the least get here before Ken would arrive home from work. If he is here when it arrives, he will take over, and most likely have them place it in the most inconvenient place just for spite. 

 Ken is becoming a thorn in our side. We have been talking this move for more than a year and a half. In 2024 our slumlord raised our rent by a third. We saw the handwriting on the wall then. It is just too expensive to live here anymore. We held out, hoping for a better outcome for the election, and the possibility of a better economy for the working class. But then November 5 happened. Now it is urgent that we get ourselves to a place where we can live comfortably within meager means. 

While we discussed moving "home" as possibility, Ken was all for it. Often sitting and talking with us as we searched online sites for places we might rent. He helped set the budget for how much we feel comfortable spending on housing and making the wish list for things we fell are desirable in our new abode. We made a plan that he and Nora would fly across the country with the animals, and Karen and I would drive the one vehicle that will survive the trip. He was good with that. He's flown with animals before. But when Karen found the house and the move date became firm, he became downright passive aggressive regarding the whole thing. He hasn't packed. He is insisting that he take the animals across the country in his van, an idea that has so many obvious obstacles it makes me want to smack him upside his head and scream "Sure! What could possibly go wrong?" 

His van is in rough shape. It won't make it across the state, much less the country. The dog is a runner. If he escapes the van, he will run off and be gone. And we have no guarantee that we would be able to find him. The same for the cats. If they escape, we have done them a horrible disservice. He has not packed anything, though he is quick to declare that ALL of his tools must go with him. Karen and I are both sacrificing furniture and belongings that we would otherwise keep with us. But he feels fine insisting that he keeps all of his belongings. I suppose that Karen and I will have to pack for him. As far as I am concerned, if I have to pack his things, I decide what he takes and what gets left. If he wants a say in that, he'd better get busy because he has a week to pack. 

Karen has gone to a farewell lunch that we both were invited too. We were told that it was to be on Saturday, but last night Margaret called to inform us that it would be today. One of the other attendees has a conflict with Saturday, and her needs must be considered first. So, even though we have the arrival of the pod to attend too, we must change our plans. That is how it always is with this group. It's not that I feel the world should revolve around our plans, but the party is for us. Shouldn't our needs have been the deciding factor? Nevertheless, I am staying home to await the pod. I doubt it will even occur to them that maybe Katie should have changed her plans or just not come. 

The noon hour has come and gone. Ken will be home any minute and the pod is still not here. My frustration and annoyance have hit a peak. I would love to go walk it off, but I am here waiting for the pod.