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That Was Easy

4/17/2012

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Remember my Quest for a Desk?  Well.  I have been remiss in not updating you.

The desk arrived right on time and per our agreement. Su Casa is not the Cable Guy.  We agreed that they would show up on a Tuesday after 1PM.  Two delivery men arrived in uniform at 1:05, greeted by my flustered husband and "ferocious" puggle.  Daniel asked if they were scared of dogs.

"No," one replied, "especially not that one."  Daniel asked what he needed to do, and they said, "Just let us know where you want to set it up."  They pet the dog and followed Daniel to the office so he could show them. 

He said, "Is there anything you need me to do?"
 
"Not at all," they said.  They lugged the boxes up the stairs, assembled the desk, and set it up exactly where Daniel asked them to within 10 minutes.  They asked Daniel to check it out.  Since we hadn't sold the old desk yet, he asked them to place the new desk in the middle of the floor in our office.  Daniel would have to move it. They showed him how to disassemble it, wiped it down, and asked if he had any questions before taking all the boxes and trash with them and leaving. 

"I'm not saying this for your blog," Daniel said, "but this was probably the best delivery experience I've had with any company.  They were in and out in ten minutes, extremely professional and knew what they were doing.  And they didn't leave a mess behind. The only finger I lifted was to unlock the door."

I remembered another desk delivery from years ago, where I had to leave work to meet the delivery person at my townhouse and then had to coerce him to take the (200 lb desk) off the truck.  He proceeded to leave it in the parking lot.  Daniel had to meet me at home just to get the thing in the house.  This was not that. 
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Before - The old desk
I'll be honest - for a week or so, the desk just sat in the middle of our office/guest room.  Just sat there, lovely and unused.  Despite his best efforts, Daniel could not get our old desk sold. We had an unprecedented number of potential takers come to see it, hem and haw, then decide not to buy it.  My husband's salesmanship is legendary and has previously been touted here, so it's worth noting that he struggled to sell it.  Finally, after dropping the price a few times, on Easter weekend we got a taker.  He was serious.  He brought his wife and his truck. The girls and I waved good-bye from their bedroom window and I clapped with excitement as Daniel moved the new desk. 

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After
Now, as I type, I sit comfortably with the keyboard pulled out and, though my foot is tucked beneath me (making me not-so-ergonomically correct), I am not hunched over the desk.  I try not to touch it for fear of smudging its top.  But it is asthetically pleasing, more comfortable, and just a better fit.

Now if only I had that robin's egg blue chair to go with it, we'd be in business. 

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Good Day, Sunshine

4/5/2012

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Last weekend we celebrated my grandmother's 80th birthday. She requested the party, its date and our attendance, because that's how she rolls.  And I kind of love it.  One of the many things marriage is teaching me is to ask for what I need, so I'm on board.  You have no right to expect to receive if you don't ask, right?  

I am the eldest grandchild, so long ago I got grandparent-naming rights.  I couldn't say grandma, it came out Mau Mau, which my grandmother disliked and my instigating grandfather encouraged.  The name stuck for 25 years.  

So on Saturday Mau's best friend, five children, four children-in-law, ten grandchildren, two grandchildren-in-law, and two great grandchildren showed up, and still the person she wanted to see the most wasn't there.  Doff-- that instigating grandfather-- seven years gone now, was notably absent.  But somehow not.  

Not long after his passing, Mau decided she no longer wanted that name.  "Call me 'Sunshine,'" she said, and started referring to herself as such.  She signed one card "Sunshine, née, Mau." Another time she wrote, "Sunshine AKA Mau AKA Sally AKA I don't care what you call me as long as you love me."    
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From left: My sister, Mom, Sunshine and me
The party was noisy and warm, we ate and drank and laughed.  We went around the room sharing kind words and funny memories.  One of my aunts mentioned she thinks of her mom whenever she smells coffee, and I smiled.  I didn't start drinking coffee daily until a few years ago and, since my parents never did, the smell of coffee has always reminded me of mornings waking up at my grandparents' house.  As children, we used to find Mau's coffee cups all over the house and yard.  I once found one in a garden we used as a hiding place. The cup must have been there since the year before.  On mornings at home now, I find myself carrying my coffee cup all over the house, leaving it on random shelves, reheating it multiple times.  We've taken to  calling that "pulling a Sally."  

My brother John and I both recalled a time Mau was taking care of us when we were small.  She managed to whack me in the head with a 20-foot pole while cleaning the pool (John maintains it was he who was whacked), we both got splinters on the deck, and John was stung by a bee.  When Mau reached for the meat tenderizer, I remember John thinking he might be cooked.  An avid walker, she used to take us on walks around her sprawling neighborhood.  I remember her leaning into me as she talked, pushing me up on the curb.  She told me the latest gossip about the neighbors.  It made me feel like more than a little girl; I felt like a trusted friend.  

Certainly the highlight of the party was the slide show John painstakingly put together.  He compiled photos from all over that beautifully told the story of a life, a love.  He started when she was young-- a teenager.  She had been a dancer, so some photos were of her in costume, dancing.  Emerie, my youngest, pointed at the screen and said, "Mommy, why dat pincess doin' ballet?"  The photos, as assembled, were so dignified, so graceful.  Sally smiling on her wedding day with the man she had really only just met who had initially lied about his age (not unlike my dear husband). Sally in any number of cocktail dresses, dancing and smiling next to Doff. The two of them on cruise ships, on European cobblestones, beside Californian redwoods.  My smirking grandfather with a camera around his neck or horseshoes in his hand. The two of them at their fortieth wedding anniversary, then their fiftieth. The show progressed from her life, to their life, and it seemed there were few dry eyes in the room.   

We laughed and  (and some cringed) as the focus turned to her children.  We saw hairstyles and clothing from a different time, old homes, former pets, all brought back memories. It moved to grandchildren, and eventually great grandchildren.  At this point, I was sitting on the floor while Emerie pirouetted in front of me, inspired by the beautiful princess in the pictures. I saw a photo I'd never seen -- one of me as a two-year-old, with sweaty blond curls not unlike my Emerie's.  I was sleeping on the couch in the crook of my grandfather's arm; the camera seemed to have interrupted his dozing.  When I saw it, I lost my composure.  It was so casual, so loving, so beautiful.  I have to have that photo.  

My grandparents had a love that I don't think I really appreciated fully, maybe not until looking at those pictures.  Maybe being a wife and being a mother have softened me (yes, husband, this is "softened"). Watching that slide show made me realize what a lovely life my grandmother has had thus far, all of the roles she's been able to play, how many people her life has touched. It was a beautiful day.  It made me thankful for the Sunshine in my life, and hopeful that one day, 50 years from now, I might have the privilege of looking back over that kind of a life.  My thoughtful brother included, as the last slide, a photo of Sunshine on a float in the pool at her old house.  Her head thrown back, a half smile on her face, she looked carefree.  The caption read, "To be continued."   

Happy Birthday, Sunshine.  And, whatever we call you, know that we love you.

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    Christina | Virginia Beach
    Psuedo Yankee, city-loving former working mom of four finds herself home with the kids and transplanted to the somewhat Southern suburbs. Finding her feet while still attempting to harness the power of the passion of her youth for useful good.

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