New lives begin with new things

Since I am going to be joining the SO in a new life next year, we are beginning to consolidate and collect the new materials which will accompany us on our journey. She has already written about the mahogany bed inherited from a very kind and trusting friend. As an aside, friends like these are hard to find. They give with their heart and are very generous. Yet they remain shy about their generosity. If it were up to me, I would be waving their names here and there. But as it is, I include them in my prayers for my family, because that is how I look upon them.

Friday evening, we picked up a V8 Tacoma from our friends A and H. Once more another set of friends with whom we are very thankful for. They are also generous with their time and their blessings. The only thing I could try to give them is laughter from my wild and wacky self. The Tacoma is one awesome truck that drives like a car. You hardly feel the road because the suspension is so good. A mentioned that he might sell the truck in a couple of years. Maybe my business is in place by that that I can purchase the truck.

Saturday, we got on the road to pick up the bed and other things at San Francisco. The donors live in a beautiful sun lit area of San Francisco. I was surprised by the change in character in the neighborhood. We drove through Chinatown's grit; we drove through a tunnel where Robby wrote his love for Kelly in dyslexic clarity on the dusty tunnel walls; and suddenly, we were driving ourselves in a posh area. The wonders of living in an urban city is amazing. The change is instantaneous.

We get to the apartment and assess the donations. Hmm, maybe three trips will be necessary for this one. There are a lot of furniture to move. I glance around and am amazed that E our donor has packed just about everything that could be packed. I was left wondering whether even spiders were packed in a particular box to make sure the move was complete. What am I talking about? There would not be any spiders around here.

I have bad memories of moving. Perhaps it can be traced to my teen-age years in America where my family moved without everything being packed. At the last minute, you took a trash bag, dumped everything in it, and then moved. It was change that disrupted the monotony of my life. I don't like moving.

We began moving and I prayed that the elevator would fit everything. I don't like carrying stuff on the stairs. Oddly enough, with the direction of the SO and my incessant fears tugging at me, we finish the first pack. The beaureau was an intimidating mahogany cabinet. The table drawers were nice. As the SO said, the furniture are symbols of new lives beginning in America. The furniture are meant to stay and give sustenance to the soul. Each time you open the beaureau, you open the first day of the rest of your life in America.

We are lucky enough to find parking in front of the place. We unload reasonably well. No new major injuries like crushed fingers. I am pierced by an uncooperative sliver of wood. Minor blood vessel damage accompanied by a wailing of a wild boy unused to hard labor.

We have dinner at another friend's mother's hourse. The lunch is tuyo and tortang talong. Odd, I promise myself when I leave the Philippines that I will never eat tuyo. Twenty five years later, I crave the taste and the salt of tuyo. God has funny ways of reminding who you are. Our friend D is playing host on Sunday with the garage sale. D is helping her mother steam clen the house.

We leave for SF at 3PM for the last trip. We manage to move the bed and various bed accessories to the house. The SO begins to assemble the bed. I don't like beds. I have always slept on the floor. The expanse of the floor is a comfort. I can roll around as much as I want, I will not fall. I am afraid of falling from the four poster bed. It is high. Really high.

The SO insists that it is OUR bed now. I worry about the SO scrunching up and taking the blanket. Twenty years of living alone and having my very own blanket makes me wary of sharing blankets. Why share when it is plentiful? Here, you get your own, I get my own. I am so tired from the move that I close my eyes. I open my eyes and I have slept for forty-five minutes. Hmm, not bad. The back does not hurt. We return the truck and go out to Kamakura in Alameda. Nice restaurant with large pieces of fish. Very nice. We don't realize that it is very late. We get home at 11PM.

Saturday evening, I sleep on the "OUR" bed again. Sunday morning, I wake up with drool on the pillow. The bed has passed the drool test.