Thursday, August 10, 2017

packing , unpacking, packing


I am taking only one tiny carry on , plus my purse. I will be gone for nearly five months and can not WAIT to get out of this country- already dreading coming back. 
There are a few more weeks to think about how to deal with three seasons. Last fall in London was really hot and humid - November was perfect -December the weather became noticeably frigid. What to take?
So, I have packed up my winter gear, my eye vitamins, my "Dead Man's Reach" coffee addiction, and a few items to give in these three boxes!
Clearly I will be unpacking these boxes and will  get everything into one pre- paid box to send to Sarah's address in Greenwich. 
"Dead Man's Reach" may get the boot.
I was thinking about my travel gear - quickly wrote this sort of poem on Facbook this morning:

travel suit
must have pockets and
adequate fabric-an integument
while riding the shame train
from Cofefe to Brexit-
buttons are preferable
to mutable zipper,
buttons easily replaced.
it’s just common sense.
Lisil of
dark blending colors-
quiet, earthy-
of the old school,
Perdu
consideration-
when travel abruptly stops
this suit will be that of eternity
make sure comfort
is of primary concern
and pockets, of course.
must have lifetimes of pockets




With that in mind I can forget about most of what I have packed and just get down to REAL. What is essential.

Always tend to go overboard. Which brings me to this past blast: one of my exaggerated eras.


We lived in San Diego, rented a house with too many bedrooms. At that point we only had two dogs, Brandy the Setter, who, as a puppy got run over, paralyzing and squishing his back legs - he was such a lovely animal we nursed him back to some semblance of mobility , carrying him out to pee and poo, until he could sort of hobble on one crooked leg. What a trooper he was.
And Poppins the sheep dog, a gem of a girl- Eleanor the cat was a freak - ran away after a few years- to go live in the slaughter house , more to her liking.
Eleanor made short work of the canary, a little yellow funeral followed.

While driving out in the country , we saw  a German Shepard tied to a post, A man carrying a rifle getting ready to point and shoot the dog. We saved her, She was feral and pregnant though we did not realize. We loved her , she became docile and then BOOM nine puppies! All of them gorgeous, two died from her nipping the  umbilical cord too closely.  Then the tally was NINE dogs , one insane cat, and a dead bird.
The many bedrooms now full of dogs. My idea of heaven....at least for a while. It was unrealistic to keep them all, even after we had given them names and stations.
Too much of a good thing is still too much, so, like unpacking the too many boxes- we found homes for all but Poppins, Kept her and traveled on up the coast for more adventure.

6 comments:

  1. 5 months! what does Mr. Man think about your long absences? silk long johns for cold weather work beautifully and take up tiny space. perhaps by the time you get back it will all be over.

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    1. oh he doesn't mind , he is very busy , intends to join me at some point. There is a lot going on for him at the moment.Thanks for the tip about long johns.

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  2. Just remember, whatever you don't bring and find that you need, you can get it here. That's quite a story about the dogs! I'm impressed you found homes for them all!

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    Replies
    1. Lucked out with Brandy, a breeder wanted him for making baby setters because he was such a prize! The feral Shepard went to the humane society , so we never did know about her fate. Sad.

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  3. Five months! My hat's off to you! The adventurousness of your youth has not deserted you.

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    Replies
    1. well, I am hoping that If I spend so much time in the city I will not like it anymore...I am hoping that I will burn out! That maybe I might be glad to return home...it would be a first!

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