THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, October 2, 1994 TAG: 9409300260
SECTION: CAROLINA COAST PAGE: 06 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: Ron Speer
LENGTH: Medium: 72 lines
Somewhere, in the bowels of one of the multitude of unopened boxes, are the hot pads that somehow we seem to need badly.
Otherwise, most everything has turned up. My mother-in-law, Louise, fretted for days over a missing radio that she relies on to keep in touch with her Rhode Island roots through a late-night talk show. But we finally found it, thank the Lord.
For days, it looked like somebody must have pilfered three boxes of stuff treasured by my wife, Joanne, but the crates eventually were discovered under a mountain of boxes of books.
The cat escaped Louise's clutches a couple of times, touching off a clamor of fear that she'd never return, but she always did. (I'm not sure whether that should be listed as good news or bad news).
Missy, the jolly black dog that came with our house, seems quite content with her new companions, and we already have taken her to our hearts.
And Nancy Burrus, certainly one of the nation's top painters, provided an unexpected bonus. Not only did she give the walls and ceilings a virginal appearance, providing a perfect gallery for pictures to personalize the place, but she also disclosed that she loves to play Scrabble. So does Louise, who at 87 is still more than a match for most players. Last time I checked, Louise was slightly ahead in games won.
Sounds like a fun move, doesn't it? Well, it wasn't. Or isn't, I should say, since we've got hundreds of chores left to do before we're settled in as Manteo residents.
Oh, I suppose it could have been worse - the dentist could have made a house call to do a root canal.
But moving isn't much fun, especially for people like us who insist that everything be put away as quickly as possible.
And when you are merging two households into one - particularly when everyone involved is a pack rat - unpacking can be a frustrating challenge. Is there really a good reason to keep that cracked plastic tray? I may not think so. But beauty, they say, is in the eye of the beholder. The tray is with us still.
So are 43 cans of carpet cleaner, bags of rusty nails that I may need some day, paint that matches our old house in Chesapeake but can't be used in our new digs.
But a neighbor, Kathy Sparrow, dropped in and made me feel like we were not all that clingy. She said she once moved an elderly aunt who kept the cardboard trays that meat is packaged in at the grocery because she thought they'd one day come in handy.
And the missing hot pads aren't bothering me nearly as much as a missing leg on a sewing-machine stand frustrated me on one of my previous moves. I searched for weeks in vain for the screw-in leg, finally gave up and made a shoddy substitute. The next spring, on my first round of golf in months, as I approached the tee I reached in my bag and pulled out a sewing-machine leg.
Common sense tells me, too, that there will come a day - maybe this week - when the couch can be used for people, and not as a storage bin. The painter finished Thursday, so we were able to start putting things in their permanent places.
One night soon, I know, I won't stumble over boxes and junk on the way to bed.
I'll know where to find the wine glasses - and the wine - without asking my wife. I won't feel guilty if I come home one night and don't do a lick of work. We'll look forward to showing off our new digs.
I'm an optimist, so I know that soon this all will pass, and life will again be good.
But right now, after two weeks of labor has failed to clear the rubble, I sort of feel like the bumper sticker my wife recently spotted:
``The light at the end of the tunnel has been disconnected.'' by CNB