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Closing tomorrow

2006-06-25 , ,

We’re closing on the purchase of our house tomorrow. I should be
nervous but I’m not, not the least bit. I’m relieved. You see, after
nine years of on and off looking we found the house in the
neighborhood in the city we hunted all over the New York Metropolitan area for. It
happens to be 140 miles away. A detail. Unless our lawyer, their
lawyer or the bank’s representative experiences spontaneous
combustion, UFO abduction, untimely demise or otherwise is a no-show
(in the last case someone will experience their untimely demise- maybe
the creative use of one of those soft-rubber-handled stainless-steel
melon ballers. Mmmmmmm, clean, perfect scoops), the deal should be
done in time for the start of happy hour. If anyone screws this up, it’s
probably going to be the bank. They neglected to give us the figures
for our bank checks and to get the title sorted out with the reasoning
that, “It’s not until Monday afternoon.” Maybe I’ll use a grapefruit spoon.

Did I mention we’re moving Friday? Oh, a detail. Two-thirds of our
stuff is boxed or ready for the movers. There are a lot of small things left, like packing
overnight bags and emptying the dressers, and not so small things that
have to wait for the next to the last day, like my office. We’re
turning up the gas and electric tomorrow- emailed the request, faxed
in documentation, they called us back to confirm. If Verizon and Time
Warner can do it we’ll have phone, cable and internet by the weekend
but I’m betting not. I’m irritated that these bright-futured
communication companies can’t or won’t do more in the scheduling of
residential service than they did in the 1950’s. They could learn a
bit about customer service from, of all places, the power company here.

You wouldn’t know it from the sedimentation on my home office desk but
I am organized. I like organization and moving disrupts that, I’m
depending on a lot of other people, it makes me anxious. Nathan is not
taking this move well either and it’s easy to see why: he’s teething-
miserable in it’s own right- and the apartment is a maze of boxes
stacked taller than him; it’s hot and muggy (ah, summer in
Brooklyn…) and the daily routine is not being followed; both Mom and
Dad are tense and not paying him the 100% attention he expects (where
do babies get this insistent idea that the world does, in fact,
revolve around them?); to top it off, Mom and Dad keep pulling these
squeaking reels of tape around the boxes.



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