Monday, June 20, 2016

Pack Out

In this small house
Made of brick and stone
Built on laughter
And all our dreams and hopes
In this small house
Together we have grown
Made a family
Made us all a home
   - Michelle Featherstone




We've spent a lot of hours moving from place to place, B and I.  By my calculations, this is our fourteenth move together.  That's a lot of bubble wrap.

You'd think I'd be good at it by now.  But nothing really prepares you for it, for taking your house apart, piece by piece.  Taking pictures off the walls.  Upending junk drawers.  Ruthlessly culling the end-of-year art projects.  Giving away too-small sweaters and shoes. Going through every item you own, one at a time, trying to decide: is this worth keeping?  What does it mean to me?

Every move I try to convince B to toss this one bowl that I hate. But for him, it has a history.  So it moves with us every time.  Every move I try to think of something creative to do with the multiple baggies full of mystery coins that we drag from post to post.  Each time I toss them back in the junk basket, that basket full of things I can't quite bring myself to throw away. All those Christmas cards that I keep in my drawer?  Right before we move, I look through them all and think about the people who sent them.  Then I throw them all in the garbage. I can't quite decide if that's a morbid habit or a sweet tradition.

I've gotten pretty good at the logistics of moving.  Stack all of your artwork together against one wall - when the movers pack it all together, it's easier to unpack and sort at your next post.  Same with your knick knacks: if you gather them from all around the house and put them all in one place for the movers, you're more likely to find them intact at the other end.  Bag and label all of the bedding by family member so you aren't sorting through 47 fitted sheets when you unpack.  Give the kids freezer bags to sort and store their stuff for moving.  That sort of thing, I can do.

But watching all of my possessions disappear under piles of cardboard and bubble?  That I never get used to.  Looking around the empty house is hard too.  It always seems dusty and tired, with nail holes and dirt marks on the walls where pictures once hung, gum wrappers and lego bits on the closet floors.

Anyway.  We're halfway through this pack out.  By tomorrow night the house will be ours-not-ours.

I wrote this article about pack out, years ago, when we lived in Beijing.  It still rings true for me.  Ghosts. Everywhere ghosts.

Sunday, June 19, 2016

Fathers

I was one of the lucky ones.  I grew up knowing, with 100% certainty, that any time I needed him, anywhere, for any reason at all, my father would show up. If you grow up with a dad like that, you're way ahead of the game from the very beginning.

Santa Barbara, CA, some time last century


I am one of the lucky ones.  I married the same type of guy - the one who shows up and puts in the hard work and puts the needs of his family before his own, every single time. 


Beijing, China, 2009


We are celebrating Father's Day by rushing around frantically (or, in my case, limping around at a snail's pace), trying to get everything ready for the movers. We'll plan a real celebration for another day.  

Saturday, June 18, 2016

It always gets worse before it gets better.

There I was, pack out looming, in incredible pain from a presumably herniated disc.  And it wasn't getting better.  They were giving me the strongest pain pills in the Embassy arsenal, the kind that require multiple signatures and secret codes to obtain from the pharmacy.  And it was hardly making a dent in the pain. My leg cramped up so severely whenever I tried to stand that I'd collapse onto the floor and lay there until it passed.  Then, to make things worse, my whole leg went numb. How you can have blistering muscle cramps and novocaine-caliber numbness at the same time, I've no idea.  But I'm here to tell you it is possible.

The medical staff here arranged for me to get an MRI.  They even sent somebody to pick me up and take me there, because I couldn't walk more than a few steps without collapsing in a heap of pain.

The MRI revealed not one, but two herniated discs, one of which was pressing right into some big important nerve bundle, blah, blah, blah, need more pain pills, please.

That explains why I can't feel my left leg, I suppose.  That nerve is apparently going crazy and sending all sorts of messed up signals down the line.

In an instant, it seems, I went from being a person who can do jumping lunges and pull ups to being a person who can't pull on my own pants. This is not an easy transition for me.  I'm used to being the helper, not the person in need of help.  

This past week, though, I was definitely the person in need of help.  And boy did my neighbors come through.  We had a kids' party scheduled at our house last weekend, and two other moms showed up with enough cookies and brownies that I didn't have to cook anything at all.  Three meals showed up on my doorstep.  One neighbor brought me a bunch of kale from her garden. (I know what you're thinking: kale?  But you can't buy kale here, and I adore it.  So it was an awesome get well gift.)  Some of my clients gave me a massage gift certificate.  Others offered to supervise the pack out for me.  Seriously, people have been so, so helpful, more than I ever could have expected. B has taken up the slack in the house, doing laundry, grocery shopping, and stooping to pick up everything I drop because I can't bend over.

This all started a week ago Thursday.  It is Saturday night as I type this, nine days later, and I'm slowly feeling better. I still can't feel my leg, which seems like a bad thing.  But it isn't cramping up too much as long as I move slowly. I'm nowhere near pain free, but at least the pain is tolerable. And I can actually bend over to retrieve the things I drop, as long as I take my time. I'm off of the high-powered pain killers, which is good because those things made me loopy.

I'm letting go of my visions of an organized pack out.  The air freight went out on Friday, not much thanks to me.  I stretched out on the living room couch while the movers packed up the contents of the dining room, which is where we'd stashed all of our air freight.  Monday and Tuesday are the big packing days - we'll have a crew of 4-5 Russians crawling all over the house, packing up the bulk of our possessions. (The air freight was just a small supplemental shipment of dishes, pots, pans, bedding - all the things you need to get a household up and running.)  Theoretically, I'm supposed to be supervising the pack out, making sure the movers use the right paper and boxes and labels, but we'll see how I'm feeling by then.

If I don't get significantly better by early next week, we will probably re-arrange our flights and I'll leave here early to seek medical help in the States.  I'm hoping to get better and depart as scheduled, along with the rest of the family.  But we're keeping our options open for now.

Only about 12 days to go before we leave Russia for good.  Here's hoping I don't spend them all on the couch!

The air freight, awaiting the packers.



Friday, June 10, 2016

In Sickness and In Health

Our pack out begins one week from today, and so I have spent the last three weeks focusing on preparations for that big day.

Getting ready to pack out is no small task in a 3-story house. There are endless piles of welcome kit sheets and towels to be carried up and washed.  Our own bedding for 6 people needs to be carried down, washed, folded, bagged, labeled and then carried back upstairs to the air freight staging area.
Vases to be washed, closets to be purged, papers to be shredded, toys to be sorted.  Up and down the stairs, room-by-room, drawer-by-drawer, until it's time to make dinner.

You don't have to do all of this, of course. You can leave the movers to toss everything together and trust that it'll all get to you mostly intact on the other end.  But that just makes the move-in at the next post more complicated, when you find one snow boot packed in a box with your bottle opener, three partially used candles and a ziplock bag full of random coins.  Oh, and you'll finally find every missing tupperware lid and unmatched sock tucked away in that box, but it won't matter because now, on this side of the globe, their other halves will have disappeared. No, best to do as much sorting and purging as you can before the movers ring the doorbell.

That is how I found myself halfway under a bed awhile ago, trying to pull toys and books and stray candy wrappers out from underneath. My butt was in the air and my shoulders were wedged under the mattress as I twisted to reach those last few legos so I could pack away the bin.  A tiny red lego lay tantalizingly out of reach, but I didn't want to get up and walk around to the other side of the bed for the sake of one small lego.  So I reached harder.

That's when I felt the pop, and I knew I'd done something very not-good to my back.

It's been up and down from there.  I've been in bed some days with a heating pad, but other days, I've felt more or less okay.  Yesterday I taught one class at the gym and worked out with 3 separate clients, and I felt pretty good.  I figured the worst was over.

We had a going away reception to attend last night. It was lovely, except for the fact that while I was sitting there chatting with one of the guests of honor, I felt a searing pain travel from my lower back down to my knee.  It kept getting worse, and the other guests looked at me strangely as I wriggled around in my chair, contorting myself in an effort to find a pain-free way to sit, sweating and gulping in air.

It didn't work. I finally excused myself and hobbled home.

This morning, I couldn't stand up straight.  Trying to walk was agony. One leg was painfully contracted and I could see my leg muscles spasming under the skin, all freaky and alien-like. The ibuprofen I've been taking didn't even make a dent in the pain.

I found out the meaning of those "in sickness and in health" vows B and I took almost 22 years ago.  It turns out he really meant them. He cancelled all of his morning meetings and took me to the doctor.  It's normally just a 5-minute walk away but it took us about 20 minutes to cover the distance, him cracking old lady jokes and me clinging to his shoulders, holding back tears while he half-carried me into the office.

Turns out I've herniated a disc in my back or some such thing. I am now hopped up on pain meds, lying on the couch while my husband waits on me.  Seriously, this hurts.  I've pushed out babies without an epidural so I know from pain.  This is about a 9.5 on the scale o' pain, and the only reason I wouldn't classify it as a 10 is because it's only affecting half of my body.  Pushing out a baby without an epidural, by the way, is about a 9.7. But then at least you get a snuggly little baby at the end of the day.  With this, I'll just get 2 more muscle relaxers.  Which by the way, are they even working?  Because I still can't stand up without lightning bolts of pain shooting down my leg.

So, to recap: T minus 7 days until pack out, and I can't even stand up without doubling over in pain. On the plus side, though, B just made the trek to Starbucks and brought back my favorite drink. I love that man.

I wonder if we had something in our wedding vows about how to handle pack out in a situation like this.






Monday, May 23, 2016

Things I Will Miss

With less than 40 days to go, I am in that space where one is frantic at the thought of how much needs to be done to leave post, and yet - it is still too early to do all that much of it.

I peer in the storage closet and survey the towels (air freight!), the medicines (trash), soap and toothpaste (give to a neighbor), the suitcases (hide so the movers don't pack!).  But none of this can be done yet. I look in my kitchen cupboards and try to think of a recipe that might use the last can of fava beans, the dried garbanzos, the box of long-life tofu.  The piles of paper on my desk clearly need to be sorted: shred or scan?

I make lists: File insurance forms.  Email car salesmen.  Research cell phone plans.  Write final plans for each of my clients.

The list never gets shorter.

The last few weeks pass in a frantic blur of we forgot to and if only we'd....  But also.  Also, one tends to get highly annoyed those last few weeks. Why do we need to apply for exit visas, anyway? Why did they tear down the last remaining vegetable market? The traffic.  Lord help me, the traffic.  I won't miss that at all. I spent 2 hours round trip just driving one of my kids to a party last weekend. That's one way, people.  Fortunately, another parent agreed to manage pick up, because that was already more hours of my life than I cared to give to a Moscow highway traffic jam. And the bureaucracy! Just last weekend, we were informed that the Ministry of Culture plans to charge us almost $700 (plus taxes and duty) just to be allowed to export four clocks that we brought here with us two years ago. That's right: we owned them when we arrived.  Our shipping manifest clearly says so. Three of the four aren't even of Russian origin. And yet.

There are, though,  things I will miss.

My friends M and A will be moving here a few short weeks after we leave (which I guess means I will miss them too, quite literally).  Knowing that they will arrive soon has made me look around with their eyes instead of my own, trying to see what they will see when they arrive. The candy-corn-domes of St. Basil's. The White House lit up at night.  The babushki selling berries by the side of the road. Birch leaves, shiny and green against white bark, with their distinctive papery rustling at the slightest breeze.

I will miss being able to walk out my door and stroll a few short minutes to the metro, or a bus stop, taking me almost anywhere I need to go.  I will miss Dorogomilovo, my local green market, where they know me well enough now to ask if I meant to leave zucchini off my usual list.  I will miss the spice guy there, with his scoops of spices for 25 cents apiece, and the yogurt lady, who sells me homemade yogurt and cheese.

I will miss being able to walk down the Arbat, people watching and drinking coffee.  I will miss my kids' teachers, and their school in general. I will miss the vegetarian restaurant over by Patriarchs Ponds, the one I first walked to a year ago with a new friend, B. I will miss M and her husband W, who are the glue of this community, between the movie nights to which they always invite my kids, and the emergency hairstyling they are always willing to provide for special events. I'll miss H and T  and B and A and so many others. I'll miss my clients, the ones who make my days in the gym more fun. I'll miss being able to pick a scraped-up kid up off the sidewalk, dust her off and say, well, let's limp over to the doctor's office and see what they have to say about this.

For now, though, I miss none of this.  For now I am elbow deep in donating old clothes and hunting for the lids to our lego bins.  I'm trying to get the kids interested in my 15-minute drawer challenge, the one where we (okay, I) pick a drawer, set a timer, and clear that sucker out. I have a lead on a decent cell phone plan in the U.S. I'm chatting with car dealers (okay he's doing that, because yawn), narrowing down our car choices. I'm clearing bookshelves and scanning insurance records. I'm getting the whole family medically cleared to leave post, and fitting in one last dental appointment per person. (Yes. It is just as expensive to get a cavity filled in Moscow as it is in the U.S. Cash upfront and pray the insurance kicks in later.)

None of this is particularly fun.  But it's all part of the life we're leading.  You'd think I'd be a pro at it by now.  But with each successive move it gets harder and harder to pack up and move on. It helps to hang on to the things you will miss, to remember that there is a reason, after all, that we do this to ourselves. This is what makes us who we are. Boxes full of things.  Heads full of memories.

We're almost there.




Tuesday, May 3, 2016

60

With about 60 days to go here at post, I've been busier than ever, trying to get everything done that needs doing.

Everyday life is busy enough, with sports teams and birthday parties and music lessons and everything else that goes with being a parent. We also hosted some visitors for a few weeks, so we got to spend some time showing them our favorite places in and around Moscow.  Oh, and we made another quick trip to St. Pete, where some of us visited the Summer Palace and some of us visited the emergency room.  So that was fun, if a bit scary.



My last little baby celebrated her first Holy Communion here in Moscow just last week. I don't consider myself to be very religious despite the fact that I'm a regular churchgoer.  That said, I always tear up at events like these. There's just something about a baptism, a first communion, or any other important church moment. I always feel my grandparents hovering there - even the ones I never met - and it ties me to my roots somehow, knowing they are there watching over us. I know: it sounds weird.  But there you have it. I believe it to be true.

And she was gorgeous, in a dress made by her Nana:




The weather in Moscow has finally turned warm. The tulips are starting to push up through the earth, and the trees all sprouted leaves one day last week. I woke up at 430 this morning and it was already light out.  Odd how quickly winter turns to spring, despite the fact that it feels unending when you're in the middle of it.


We have plane tickets out of here, and we theoretically have space booked for the cat and dog as well, although I've never once had their travel work out, so fingers crossed there's a first for everything.  We have pack out dates set, though we have yet to start the purging and organizing that need to happen ahead of the day.  We are researching cars and computers and phone contracts so we can hit the ground running when we land in the States.

I suspect I won't be too sad to leave when the time comes.  I didn't make a lot of friends in the past two years, and the ones I did make are mostly leaving around the same time as we are. So there won't be much for me to miss.  But I know the kids are already having a rough time planning their goodbyes, so it'll be an emotional departure.

Less than 60 days to go before the next adventure gets underway. Time to focus...

Wednesday, March 23, 2016

Two more articles

Somehow, in the bustle of ordinary life, I forgot to link to these two recent articles of mine:

The first, from Time Magazine, is about depression.

The second, also in Time, discusses the fact that infants understand more than we give them credit for.

Back soon with a real post.
Please. Write your own stuff.