Literatura Interrupta by Andrea Downing

Some time ago, on one of many household moves I’ve made in my lifetime, I was told that moving is one of the three most stressful life events—up there with Death and Divorce.  It certainly has proved to be the case this time around.  If any more could go wrong, I certainly don’t want to know about it.

       First, there were negotiations to buy, during which the seller’s lawyer dropped  dead.  One afternoon my lawyer chatted away with him, the next morning he had passed. After a brief time for the firm to recoup and mourn, the legalities of buying proceeded and eventually reached conclusion. 

     Next up was getting bids from 3 contractors for what I thought was going to be a breezy remodel. One contractor dropped out after a few weeks.  Things in the Hamptons heat up around March because there’s a short season of ‘doing’ which I had hit.  Had I been asking for bids in November, my guess is I would have had these companies knocking at my door. But in any event, I hired a project manager/contractor who dealt with the subcontractors and work proceeded.  I even went away for a spell.  Problems then were few—a couple of changes in plans here, a few tile shortages there, a fan without a light shade, a matching mirror for which there was no room.  Stuff.

     By May, my former house was on the market, with me thinking it would never sell and I’d have to rent it out.  Why?  Every reason from overhead power lines, a mice infestation, a rooster next door, proximity to a main road, noisy neighbors, and dodgy plumbing.  I forecast a year to sell in this summer community.  It sold in three weeks.  And not only that, the buyer wanted to be in a.s.a.p.  Even the bank wouldn’t cooperate with her desired date of June 28, nor could we make July 20 after she went on vacation for a month. She was in July 27, I was out, and virtually camping in my new home. 

      The work is pretty much done but the unpacking is not—and the problems have just begun.  Air conditioning that doesn’t reach the hot attic top floor, a water treatment system that hadn’t been serviced in years and was sending out yellow water after being serviced—and now has to be replaced; a new water tank needed; a security system installed; shades installed; endless irrigation problems; and the never-ending unpacking.  Packing must be an art, but it’s one most moving firms haven’t yet acquired.  I find lids that don’t belong to anything else in the box, a single glass without its mates, part of a dustbuster, or the cradle for a telephone.  The dumpster outside is filling with cartons but the cartons seem to be having babies.  And where am I going to put all my books?!

     The more junk one acquires, the more tethered to a place you are.  I’d love to throw all this away and live in an RV but my daughter persists in telling me she needs me and RV places do not abound in NY.  But I’m away from the rooster and the road, on a quiet cul de sac next to a reserve.  I’ve been a lousy ‘friend’ for the past few months, not ‘liking’, commenting, responding, promoting, voting and so on, but hopefully things will now get back to normal.  I’ve decided to start with half days of unpacking and half days writing in order to meet deadlines.

I hope.

And this has gone on so long, the last thing I published was City Boy, Country Heart.  I can barely remember it, but if you haven’t got a copy it’s available at https://www.amazon.com/City-Boy-Country-Heart-Contemporary-ebook/dp/B07DN2S3F1/    Reviews welcome and greatly appreciated.

Rodeo star and rancher Chay Ridgway has left Wyoming to follow his girlfriend, K.C. Daniels, to New York. Leaving behind all he knows for a small bite of the Big Apple, Chay discovers the canyons of city streets may be too claustrophobic for this cowboy, especially when the trauma is compounded by the fact K.C.’s parents dislike him, their housemate is a harridan, friends are few, and the only job he can get is rounding up dinner plates. 
As K.C. continues her two years of study for her Master’s degree, can she also continue to keep a rein on Chay’s heart? Will this cowboy become a city boy, or will the wide-open spaces of Wyoming call his country heart home?