Yesterday evening at 7:30 marked one full week in Lodi. I've spent the week moving furniture from one side of the apartment to another and trudging up and down the stairs with piles of towering boxes and odds and ends that trip over themselves and down the steps like a slinkie--
*pause for commercial break courtesy of the Lost and Found band*
"you keep on trying to crash my party but you can't--SLINKIE!--swallow my soul no no no..."
*resume to regularly scheduled programme*
--must be a mile a day at least on those stairs, and lifting heavy boxes from one corner of the room to a closet and to another part of the closet and then readjusting the contents a few times again--so much so that all the heavy lifting rested in my chest muscles so tightly that I wondered if I was having a heart attack one night.
But luckily, the sweet sweet fumes of a cucumber and green tea Yankee Candle have followed me everywhere. And I mean everywhere. A very thoughtful, anonymous woman left it for us in our new place before we arrived--and I bet she didn't even know that candles are my favourite! If I had a show like Oprah I would feature a new candle every single time--that's how much I love them (p.s. anyone see 30 Rock last night? "BORAH!" hehehe). This green candle has gone with me EVERYWHERE. Every time I move to another room to organize, I take the candle with me. The kitchen, the living room, the guest room, the bathroom, the closet (not really the closet, that was exaggerating a bit), it gives every room a cheery, inviting glow that murmurs, "welcome home!" in a voice that sounds very much like that southern cooking show host with the white hair and two sons I've seen a few times. I am so thankful for my candle.
Well, Jonathan just opened the front door and a gust of cool November wind and woodsy fireplace smoke blew in the door. Which makes me wonder if I mentioned we have a fireplace? We'll probably have to have it swept before we use it, but still--we have a fireplace! *sigh of contentment* Next on the list is a velvet red robe and a cigar and classical music, and I guess then I'll officially be able to label myself a writer (or a British telly programme host...) But a roving candle is a start.