After rave reviews for U-Pack from my friend Laura I was confident to switch from the Uhaul truck. Her multiple cross-country moves make her an expert adviser on the matter. The plan for July 14th includes three adults, one child, and one dog taking off in a mid-size SUV. A weird goal of mine is to pull an all-nighter. Don’t you agree there’s nothing better than when the gas gauge’s needle sink into an “E” at 3am, you refill, and then head back on the road with a crappy gas station coffee?
I want to make the main stop in Lawrence, Kansas, to see my friend Joey. His constant sharing of pictures of delicious-looking burritos from his friend’s restaurant has given me a hankering and is one reason for the stop. The other? Well, I guess I’d like to see Joey too.
Will I regret making a mad dash across the country instead of stopping at national parks and gazing at the largest ball of yarn? Perhaps, but moving – I remind myself – is the priority.
None of the twelve potential buyers said anything negative about our house or the price, and both details were very relieving on the phone call with Hilary. But the problem for everyone? Interest rates. I did the numbers on our house, and the monthly payment at an 8.5% interest rate is between $8,000 and $9,000, which is absolutely ridiculous. Who in the hilly hay has that kind of money?
At times, I go to write something and stop myself, thinking, “No one cares, you’ve said that before.” Like how awesome Archie is. He was sitting next to me, his eyes looking into mine, and I felt comforted. I was curious how I could keep the moment going forever. And then he laid down, and I thought of how I’d convey how amazing that feeling is.
In a session on Thursday, a younger person walked into my office, uncertain of him. They’d come in with a tightly wound body, bordering on an anxiety attack. Archie positioned his face away from them but swiveled his behind to their hand. “He really likes butt scratches,” I told them. Two minutes later, with both their hands rubbing the top of his head and ears, the client had changed into a calmer version of themselves. I think I’m a good counselor, but no way can I touch the skills of that dog.
While writing, a high-pitched sound stopped and started. After it kept going, I understood it to be Evelyn’s cry. After a late bedtime yesterday, an early rise this morning, and tons of activities, she was so tuckered out we carried her from the car to bed.
Sitting beside her with my hand rubbing her back, she barely squeaked out between teary gasps, “I wa-wa-wanted to help.” The items from our overnight stay, including a duffle, tote, and backpack, although a breeze for Dave and me to unload, meant poor Evelyn was left out. I told her how sweet and thoughtful she was and appreciated her desire to help. After getting her water, reading five books, and providing extra kisses and hugs, she returned to her old self.
All’s well that ends well. Take care.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 