Fever Pitch

While Lynn and I both decided we would much rather unpack than pack, it’s still a process that is consuming our weekends. And while I keep saying we have the rest of our lives to unpack, so far we’re going about it with the urgency of the same deadline we had for packing.

Some of it is a quest to find certain things. Marrakesh, who seems rather depressed, is practically moulting (Lynn momentarily mistook one of his giant hair clumps for a mouse in her room), and I would dearly love to find the brush that works best on him. So far I haven’t, but I did come across a shedding comb I used this morning on all three pets. It turns out Oz needs a pretty serious brushing too.

So we spent the weekend in an unpacking frenzy, although it doesn’t seem so much like it when you look at the vast array of boxes left in the garage. But some of unpacking is arranging, and Lynn made good headway in her kitchen, while I got our living area set up and organized a few things in the guest, laundry and bedroom.

We’ve already spent money buying things we probably don’t need (although a second step stool to reach all the high stuff seems like it will be handy) and made one trip to the storage shed to rescue a file cabinet consigned to the “maybe” pile. It is clear, though, that most of the stuff in the storage shed is not going to fit in this “larger” house, and it’s already a mystery to me how it fit in the old one.

I can think of several furniture items we could buy, but Miller Furniture is indeed out as an option. I had stopped in Friday morning to see how Tracey Miller was doing, and the store, which takes up easily half a city block, seemed about half empty then. When Lynn and I went in Saturday afternoon, the place was almost bare.

We didn’t stay long — we kind of felt like vultures, even though we do need a new recliner. (Tracey was down to just two, and while Lynn found one to be very comfortable in the two seconds she reclined in it, the color was off-putting and I think for what we have planned, one that swivels would serve a better purpose.)

Tracey, with more help than she had Friday (although she hadn’t yet eaten lunch), had a moment to talk, and while several gaps still need filling in, it sounds like her in-laws, who own the building, wanted her to buy the building or get out by Sept. 1. She said she can’t get a commercial loan in Gunnison, and whatever bank or banks she talked to said the building isn’t worth the asking price, so she opted for B, and Miller Furniture, open since 1897, will be closed by the end of the month. If there’s even furniture left after the Saturday frenzy.

So I guess we will have to take our business to Back at the Ranch. I bought a bed there once, and the people were friendly then, but most of their furniture seemed tailored to the Crested Butte/second homeowner crowd, and I just was more comfortable at Miller’s.

[Tracey did also say people were saying horrible things about her around town. I haven’t heard anything, but my head’s been in the sand for the last couple weeks, if not years. Decades. I hope that’s not the case — I’ve always found Tracey to be nice and easy to deal with.]

And my plan to get back to a normal schedule is failing me on the first day. Sam and Zach have already been and gone to address the project list Dusty had that I added to last night.

But at least Marrakesh, who has done nothing but sleep, almost without moving, for the past three days, went on a brief prowl as I worked on this, and has now found the sliding glass door. I opened it so he can take in some air — let’s just hope he doesn’t figure out he could use his weight and/or claws to break through the screen.

This is more disjointed than I intended, but there have been multiple interruptions (but no phone calls) during composition, and I am going to be late. Again. Still. Constantly. I didn’t go in and do the work I needed to yesterday (I fell sound asleep instead), which means I’m staying today until it gets done. Deadlines and all, that, you know. Some of them are real and some, like when we unpack, are strictly in our heads.

Look who came to dinner last night. He was up by the deck when Lynn spotted him, but we apparently weren’t serving anything he wanted, so he was moving on by the time she got to her phone.