(Part 2) Moving In...

So the moving men from Oz are gone, the price of the move was twice the estimate and I'm sitting amongst boxes I packed less than 24 hour ago feeling down and out. Two things not to have when you are moving: a teenage daughter, who sits around complaining about not being able to watch the Gilmore Girls while she packs one earring at a time, or a dog that barks through out the move between nervous pees and diarrhea in the hallway of the new digs. It isn't pretty. So now I sit on my broken barker lounger and peer at several art frames that are broken and one piece of art that is gouged. I am told that all of this will be taken care of and not to worry. But I do. As I start taking stuff out and placing it in foreign places in the new house, I understand why people say the three most upsetting things in life are death, divorce and moving. On the move out I got rid of a great deal of stuff I hadn't seen in years collecting a dozen yellow refund receipts from thrift shops and just tossing a lot of other junk. Now as I unpack I do the same. Out with the old in with the new. As I write this my dog is peeing on a box because I have not taken her on her walk. I climb through the maze of boxes and furniture, clean up the mess and put the leash on her and head out on my first walk around the neighborhood. I like the new location in the shadows of Rupert Towers. There's a park where children play, there's a hill that is hard to climb and will serve as good exercise and I'm closer to Fifth Avenue and the Museum Mile. As I walk the dog I realize I don't want to return to unpacking so I walk all the way to Central Park, my dog looking back at me with a 'where the hell are we going' look. I look back at her with an 'I don't know look' because I don't know...