One of the down sides of moving is having to update your address everywhere. I started on this thankless task before Thanksgiving by trying and failing to update my social security address online. It just wasn’t happening, so I decided to try calling.  I put my phone on speaker and listened to them tell me how important my call was over and over again, Ninety minutes later, someone answered.  I meant to turn off the speaker, but instead, I disconnected the call.  So annoying and no one to be annoyed at but me.

On Monday, I tried online again.  I got all the way to a message that said it would confirm the change, and I watch something circle for more than 15 minutes before I gave up and tried calling again.

This time, I had a list of things to do while waiting.  It was the same music as the last time and the same message about how important my call was.  After two and a half hours (!) I decided to go to the gym, and as I was about to step on the elevator, a person answered!  I returned to my apartment, answered all the secret questions and succeeded in updating my address.

Doesn’t our government know how to tell one what the anticipated wait time is?  Couldn’t our government do what so many others do—namely promise to call you back in the order in which you called?

In my dreams…

Years ago, I bought four brightly-colored Venetian glass candies while on a bike trip to Italy.  They sat on my coffee table in a favorite blue glass bowl from Denmark.  I was amused recently when a friend getting ready to leave after a visit asked if she could have a candy—I advised her against trying to bite into a piece of glass.

Together with some other of my “treasures” that I didn’t want my movers to be responsible for, I left them  with a friend. 

Shortly after my move, I picked up those extra boxes, but I couldn’t find my “candies”.  I was heartsick, thinking I should have left them to the movers because I, myself, had misplaced them when I moved. 

The next evening, I recalled that I had wrapped them individually and put them in my rather large Mexican jewelry box.  I was very pleased and relieved, and attributed my forgetfulness to the stress of moving.

The next day I told the woman I hired to help me hang pictures what happened and how pleased I was.  Minutes later, a picture she had leaned against a wall on a bookshelf fell, knocking the Danish bowl to the floor and shattering the Venetian candies.

If only I had waited one more day to find them!

According to ChatGPT (and other sources), moving can cause what is referred to as relocation stress syndrome. I have moved thirteen times (not counting going away to college) and although I wouldn’t call my feeling of dislocation overly traumatic, I do have one inevitable bad reaction, namely, the inability to sleep.  Until I settle in, until all moving boxes are out of sight, until I have temporarily plastered every kitchen cabinet with colored stickers indicating its contents, to say my sleep is disturbed is an understatement.

On Thursday night, I slept eight solid hours.

This is now my home.

When I had to quickly find a new place to live because my apartment house was deemed unsafe, I settled on a building where my beloved daily newspaper cannot be delivered to my apartment door.  So after more than 60 years of reading The New York Times with my morning coffee, I have become only an online subscriber. 

It’s just not the same.

So, on Sunday morning I put my coat on over my sweat pants, and ventured out in 19-degree temperature at 7:30 a.m. to find a real NYTimes in Harvard Square.

I failed. 

As I approached my apartment building empty-handed, I saw a NYTimes blue plastic bag sailing through the air from across the street to the steps in front of my building.  I ran across the street, and asked the thrower if it was safe to deliver to the outside of the building, and she said she has been successfully leaving the paper on the street outside the front door for 15 years.

I asked her if she had an extra copy of today’s paper that I could buy.  She handed me one, and she wouldn’t take money for it.  I told her I would subscribe to home delivery again.

I’m still smiling…

I have been going to the same dentist for decades.  Over the years, I sent many of my colleagues to him because he was both convenient to work and an excellent dentist.  At some point, he thanked me by giving me my first electric toothbrush.

My most recent checkup was four weeks ago.  And one week ago, I moved into my new apartment six floors above him.

There are a few compromises I had to make by being forced to quickly evacuate—my new place is small, it has no parking, I can hear the giggling of the students next door, etc.  BUT, if I have a dentist appointment on a rainy day,

I can get to his office by elevator.

When Peter and I became engaged (on June 6,1968), he presented me with a beautiful hand-crafted diamond ring designed by a jeweler whose store we often walked by.  (I also always mentioned how gorgeous that jeweler’s designs were.)

I wore that ring every day until November 27, 2024.  On that day, my son Seth gave it to his prospective bride, Dani. 

My hand misses the ring, but I am so pleased about its new home.  When we said good-bye at the end of Thanksgiving, Dani told me she would be sure that the ring stayed in the family

For the next generation!

When Peter and I moved to Riverview in 2018, we were thrilled to be living in a mid-century building overlooking the Charles River in Cambridge, MA.  We had been told by the real estate agent, that there is a real sense of community among the residents, and the real estate agent was right.

Weekly cookouts in the garden in nice weather, Halloween and Christmas events, all contributed to that feeling.  Of course, Covid put a damper on all indoor gatherings, but still…

And now, as we all are forced to vacate, stress and sadness prevail.  Faces encountered in the hall reflect the strain from having to be suddenly uprooted from our settled lives. 

Things happen while you make other plans…

Once again, Thanksgiving has lived up to my favorite holiday expectations.

Especially this year, I appreciated being with the younger generations.   We were having too much fun to talk about politics, and young people don’t have much interest in medical appointments. 

Our Thankful Jar, filled with sweet and funny gratitude statements was a highlight as always, although slightly rushed because the reading of the messages stood between us and several pies.

And speaking of gratefulness, thanks to all 80-something readers.  I am honored by your joining me in the journey through my eighties.

This year our family welcomed an extra guest who joined Seth in coming from Brazil to the mountains of western Maryland.  All other invitees knew something our extra guest didn’t know, namely that she would receive his proposal of marriage,

On the day before the holiday, my soon-to-be daughter-in-law and Seth went for a walk to nearby Deep Creek Lake where (while his brother and his nephew hid in the woods with a camera) Seth proposed. 

We probably have 100 photos of that moment, and I will resist sharing them.  Dani (Danielle) said yes, and we spent the rest of the day…

Celebrating!