Ok, today's project was the spice cabinet. For real, there were at least 10 different containers of herbs/spices that a) were made of UNACCEPTABLE materials b) were processed or manufactured before I was processed and manufactured. Like, by quite a margin. Have you ever smelled rancid vanilla bean? Because I'm pretty I have. And I'm not cool with it.
Right now, my Gramcakes is sleeping at the Grandma Dorm for her first night...I am hoping that it goes well. I think most people my age prefer the chance to start over-- clean the decks, get a new place, make new friends-- so it's a little difficult to imagine how awful this transition must be for my grandmother. She's been in her house for 30-something years (as evidenced by the former contents of the spice cabinet), and now she has to start over again, making a new place into home. Also, there's a generation gap to consider. She came of age during the Depression, and throwing something out is just ridiculous. I came of age during the 80s and 90s, when it started to make economic sense to just toss something and replace it. Even though I'm a natural pack-rat, I love the opportunity to purge-- and I'm getting the impression that Gramcakes is about four seconds from a massive fucking panic attack when she sees the bags of things that we're throwing out or donating.
I am heading back to the Hills for a few more days before I go back to Kalamazoo. And like usual, I am not at all interested in leaving Cincinnati. There must be something in the water here. I hate having to drive north on I-75. It doesn't help that I've managed to meet [some of who I imagine to be] the best people in the entire tri-state area. (I am awesome at sussing out the best people in any given city. I already did it in Detroit. Ask anyone-- I know the best people in the greater Detroit area. I guess it was only a matter of time before I did the same with Cincinnati.)
My grandma's dog, Sam, is sleeping at the end of the couch that I'm currently occupying, and whenever I glance over, all I can see is one of his ears. It is not dissimilar to a sharkfin. And, no, he is not adjusting well to all of this change. He knows something's up, but he doesn't know he's losing his other master. There are not enough earrubs on the planet to compensate. Sad puppytimes.
Ok-- off to bed.
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