Chihuahuas and Sentimental Attachments

Finally, some peace and quiet! As I write I'm sitting up in bed at Dad's house with my first cup of coffee, one of my favorite moments in any day. My dad and stepmother are still asleep, as are the chihuahuas. I'm enjoying the pre-dawn silence, which comes with the sad assurance that as soon as the dogs wake up I will be subjected to this.

Pinky and Manny are a bit schizophrenic about me. They bark like mad when I move around, but if I sit down and I'm relatively quiet they seem to forget I'm there -- one or the other will even come and sit in my lap, quivering and worried. I'll pet them and falsely believe that I've made progress. Then I'll stand up, and the cacophony begins again, Manny rushing my ankles and nipping my pant legs.

My brother and his family have gone back to Jacksonville. He and I had a walk around the neighborhood yesterday morning, talking about Mom's transition to a smaller apartment and the impending sale of the family home. We're all ready to let go of the house, realizing that our lives are elsewhere now, but that doesn't mean it isn't a strange time. We also burned my brother's childhood model airplanes, which he didn't want to unceremoniously dump in a landfill. He felt they deserved a dignified disposal, like a worn-out flag. (Is it environmentally sound to burn a box of plastic airplanes held together with '70s model glue? Almost certainly not. In fact, scratch that "almost.")

Last night we all went out to dinner with my stepsister and her family, which made the second big family dinner of the week. I have that overfull, restaurant-indulged feeling. (Talk about first-world problems!) Today things should quiet down a bit. My mom is working part of every day this week, so I'll have some quiet time at her house to go through things and make plans. I've called and e-mailed a second piano dealer about the Steinway, so we'll see if that goes anywhere.

Meanwhile, Dave tells me there's big drama at our flat in London. Apparently, a water main broke in the street right outside our front door. There's a water-filled crater in the pavement, and somehow this affected the power supply to our apartment and the one upstairs. The utilities have plunked a diesel generator in the parking space out front, with cables snaking into the apartment through the mail slot. I'm sure Olga loves that.

(Photo: A tricolored heron on the dock at my mom's.)