And it’s not even like I’m actually packing anything
yet. Right now I’m in the sorting
phase.
Okay, so I hate sorting.
I’m trying to go through all of these folders full of
receipts from the last two (or twenty) years.
They’re stacked in four or five inch piles around me in a circle on the
floor. I pick up a faded blue and yellow
receipt with a brown-eyed baby on it from The Juvenile Shop.
Justin’s first crib
mattress
Kyle Richard’s voice (“Real Housewives of Beverly Hills”) blares
from the TV on the wall. I lower the
volume a little with the remote next to me and close my eyes.
Jesus, he’s graduating
from high school in two months.
I’ve been so busy getting bids from moving companies and
getting rid of stuff that I haven’t even really thought about the fact that
Justin will be living on a college campus in the fall.
Come August, my baby
will be a college freshman.
The next thing I pull out is a photo of Miles from his 10th
birthday party. I’d had it made into a thank you card. I stare the glossy photo with his new
10-speed bike and handsome smile until I find my eyes burning and swelling with
inconvenient tears.
Dammit.
Okay, that’s it. No more sorting. Maybe I’ll just pack my snow globes instead
for a while…
The reality that I’ve been avoiding is, that for the
second time in four years I’m saying goodbye to another major chapter of my
life. Four year’s ago, I moved here to
Encino from my martial home in Studio City, where I’d lived for 15-years with
Brian, Miles and Justin.
Miles and Justin….
They spent their high school years in this house. This house, which is the first house I ever
bought all by myself and decorated to suit my taste (I didn’t even know what my
taste was before this house). Scottie and I waited for six years and then
finally, four-year's ago, moved in together in this house.
And now I’ve just sold this house because “we’re at the top
of a sellers market” and “it’s a smart move for my future”.
But being responsible for my future means I don’t get make
decisions based on how I feel anymore.
Being responsible sucks.
Because I really don’t feel like moving and I really don’t
feel like packing. And right now, I
really don’t feel like sorting through everything I own in order to purge things
like this precious crib mattress receipt and those decade’s-old thank you cards. Saying goodbye to these things means saying
goodbye to those massive after-basketball sleepovers, Sunday dinners, family
road trips, movie nights, etc. Saying
goodbye to these things might mean a transition into a lonelier way of life
that I’m just not prepared to lead right now.
I hit the home button on my iPhone to see the time.
7:15pm. I’ve only been at this for twenty minutes?
I pick up a December 2017 People Magazine from my newspaper
pile and rip out a page. I use it to wrap
up a tiny snow globe from our trip to Monaco (twice) before scotch taping the ends
of the paper together. I tear out the
next page and grab a baseball-sized snow-globe from our family road trip
through Nashville through last year. The
page in my hand has a large picture of Kim and Kanye emblazoned on it. The headline seems to scream at me:
No place like home!
Kim Kardashian and Kanye West 'FINALLY move into $20 million mansion' after
renovating property for year!
It’s not like I’m one of those “Dash-fans” (is that what
they call them?). I mean, I can count on
two hands the number of times I’ve seen “Keeping up with the Kardashians” (Okay
that’s a lie. I’m pretty sure I watched it
regularly for at least a year. Well, maybe
it was three or four seasons, but they’re really short seasons, aren’t they?).
I feel my scalp tingling with a familiar mixture of envy and
curiosity. I put the snow-globe down and
flatten out the page in front of me on the floor with my hands.
Obviously there will be areas built for personal maintenance. There are
plans for a huge gym, basketball court, hair salon and a full spa complete with
a facial and massage room.
My face flushes with instant annoyance.
Personal maintenance…
Obviously.
By the way, did I ever mention that I represented Robert
Kardashian (the Kardashian dad) when I was a publicist? I was working for Prudence Baird's PR firm and Robert Kardashian's company, Movie Tunes, was just launching.
It was a big deal then because he had just
finished the OJ trial. He was part of that defense team — the Dream Team. Remember he was the one who carried that
mysterious briefcase to the trial everyday? Kourtney, Kim and Khloe were all
just cute, little girls then. He was a
really nice guy. Who knew then that his
offspring would grow up and become one of the richest, most powerful dynasties
in the world?
Suddenly I feel sticky inside, like I’ve been tarred
internally. I feel my eyes glazing over like I’m high on cold medicine.
I should eat something
first and then come back and finish wrapping these snow globes. We have those yummy sesame noodles...
I can’t believe that I would actually think twice about Kim Kardashian’s spa room if my blood sugar was normal.
I can’t believe that I would actually think twice about Kim Kardashian’s spa room if my blood sugar was normal.
But my body doesn’t seem to want to stand up, so I lean my
head back against the wall. Now, Real Housewives’ OG, Lisa Vanderpump is
quietly berating Erika Girardi (in her posh British accent) for being so
self-obsessed.
Really? Isn’t that
kind of the point of all of those “Real Housewives" shows? Aren’t you all self-obsessed?
With my eyes still closed, I blind-reach for my Evian bottle
and take a swig of water, swishing it around my mouth before swallowing. The water feels cool on the back of my
throat.
Maybe this is a case
of “analysis paralysis”. Maybe I can’t do
this sorting because I’m incapable of getting rid of anything.
It says here that Kim's organizer, Carla, is taking "great care" with all of the details that Kim wants so that the house is done right before she moves in.
Organizer, eh?
Organizer, eh?
But an organizer would probably blow my whole moving
budget. And this whole move is about me
“downsizing” — spending less, saving more, being smarter with my money.
“Right-sizing” That’s my AA sponsor, Beverly’s voice I hear
gently correcting me. “You’re not
downsizing, you’re right-sizing.”
Right-sizing,
downsizing, whatev, Bev.
I wonder how many people it took to move Kim and them
into that twenty-million dollar mansion?
With the magazine still in my hand, I head over to my computer
keyboard.
How much is an organizer?
Immediately a dozen or so pictures come up of closet drawers
and stackables. But down at the bottom, one
listing reads:
What do professional
organizer’s charge?
I click on that and hold my breath, doing some quick math in
my head while it loads.
I mean, if I think
about it, I’m actually saving money because I’m bringing all of my beautiful
furniture from this house, so maybe…
While I’m musing, my eye falls to the next paragraph of the
Kardashian move-in article. The
photograph below it is of a large dirt lot with 30 or 40 construction vehicles
scattered about:
The
backyard is a mass of dust and dirt with construction vans and even a mobile
office planted where a lawn and flowers should be.
The pool
is just a slab of concrete right now and the pool house has yet to be painted.
Not exactly a lush landscape for little Saint, aged one, and North, aged
four.
Hey - what’s this? Kardashian squalor?
Sure enough, it looks as though the Kardashian compound’s
back yard is nothing more than a few piles of dirt and clay. I can’t help but smile as I push myself away
from my computer. I stand up and stretch
as I look around my office.
The truth is that I love our new house -- never mind that the backyard is tiny (Hey! At least it's not a dirt lot!)
And Lily (Scottie’s oldest daughter) and Chris (my brother) will both be here in LA going to college in the fall. And Justin will just be in Orange County and will be home every weekend. Miles already comes home two or three times a week (and he comes every Sunday to make family dinner).
And Lily (Scottie’s oldest daughter) and Chris (my brother) will both be here in LA going to college in the fall. And Justin will just be in Orange County and will be home every weekend. Miles already comes home two or three times a week (and he comes every Sunday to make family dinner).
He’s such a good boy…
Plus Nora (Scottie’s almost-14-year-old) will be flying out from
Stowe, Vermont every chance she gets (and I’m pretty sure she’ll be coming to
LA for college too).
We’re going to have a full house.
It will be just be different, not lonely or boring. And even with all of that going on, Scottie
and I will be able to have more alone time.
I’ll be able to write more. Maybe
he and I can go to Fiji like we’ve been talking about…
I turn around survey the mess on
the floor, receipts are haphazardly piled everywhere. It looks very -- unmanageable and disorderly. It reminds me of a little of that...
Squalor?
My stomach growls loudly suddenly and I remember that I was going to eat something.
Squalor?
My stomach growls loudly suddenly and I remember that I was going to eat something.
Right -- Sesame noodles!
As I head toward the kitchen, I stub my toe on the large snow-globe
and then quickly trip over two of the larger piles of receipts, scattering them everywhere. It looks as though a paper bomb has just been detonated in my office.
Faaaaaaccccckk!
After releasing a string of whispered curse words into the
air above my head. I limp back over refresh
my computer screen.
Fu*k sorting! How
much can an organizer really be?A thousand? Two thousand? Maybe we put off Fiji for a year…
I pick up the magazine again and stare at the photo of the Kardashian's disheveled back yard. In the picture above, Kim looks so secure and confident, like she's all "Yeah, so what my backyard's a mess? I'm owning my sh*t!"
My laughter startles me (it also may sound suspiciously like crying to a passerby). I lower my shoulders and force myself to exhale.
"Just wait 24 hours before you take any action on this idea and see how you feel then," (that's Beverly's voice again).
"Okay Beverly," I say out loud (like crazy person). "Twenty-four hours."
I step away from the computer and turn toward the kitchen again.
"Thank you Beverly," I whisper.
Glancing back at the page on the floor, I feel myself smiling again.
"And thank you as well, Kim. I might need to just start owning my sh*t too."
My laughter startles me (it also may sound suspiciously like crying to a passerby). I lower my shoulders and force myself to exhale.
"Just wait 24 hours before you take any action on this idea and see how you feel then," (that's Beverly's voice again).
"Okay Beverly," I say out loud (like crazy person). "Twenty-four hours."
I step away from the computer and turn toward the kitchen again.
"Thank you Beverly," I whisper.
Glancing back at the page on the floor, I feel myself smiling again.
"And thank you as well, Kim. I might need to just start owning my sh*t too."