Thursday, November 22, 2007

Gobble till we wobble

First off, I’d like to give a shout-out to all my family, friends…and individuals who stumbled upon this blog looking for the lyrics to Don’t Squeeze My Sharmon; my fondest wish for each and every one of you is to have the happiest of Thanksgivings. I must admit, in recent years, I haven’t celebrated it much due to the nature of the last couple of jobs at which I was employed. (The hotel bidness is 24/7/365, so the concept of a “day off” for Thanksgiving is a curious one…unless you luck out or have seniority and can manage to avoid working that day.)

I don’t, as a rule, get sloppy about things like Thanksgiving—but I’ve had a good deal of time to reflect on matters of a slushy, sentimental nature…particularly since my insomnia has been acting up again. I’m thankful I have my health, a roof over my head, three hots and a cot and wonderful family and friends. I have a tendency to take these sorts of things for granted, so maybe the idea of a holiday like Thanksgiving isn’t such a bad one after all.

That having been said, I’d like to take a short bit of bandwidth to let every devoted TDOY reader know that for the next two months or so, there will be big changes at Rancho Yesteryear…and for the blog as well. About two weeks ago, my mother was informed by the company she’s been punching a clock for nigh onto seventeen years that they will be officially out of business by the end of January 2008. Admittedly, she was expecting some bad news re: her position because a frenzied whispering campaign about “changes” had erupted within the confines of the company…but learning that they were completely kaput really through her for a loop. She’s been informed by her boss that she’ll be one of the last ones to leave come January 31st—but has not received any news as to what kind of severance package she’ll receive (if indeed she does get one).

For a long time now, the ‘rents and I have discussed the possibility of kicking the Savannah dust off our feet and moving to Athens to live with my sister Kat—these plans, of course, hinging on how much my mother would receive for taking early retirement. Ultimately, Mom chose to serve out the rest of her sentence at Springmaid-Wamsutta (“Wamsutta” is now an old Indian word meaning “Get your sheets somewhere else, Bunky.”) until that day came…but since that option has been removed from the table, we were forced to revert back to Operation Athens again. Kat came down last Thursday and we had several “family meetings” to discuss the situation: a realtor friend of hers stopped by Friday to discuss what we would need to do to get the House of Yesteryear in shape so that potential buyers would not recoil at the sight of our domicile and run for the safety of their vehicles. As of this writing, we hope to be out of here by January 1st, which is when we’ll list the house for sale—and since homes have a tendency to sell better if they are uncontaminated by people or furniture, we will need to take large steps to get all our crap out of here by the listing date.

My part in this three-act play is that I have been appointed Director of Clutter…and yes, frequent TDOY commenter Pam sustained a major injury falling to the ground while laughing at the irony. Let’s be honest: I have held onto a tremendous pile of crap over the years, though in my defense I don’t have nearly the amount of bric-a-brac as that obtained by Shreve patriarch Ivan, Sr. (We have a garage teeming with…well, anything you could possibly want—it's the Alice's Restaurant of garages and it’s not unlike Nate’s school locker in the comic strip Big Nate. None of the stuff in there works, you understand—but if you’re looking for it, we have it.) My job in this stressful period is to weed through my clutter (I’ve already told Mom that the DVDs will come with me—as far as the records, books, etc. what I can’t sell on eBay I’ll give away) and produce a manageable collection for shipping…and then convince my father to do the same. (I’ve decided to adopt a policy of diplomacy…and if that doesn’t work, I’ll throw shit out while he’s at the flea market.) While this is going on, we’ll also be sprucing up the outside and inside—something that will require a great deal of time and attention.

This brings me to the blog. Naturally, with all the hammering and nailing and painting and de-cluttering I’m just not going to be able to devote the attention necessary to keep posting as regularly as I like. (And just when I was actually managing to keep on top of it for once.) So, there will be long periods when the fields will remain fallow—I’ll make every attempt to drop in and say hi-dy…maybe even fill you in on the status of Operation Get-Out-of-Dodge if I can, but what with the eBaying and project-writing and…yes, de-cluttering, it will be a daunting task at best.

In conclusion, I apologize for my verbosity—I just wanted to make certain that everyone was aware that my absence won’t be due to any medical-related issues…and that when we’re back to a normal schedule (well, as normal as can be for us) I promised to return and stay as long as I can. In the meantime, thanks as always for encouraging my behavior…and have a Happy Thanksgiving.


Pam said...

Big news. Good luck with it all. Happy Thanksgiving to all.

Bill Crider said...

I hope I never have to de-clutter, as it would be impossible. Best of luck as you face the daunting task.

Sam said...

I'll try to help get some that clutter from you soon, ol' chum. Until then, Happy Turkey day to you and yours.

Anonymous said...

You have my sincere sympathy, Ivan, as you make the effort to remove the clutter from your life before the big move. For me, there would be absolutely no way to do such a thing - aside, of course, from arson or a team of hefty bulldozers. THERE's a thought! Now where are those insurance policies...

Harlan Zinck
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