June 1st, and I'm free from the audacious business of clearing the apartment that I've lived in with my kids for nineteen years. Yesterday I drove a sixteen-foot truck with the belongings I consider essential for carrying out the rest of my existence; they're now packed neatly in a storage place approximately 60 miles from the city of San Francisco. Pronams to my son who is twenty-five years old and, with the help of my next door neighbor, literally picked up my piano, without a dolly, and put it on the truck with no lift-gate on the rear! My car is packed with items to be sorted, tossed, or saved on the next go-round. And, in an exhausted frame of mind, I am driving to my ex-husband's (who took my cat home with him last week) to spend a few weeks planning my trip ahead.
Even though I am going to be spending a few weeks in the northern part of the San Joaquin Valley, in a town that I'd rather not be "stuck in," I feel a sense of exhilaration in anticipation of my upcoming journey...
June 23rd and I'm meeting my sister and son at a party attended by people I've known for thirty-five years. In a beautiful spot in Western Sonoma County, there are about a hundred people eating and drinking, playing music, and visiting. My participation in this group has been rather sporadic and only occasional until now. My ex is here and enlisted his son to carry down a heavy cooler with a couple of trays of 'oven' barbecued ribs which I overheard someone acclaim as "marvelous!" After this event I am going to spend a week in Sebastopol at the home of friends I haven't seen for ever, until this year.
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