Blog of Billy

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19 months or so after Rosie walks out the door, there was still two or three truckloads of her stuff over here, mostly large furniture, a box of glass figurines that was in a cabinet, and several trash bags worth of shoes. Monday afternoon, I ask her to pick a time that she can pick it up. Understanding that if I have to wait for her to find a truck of her own, it's going to be sometime into my next vacation that she gets it picked up, I enlist the aid of Mike and Chris along with Mike's truck and Chris's dad's truck to shlep slop down Nompton way. Rosie lets me know that

(19:42:55) soccerpc82: yeah i'm going to have to bring my dogs with me though
(19:43:03) soccerpc82: and bryan

Or how about not. So I end up wrapping 315,000 little pieces of glass as carefully as I possibly can into individual sheets of newspaper, and putting them into a well-duct-ed box. The boys and I take the glass sides and door off of the cabinet just to make sure that everything will arrive in as secure a condition as glass ever does.

In a separate trip, we take a gigantic recently dismantled dining room table over to her sister's house and drop it off with her mom. Her mom has always been very sweet to me, and I very much appreciate it.

The drive down to Norman was uneventful, save for the really impressive Boy Scout knot tying that kept that recliner in the bed of the pickup when mere gravity would not. The glass panes and shelving survived quite well in the back of the cab. I gave Rosie a call when we got close so she could wake up from her nap. We arrived. The festivities began. Now, the three of us have each helped people move furniture before. Each time there has been no problem getting everyone involved with carrying stuff. I've even seen random people show up and offer to help. It's just what's done. Imagine my surprise when my ex-wife and her little boy of a consort both find it fit to stand completely still as we take furniture up to her second-story apartment. Little-boy is willing to take the boxen from the porch thing into the apartment, but what really amazes all is the following conversation, spoken within earshot of all three of us.

Rosie: Go help Billy with that recliner.
Little-boy: Why?

Seriously now. I know that I've been on the receiving end of poking from a third-grade pissy stick for as long as I've known this kid, but I'm not the one would have been able to sit out moving Rosie's grandfather's old chair. Being a jerk to me is excusable, I guess, even though I go out of my way to be nice to the both of them. Being a jerk to people you barely know, who are in the process of doing stuff for you is a character flaw. This is what elicited Mike's very appropriate commentary yesterday. Other Mike comments include such gems as "If your dog touches me again, I'm going to snap him in half." Sometimes I have to love people that can explain what they are feeling without all the sugar-coating and cooling-down time that I feel compelled to add.

I use a lot of hyphens when I get angry.

Quick thanks to Denise for listening to me complain yet again even in the middle of ice cream time with her pals. Such good friends I have.