packing

We're heading north tomorrow, to Maine. While we're gone, men will come and refinish our floors. Which means that the floors need to be clear when we leave for Maine.

They're not actually going to refinish all of our floors, just the ones in the living room and in the room where my computer and knitting are, our den. It's something we've wanted to do since we moved in, but it's so much of a hassle that we've been dissuaded up till now. This summer we bit the bullet.

So, while we pack for our week up north, we are also packing up these rooms and stowing their contents in the bedroom and office, and any closets that seem to have space. It's slow going. I'm hot. I'm feeling overwhelmed. I get distracted by my yarn, the knitting patterns I want to bring to Maine with me, the piles of receipts and phone numbers sitting next to my computer. It's good to sort through these things and do some purging. And I'm sure it will make our return (and unpacking) much easier. But it's hard to motivate.

It's also hard to pack for our trip. It is muggy and 85 degrees in Brooklyn today. There are thunderstorms and it's close to 60 in Maine. My mother keeps reminding me to bring a wool sweater along. The idea of wearing a wool sweater in the next few days is really inconceivable to me. I haven't worn pants in months. The only sweater I've pulled out recently has been cotton and good for an over-air conditioned theater. I find myself staring at my sweater drawer and thinking, "You're kidding me!" as sweat rolls down my back and I long for a shower.

Anyway, I'm really excited about going to Maine, packing not included. I'm really psyched to wear pants and a sweater (even if I can't wrap my head around it right now), and I am looking forward to seeing lots of people who will be there. My cousin and her daughter, Christopher's cousins and grandparents, my friend from Germany, who is summering with her family near Portland. I'm even going to meet Mary Jane, who lives very close to where I'll be. And of course, I am still entertaining my dyeing fantasies, even though I hear that the only seeds of mine that grew were the purple basil. And apparently my dad mowed down the wildflowers, so I might not be able to find black-eyed Susans, goldenrod or Queen Anne's Lace so easily as a back up. Mary Jane talks of dyeing with a certain lichen, so we'll see what happens!