There’s a little bit of Clampett left in me

And so, the partial move to the retirement house has begun.

When we went for Christmas 2016 to our Arizona retirement place, our team of 2 had a plan: 3 big suitcases each of winter clothes and field gear that rarely gets used in Houston. I would handle guarding the 6 bags curbside, while my husband went to fetch the rent car via the rent car bus.

Rent car bus

If that sounds hick, well, it kind of is.

I’m hoping that the Phoenix airport might be one of the airports getting a Federal Facelift soon. It really is so tiny and outdated for an international and major domestic hub. The carpet has wee airplanes on it and I swear I can still smell cigarettes and donuts from the 1970s…

Back to the curb…

A lady took one look at this tall Swede mix Amerimutt in my leopard coat and remarked “well, somebody don’t know how to pack lightly!”

Yes. Well. It’s all mah makeup and hair extensions you know…and all mah critters…

Once we got back to Houston I had visions of repeating this process in March. After all, I grew up tough in the Rockies, choppin’ wood in the snow and catchin’ fish with mah bare hands. I will go solo to meet with a lady to arrange painting the inside from orange to grey in 1Q prior to us visiting and let the place air out.

I thought “3 more big bags!” then quickly realized I could realistically handle only 1 on the rent car bus. I could handle 2 in the South because men are still chivalrous here, but Arizona is in the West-every man, woman, and infant for themselves. If you disagree, see what happens the next time you’re at an elevator or heavy door; you’d swear George Costanza was in the crowd somewhere, afraid of fires.

I began to sort my spices. 

Because visions of cooking…

The enormous bag had 10 jars of paprika, cayenne, and other assorted “meatball elixir” spices. I wondered if there would be signs at the airport akin to the Nexus 7 phone stating the following: “Cayenne prohibited because of fire danger, watch out for George near the Exits”.

And the bag weighed a ton.

I was suddenly Ellie Clampett: “Durn thang weighs a ton! Can’t git no more critters in here if ah trayed! Whar’s Jethro?!”

(For my foreign readers, The Beverly Hillbillies was a show popular in the 1960s and 1970s). It portrays a backwoods country family that discovered oil on their land, made millions, then moved to Hollywood.

They call pools “CEment ponds” and animals “critters”.

I realized that hauling spices is silly, especially when I get that “no wife of mine is gonna suffer no more” look from Mr W.

I’m not 25 and scrubbingly poor anymore.

And so, I removed said spices and prepped to donate them to the next meatball lover or Texas chili maker person.

Instead of spices, I will take the rest of winter clothes and other light, bulky stuff we won’t need for the next 5 months or so in Houston. After all, it’s nearly February-that’s Springtime in Houston.

Plus I’ll bring my bathing suit.

I am lookin’ forward to enjoying our new CEment pond.


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