the multitudinal blessings of moving…yet again!

i swear she smells like the essence of Pomeranian, but the long white hair suggests Samoyed…should I endanger my life by using a half-liter box of Island Mist Carpet Odor Eliminator, or should I go with the Biscuit Tin/Pringles Can-sized Daisy’s Dog-Odor Eliminator and an afterthought misting of Nicaraguan Nights Air Freshener?

And what of the black mold upstairs? What of the Jolly Roger’s fingers lingering along the wooden window frame, threatening to invade my poor, stooped figure, hiding these over-stressed little lungs?!

And…and…what about the pock-marked drywall, chiseled with nails, like white cheddar gone bad?!! Will the new landlord even remember the blatant woodpecker-shaped design?!!! Will she function at all when she finds out that…a mouse died- without last rites- in the motor housing of the refrigerator, never to show his face again???

I tell you, if I had a nickel for every time I thought about moving out -already….leaving this blessed bungalow for another poor sucker escaping the shacks down by the river…I would be a rich man indeed, dancing on my own roof…never drinking from cartons of stinky fluid- that, embraced by the gift of the eternal-smelling rodent!!! Saint Rodney we’d call him, for he has imparted the traditionally needed three miracles: everlasting smell, everlasting encasement, and the pungency to produce strange spiritual pilgrimages to the restroom…

…but…a spiritual giant, a man for all seasons (he forgot his coat), a man smoking more cigarettes in ten minutes than a normal man can ingest Reece’s Cups/Mars Bars/Bailey’s Chocolates (and yes, they are manly!) in the same time….appeared…like the Buddha on a piece of burnt toast…and…he came, he saw, and he removed…

…and now I am living happily ever after…well, not quite.

I am sore from moving thousands of plastic containers, lugged one at a time…up icy, snow-covered steps, over a Mountain pass…over a couple of misplaced stone steps…and through a badger-hole, into a circa 1980’s “blast into the past.”

I am befuddled over the utilities…and whether or not the waste company is actually burning more than just trash a mile down the road at the Le Grand Incinerator and Landfill.

and I am suffering from address syndrome…

Uh, do you remember what the address is? Again, what did you say?

ah, the trials and triumphs of moving yet again…they build character, cause us to ponder and reflect, and allow us to empathize with the landless poor of the Middle Ages…

but at least, I have a place to call home…for now.