Recommended wine for today’s entry: A 2007 Frei Brothers Russian River Chardonnay. I had this on a recent visit to the Westport General Store in the quaint river town of Westport, KY and found it quite pleasing. It received an 89 in December os 2008 from Wine Advocate, who wrote: “The 2007 Chardonnay reveals some oak along with plenty of tropical fruit, and a steely background character. Reminiscent of an exhuberant French Macon, it should be drunk over the next several years.”
Like many of you, I have spent the past two weeks getting a child organized to return to college. And you know that back-to-school prep always involves a trip to Target. But for us, it’s a daily trip to Target, each time to get “just one last thing” — another of the absolutely essential items that the state of Ohio apparently does not offer.
Of course, I am pleased to learn that Kentucky is so cutting edge. In fact, I guess I’m rather surprised, because normally one can look at magazines to see what trends will hit Kentucky in about four years.
And probably also like you, I will be stumbling up and down stairs to move my daughter into a 3rd floor dorm room. Again.
I was thinking about this. I have never met anyone who had to move their kid into a first floor room. Or maybe they exist, but they are smart enough not to add their two-cents worth while I’m whining about move-in day. It’s possible they can see in my wretched eyes that I’ll take their smug little faces off if they start bragging about backing the car up to the dorm window and passing things through, all while sitting on their knees in the back of the SUV.
So once again for us, it’ll be an all-day excursion … and exertion. You see, even though my daughter is taking her car this year, she doesn’t want to have to walk to it. She, the hale and hearty 19-year-old, doesn’t want to trek to the end of campus to get her car for a trip to WalMart next week.
Instead, she prefers that her poor aged parents — my husband, who recently spent most of our Connecticut trip at the chiropractor, and me with the muscle tone of an earthworm with the flu — we are better to carry all her earthly possessions plus most of Target’s current stock up three flights of stairs.
But it’s not all heavy and bulky, so I shouldn’t complain. Mainly it’s two cases of water, which only weigh about 30 pounds each. Oh, and a tall bookcase that she insisted on assembling before transport so that it could stand, garish and white and apple green, in our leather-and-sage-and-black den for the past month. And then there’s her food bin, packed with popcorn, Easy Mac, gum, pretzels, … really enough food to subsist on for the whole first semester. But she needs that because there are only like 15 separate dining venues on her campus — which actually was a huge factor in her college decision. But the food bin only weighs about 25 pounds.
And the hygiene items, which don’t weigh all that much. Unless you get the bottles of shampoo and conditioner and body wash that are the size of small nuclear warheads, which she does, because I think she said they don’t have Proctor & Gamble products in Ohio. And that is really weird because I think it’s headquartered in Cincinnati. So, yeah, that’s heavy but we’ll manage.
The microwave won’t be that bad. It’s in it’s original packaging, so as long as I don’t let the errant giant staple impale me on the inner thigh again, like it did on the way out of the store, it’ll be fine. And the bedding and body pillow aren’t heavy — they’re just hard to see over the top of when you’re going up the stairs. Last year, I missed a step and fell with them, but if you’re going to fall, doing so with a body pillow is the best of all worlds.
This year, I’ll be able to flip over faster while in mid-air, so that I land with the pillow under me. I’ve been watching my cats and I think I’ve got the move.
And I know exactly how the day will end. After we haul all of it up there, I’ll start to get teary again. I’ll collapse onto the bed while her friends all come running over to see her (after they see from their dorm windows that our car is empty). Physically and emotionally spent, I’ll stand, give her a hug and turn to go.
“Mom?” she’ll say, sounding like the little kid who was just writing fan letters to Lisa Frank (yes, she was in a fan club for a person who designed the Trapper Keepers that look like they’ve been sketched during a bad LSD trip).
“Yeah?” I’ll choke back the tears, determined not to let her see me cry.
“Um, next week, can you go to Target and mail me …”
Then I’ll just let the tears come.