Good-Bye, Junior

Today was a rather emotion-filled day. Well, not all of it. Just the last hour of it. The earlier part of the day was actually shit-boring-tedious, like all my days at work (which I just realized I've never discussed here . . . I'll have to do a post one day on what it's been like working as an admissions coordinator for a graduate school while doing my own admissions process to other grad schools). But this evening I did something that made me sad and nostalgic and melancholy: I sold my car. Well, perhaps not sold outright. More like traded for past debts acquired from a couple of quarters of post-bac work, living expenses, and bail-outs. But all the same, my car -- a car that I got when he was two years old, and have had for seven years -- is no longer my car.

I got Junior in 2004. My dad had bought him brand-spankin' new in 2002, and although he loved him, he wanted something that was a little more comfortable and gas-efficient for that grueling drive up and down "the hill" -- the 20-mile trek into and out of the San Bernardino Mountains, where my parents have lived since 1994. It's a trek that puts more than miles on cars -- it puts miles on drivers. So he splashed out on a BMW, which ended up in my mom's hands about two months after he bought it (he took her Honda Pilot) -- a foregone conclusion as far as my siblings and I were concerned. We all thought it amusing that they even pretended that the Beamer was for him, but I digress.

So in 2004, my parents did the incredibly generous thing of giving me Junior -- a cute little white Honda CRV. My mom and brother drove it out from California (I think they both still have nightmares from that trip), and my at-the-time husband and I christened him "Bradley Junior" after me ol' dad. And Junior became our go-to guy. He had great clearance for snow (although we did get stuck a few times in three-foot-deep drifts), 4WD, good traction, was comfy, had plenty of room for all our crap (like the carriers of three yowling cats), but still got good gas mileage, and was kind of sporty and fun. Junior saw a lot of driving. One of our favorite things to do when we were in Ohio (and in California, too, although not as much) was to go on drives. We'd just get in the car and go -- north, south, east, or west, it didn't matter. And we'd talk, and stop at little gas stations or convenience stores for munchies, and watch the Ohioan countryside roll past. We got lost a lot (my ex never had a fantastic sense of direction), but we always found our way back.

Junior took us to school every day, and acquired two generations of Ohio State stickers: his first a sticker placed proudly on the rear window by my mom the day she rolled into Columbus with Junior and my brother, ready to hand him -- well, both hims, probably -- off to his new parents; the second placed reverentially by me on the replaced rear window after a couple of prats smashed it to get an empty computer monitor box. He also acquired a huge "RAMMSTEIN" sticker (gone and not replaced -- it really was enormous), a smaller Rammstein cross on one side window, and a Slipknot "S" on another side window, as well as a couple of Buckeye bead necklaces, a Rammstein necklace, and a grad tassel all hanging from the rearview mirror. (Yes, I like Rammstein. Yes, I will be seeing them May 22nd when they make one of their rare US appearances.) He became habitually covered in pet fur -- dog or cat, take your pick, I have a traveling menagerie -- scratches on the dashboard where I put my feet up during long drives, and now has tiny little pockmarks of rust, which is apparently what you get living in a state where salt + snow = short life for cars. He has a permanent ice scraper and set of chains in the back, old parking permits from Ohio State in the glove compartment, and collections of Nalgene water bottles under the seats.

I'll still ride in Junior for the next few months, of course, since he's been traded to one of the people with whom I currently live, but he's no longer mine. Why did I trade/sell him? Well, for one thing, I'm such a naughty driver that my car insurance is $178/month (no, seriously, it really is -- and please note, I said "naughty", not "bad"). That is not something I will be able to afford on my sparse $1400/month stipend. Then there's the price of gas -- $4.11 f*&%in' a gallon, REALLY? -- which I can also not afford. And then, of course, there's all the little maintenance costs of a car -- tires, oil changes, new windshield wipers -- other stuff I . . . just . . . can't . . . afford (I am going to be so poor). It was the smart/necessary thing to do. But it still makes me sad.

This car carried me and three of my five cats across the country, when my ex and I moved from Ohio to California. For five days, 16 hours a day, Junior absorbed the yowling and crying and howling of three pissed-off cats, across 10 states, with music blaring out of the six-disc CD changer (I swear, by the time we reached California, I was completely deranged). He took me up and down "the hill" when I lived in Lake Arrowhead and worked in San Bernardino. He carried my things from our house to my new place of residence when I got divorced. I've sobbed in him, laughed in him, been grumpy in him -- although I don't think I've ever done the naughty in him. He's been my friend, always reliable, always there, always supportive.

Good-bye, Junior. I know that your new owner will take care of you, although he won't love you the way that I did. And because of that, I feel very, very guilty.

Moving Trauma

I have become suddenly overwhelmed by the amount of things that I need to do before I move to Virginia to start what I am coming to think of as Phase 4 of my life (Phase 1: Pre-Marriage; Phase 2: Marriage; Phase 3: Limbo; Phase 4: Grad School). Why suddenly? Yes, that's an excellent question. It shouldn't be sudden. I have known for a full week now (oh, dear God, has it only been a week? Seriously? That can't be right. . . .) that I will be moving to Virginia, and leaving the frustrating delights of California for a six-year-possibly-plus sojourn in the South. (Yes, Virginia is considered -- or considers itself -- the South. I know that's going to be a bit of a culture shock, but that's for a different post.)

So much to do! So much to think about, and figure out! And so much to figure out just on the moving front! Should I rent a UHaul and drive myself, my books, and my few pieces of furniture out? Or should it be Budget, or Penske? I spent a terrifyingly illuminating hour on the interweb today reading about the horrors people have experienced using the three aforementioned truck rental companies, and have my own horror story about Penske -- again, for another post. Or should I sell virtually everything, and ship the few things that I truly care about out, and then just live on boxes and carpet until I can buy new stuff? Or should I borrow someone's truck, and pack what I can into the truck, and then do boxes and carpet until I can get new things?

And seriously? How the f*** is moving so expensive?!

Let me explicate. After the divorce, I took approximately half of what my husband and I had managed to accumulate in our 9+ years of marriage, as well as some things that I had had before we married. This didn't amount to much -- I was able, after divorcing, to fit it all into a 10' x 10' storage unit, with PLENTY of room left over. My worldly possessions now amount to a few bookcases, a coffee table, two desks (one a wicked antique rolltop desk (which will be for sale, by the way), and the other a thoroughly modern, enormous computer desk, which I will be taking with me), a few side tables, and . . . oh, yeah, about 2,000 books. Not to mention a cat and his paraphernalia, some cross-stitch stuff, tons of pictures and doo-dads and knick-knacks, and then about 12 boxes of Christmas decorations, and, of course, something like eight boxes of kitchen-related stuff -- a full set of red and white wine glasses, champagne flutes, Wedgwood wedding china, baking stuff. . . .

You know, as an aside, I have quite a bit of "stuff", but very little of it actually PRACTICAL stuff. I mean, take the china. I have eight full settings of Wedgwood's India china (gorgeous stuff, I love it, and will never part with it), along with crystal wine goblets, sterling silver flatware, serving dishes, the lot. However, do I have everyday dishes? No. Glasses? No. Oh, I have some mugs, and a few random pieces of glassware, but dishes? No. Same thing with pots and pans and stuff. I have tons and tons and tons of baking stuff -- cookie sheets, Silpats, cookie scoops, measuring cups, cookie cutters (seriously, something like 300 cookie cutters), stoneware flats, all sorts of crap. But pots and pans? No. I have one Le Creuset 12-inch cast iron frying pan, a 10-inch Calphalon saute pan, a 3-quart sauce pot, and, um, oh! A double-boiler. And that is it.

So here I am, with all of these random remnants of a once-established life, and not with any of the things that I'll probably really need (like a bed; I don't have one of those), and yet, somehow, despite my utter lack of large pieces of furniture and a real paucity of space-sucking items, I am finding it almost impossible to move to Virginia for under $5,000! Seriously! Now, tell me, how is that possible?! It find it utterly baffling. And that doesn't take into account doing things like buying a bed, or a couch, or other pieces of furniture I was hoping to have to make life, um, livable (I guess those floor cushions at Crate and Barrel are going to become my primary method of keeping my butt off cold winter floors), nor does it include important things like deposit and first month's rent on the apartment I'm hoping to find at the end of month, or first month's living expenses, or books for class, school supplies. . . .

Ugh. The notion of getting rid of everything and starting new has such appeal when I look at it all like this. Yet . . . my books . . . and Nana's little muffin tins . . . and Mom's cheese plates . . . and the still lifes (lives?) that my Aunt Joanie did before she became famous . . . and all my little pictures and candles and tiny sterling silver tea set that I got from Williamsburg when I was 10. . . .

This is an impossible dilemma. And I only have three months to sort it all out. Because come July, I need to be packing, and moving, and going! God help me. And God help those poor souls who have to deal with me over the next three or four months.

Accepted to UVA!

Wow. So much has happened since my last post, and I'm still not sure that I've really processed it. I mean, I've talked it over with other people, I've sat here thinking about it, but I don't think I've really, REALLY processed it -- despite the fact that I've started a "To Do" list for it.

I was accepted to the University of Virginia. That exceptionally nice email that I got from Dr. Braden was the prelude to an even nicer and heart-stopping phone call that I received on March 30th. I was at work when the call came, and it literally took every ounce of self-control I had not to run around the place shrieking at the top of my lungs and laughing like a maniacal twit. Not that I haven't laughed a lot and giggled and grinned until my mouth felt as though it were going to fall into my lap. I've done lots of that. But very little shrieking . . . although I did let go one great, whacking "Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" in the car when I left for the day, and started laughing, which one of my co-workers said she could hear down the street. . . .

Anyway. That's it; it's true. I'm going to UVA. I'm going to UVA! Screw the Emerald City! I'm going to be a in a full-time PhD program! With funding and everything! That's the part that I think I'm having the hardest time accepting. The fact that the 10th-ranked school in the country -- SERIOUSLY! -- is going to be investing over $200,000 in me, just so that I can earn my PhD, is a little bit hard to believe. That must mean that they have a lot of faith in me. And why? Based on what? A few letters of recommendation, a writing sample, a personal statement, some grades? Based on all that, they've decided that I'm worth the investment of all this time and money? The only other people who've invested that much in me were my parents -- and I don't think they tallied it all up at the beginning, when they first had me, like UVA has done. (In fact, I think if you asked my parents, they would probably say they'd have reconsidered it had they known how expensive -- both monetarily and emotionally -- I'd be.)

Which makes me wonder, what is wrong with these people? Have I pulled the wool over their eyes? What did they see in my application that made them believe that I would be worth the risk of the investment? This is an honest question, because I really don't know. But they didn't make their decision blind-folded. In his last email to me, Dr. Braden said:

I've very glad you will be joining us. It was clear from your file that your story is not the usual one, and that you've worked very hard over the last several years to fit yourself for top-level graduate work. The writing you sent us convinced us that you've done so successfully, and I'm very glad that things have worked out.

Ha! Ha ha! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!!!! VALIDATION! (Must be said in the elongated, overly-dramatic style of Braveheart.) I swear by all that is holy, I will remember this for the rest of my life. I really, truly will. It will be the first time that someone who has NEVER met me before, and has never heard my story, and knows nothing about me except what I've sent them, decided that I was intelligent, hard-working, and capable of doing something super-challenging. HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!! (Break for a few minutes of demented, Frankensteinian laughter.)

Excuse me. I'm back.

So, then, of course, after reading that, I have to wonder -- what did I say that convinced them that I was ready? I went back over what I had written in my personal statement, and I still don't know. What in there convinced UVA, but somehow didn't manage to say anything to the other schools to which I applied?

Who knows. Who cares? I'm going to UVA! I'm off to start a new future, with all sorts of interesting people. To learn and learn and learn and learn, and continue learning some more! It's a wonderful, wonderful place to be, with lots of things for me to see; I cannot wait until I get to go! It's off to the wonderful UVA!

Yeah. I'm a great big dork. But so what?! I'm no longer in limbo! I'll be a full-time grad student, in an excellent program, with excellent people, an excellent stipend, and exciting opportunities for an excellent future.

It's about freakin' time.