How it ended

It's over, we're gone, but I want to write just a bit more about Ridgecrest and our last days there.

The worst day had to be Wednesday, April 24th, driving Baby A 90 miles to the dentist in Lancaster early in the morning. All seemed to be going well until they brought him out after the 15-minute procedure, and I picked up my woozy little boy and carried him to the car -- and he suddenly vomited all over me. Fortunately he had nothing in his stomach except the cherry-red anesthetic "cocktail," but still, vomit is vomit. I went back inside to clean up a bit in the dentist's bathroom, but there wasn't much I could do. So then I drove 90 miles back to Ridgecrest soaked in vomit. And later in the afternoon I was so crabby with both boos (because so tired, having not slept well the night before, too worried) and I felt so guilty about that. Motherhood is so... I can't think of the word.

Except for that day, it was all just packing, packing. No time left for saying goodbye. On Thursday, we made one last trip to the library and checked out a few last books. Bought a quail "welcome" sign at the Maturango Museum and some soap.

The last weekend was horrible, nothing to do but pack and pack. When I hit 150 boxes, I stopped counting. My brother-in-law and a friend of his arrived Saturday evening and we turned over Rocket Boy's newer car to them (they drove it to Colorado for us because he needed to drive his old car).

The packers came on Monday, April 29th, the movers on Tuesday, April 30th. The heat was awful, high 90s. (I planned this move to avoid the Ridgecrest heat and the Boulder snow, but instead managed to hit both at the same time.) The two packers worked like madmen, trying to box up everything I hadn't gotten to. The three movers spent all day loading the truck, while we kept on packing alongside them. 

Said goodbye to our neighbors. Returned the books to the library. Packed up my car, and spent Tuesday night at the Heritage Inn.

Wednesday morning, May 1st, we mailed a couple boxes of books at the post office. (Completely senseless not to put them on the moving truck, but I kept worrying that we would have too much weight.) The woman at the counter asked if I wanted insurance. I said "No, I don't really care if you lose them." (As it turned out, one of the boxes arrived in Boulder completely empty, so I guess the PO took me at my word.) We stopped at the house one more time, grabbed a few more things, and drove off into the desert (leaving Rocket Boy behind to finish cleaning the house). 

The flowers in Death Valley were past their prime, but there were still many more than I expected. I was kind of in a daze, and this was not helped by my GPS trying to get me to go strange ways. I finally stopped and asked a ranger whether there was something I didn't know -- why did my GPS want me to take the Scotty's Castle road if I was headed for the Las Vegas airport? “Don't use your GPS in the desert," the ranger told me sternly. "GPS is OK in cities, but not here. We call it Death by GPS." I knew that.

We found my sister at the Las Vegas airport and drove on to Mesquite, Nevada, where we spent the night. The next day, we drove across Utah and into Colorado, where we stayed in Grand Junction. On Friday, May 3rd, we drove into Boulder. There was a bit of snow on the roof and the lawn. After four years away, we are home.

It's so green here, after the dull brown desert. I feel like Dorothy, moving from black and white Kansas to technicolor Oz. I'll come back here after I set up my new blog and give the URL. Until then...