A Sharpie is your best friend

---

...when you are making such detailed lists of what's in each box. Lucky purple shoelaces from high school volleyball days, a neuropsychology book, silver sequined top, cfa books, a wetsuit that needs to get washed, umbrellas in various states of brokenness, shot glasses, pack of yellow dish sponges from the dollar store, summer study in Paris photos, spare strap for my old swatch, creme colored shiny satin ribbons nicely folded to be re-used for gift wrapping next Christmas, fuzzy grey pom-pom ball things saved for- actually I have no clue what I saved these for.

Next time I need to come up with a better methodology for packing.

I am sitting on the floor surrounded by piles of boxes, scary-sized dust bunnies (Char is going to kill me if I don't get rid of these monstrous things), and 5 loads of semi-wet laundry (I didn't have enough money left on the card for the dryer.) Surprisingly there were enough boxes and I didn't have to go beg the Indian guy who owns the liquor store on the corner for empty wine boxes as I had to do last year.

I have been keeping a collection of cookbooks handy to take breaks from packing. I am pretending to be researching gazpacho recipes, but I am a bit too distracted to really get inspired by the various tomatoey concoctions. (Was it really a good idea to pack the iodiny smelling sailing booties, pressed work shirts, and dried porcinis all in the same box?)

I peeked inside the kitchen cabinets for the 7th time only to see that my many jars, boxes, bags, tubes, bottles and cans of cooking ingredients are all packed away. I actually confessed to Oindrila last night that I ate a pack of her Maggie Masala noodles last night. (Ahh, those things are way too spicy for a lightweight like me.)

I have been polling Colleen and other upper west side residents for places to eat for next week. I need to have a noodle shop, a small store that makes good curry, a schwarma stand, or something along those lines to feel at home, especially in the first couple of days.

In Istanbul we used to order Lahmacun every time there was a disturbance to the daily routine of our house. Painters coming in to put a fresh coat of paint the living room walls, the day of the annual move to the summer house in Yalova, a burst water pipe in the kitchen, a broken fridge have all led to Lahmacun lunches. In fact I could go for some Lahmacun right now.

---