Today is the last day I can blog until after we settle in Canada. We've packed almost everything--luckily we left the fans out as parts of my body is sticking to the furniture that we've yet to pack. We have so many boxes, it feels like we're living in the hull of a ship. The hyperactive, playfully frenetic kid upstairs has actually quieted down the last few days-she has given us a respite perhaps because she knows we are leaving and this is her present to us.
There is another Bangladesh street fair going on along McDonald Avenue. They just had one a few weeks ago, but I guess they feel happy being here and are celebrating like crazy. It's nice. I will miss my Bangladeshi neighbors and their colorful doodads, which is just another word for duds.
When I pass PS 230, my old grammar school, I feel a bit sad, thinking this is going to be the last time I'll see it. But then a little voice in my head says, "You will be back . . . you will be back," and the voice turns out to be Thasneem.
We've gone through a half dozen rolls of wide adhesive tape and two rolls of duct tape, which I like to call duck tape because most Brooklynites think that's the real name. I also refer to it as gaffer's tape because gaffers use it to hold just about anything together, much like the Coney Island auto repair street gang. You absolutely cannot have enough duck tape, and Prospect Park cannot have enough ducks.
We gave away the television, a file cabinet, and lots of chotzkees. Our neighbors next door bought a few pieces of furniture from us and my butt is hurting from my fat wallet. Thasneem even has a deal working with the assistant super in the buiding and he may be buying her cell phone, which is clear proof that she kicks my ass when it comes to selling.
Now I know that I've said I'll really miss Brooklyn and Manhattan, but will Brooklyn and Manhattan miss me? I don't know. I just know that life is like a box of ExLax--you get out what you put in when used properly.