Dis-Connected in Connecticut

 For weeks following her RIT graduation, Savannah was wrestling with three possible career opportunities: DC, Connecticut and New York. New York! I screamed every day in my head while verbally, I would smile at my daughter and say complacently, "Whatever you think." So now, here I was, seven hours away from home...in Connecticut, moving my baby into her new apartment.

"Rule Number One," Brad said, as we began the process of moving a small sleeper sofa up three narrow flights of stairs to Rapunzel's tower, "is you cannot yell at me for yelling at you." Why would I agree to such a ridiculous rule, I wondered one flight later with one hand trapped in the sleeper sofa metal mechanism and the other crunched in the railing. Thankfully, the sofa and the marriage arrived, more or less intact, to the third floor.

The next obstacle was obtaining power to the apartment. Apparently, one must arrive at the electric company's place of business with a copy of the signed lease, in hand, to achieve that goal. Difficult to do when the place of business isn't open on week-ends. We squinted at each other in the dimming light of Savannah's apartment. "Well, it's nothing a few D-batteries won't fix," Brad said cheerfully and off we went to Stuff-Mart. Having ignored Savannah's pointed observations that Grandma and Grandpa were the only ones to officially recognize her auspicious graduation from RIT (She even framed their card...see "Way to go, Dumbo!"), I had been waiting for this moment to (a) Commemorate her achievement and (b) Make her feel guilty for all the bad things she'd been saying about me behind my back right to my face. Unfortunately, I hadn't communicated my devious plan to my husband and I watched in horror as, while they were inspecting the televisions, Brad and Savannah deviated to one of the smallest models. I got his attention and told him that I'd hoped we'd buy her the TV as a gift...a nicer TV. He responded that he wanted to get her a grill for her balcony...a nice grill. As usual, I acquiesced without a word.

With a cart full of necessities, (a year's-worth of toilet paper, a useless lamp, a useless TV, bowls, silverware, hangers, socks, lanterns, and yes...D-batteries) we headed to check-out. I watched as, before Savannah could hand her money to the cashier, my husband paid for these purchases. I walked wordlessly away and cried by the claw machine.

Back at the apartment, I held the lantern aloft as father and daughter assembled the television that
was, at this moment, only a glorified knick-knack. That done, I put on a shadow puppet display of epic proportions.

Savannah went back and bought her own grill the next day so we knew she could at least heat up a hot dog given both our absence and the absence of power. It was time to leave. This won't be so bad, I thought to myself as I prepared to hug her good-bye. She'll be home on Friday for the Fourth of July. But I could feel the weight on my chest and started to shake. Then Brad had to go over and hug his daughter and I heard him tell her how proud we were of her. Jerk! I turned around and tripped down two flights of stairs, tears streaming down my face. So much for saying good-bye. I cried all the way from Connecticut to Albany.