I have moments like this at least once a day. I’ve just gone and made such a gigantic life change, that even though I’m in my second week here, I’m still taken by surprise when I remember I’m here. But I am here, and in between fits of shock, I’m gradually getting settled.

Apartment hunting in San Francisco was hard work. Really. The market moves crazy fast for what I’m used to, and I very rarely saw an apartment alone. The competition was always either well dressed singles or adorable wholesome families, who looked like they made significantly more money than me. I, meanwhile, has been walking from apartment to apartment all day, at least 5 a day, usually more, and man did I look it. When some picturesque young family applied on the spot, and I had to wait, how could I compete?

I did find something in a week though! Eventually, I found an apartment manager who liked me and my credit score enough to say both “yes, you can apply alone for now” and “yes, you can move in today”. You can imagine how stunned and grateful I was. It’s a smallish 1 bedroom, maybe half the size of the place we had in Rochester (and I readily admit was way more space than we needed). It has a good kitchen with a garbage disposal too, which I wasn’t expecting to be in reach. No dishwasher though. Maybe next year. I have to admit that having less storage space and no dishwasher is forcing me to be more of a grownup than I have been in the past.

My attempts to keep Dean involved in what I do to the apartment before e gets here has consisted mostly of weird text messages that make less sense than I’d like out of context. I might just be driving he crazy. But dammit, I miss him.

It’s a bit frustrating that I can’t seem to get Dean or anyone else on the east coast on the phone for more than a few minutes. Early morning and lunchtime for me, they’re at work. Immediately after work for me, is the perfect time for everyone else, and I’m either on a crowded bus, or starving and seeking dinner. After that is perfect for me, and well, that’s bedtime. Tonight after work I held off on dinner and bus to wander Market St. on the phone, looking for a quiet spot (preferably one with coffee).

First day of work was nice. Quiet yet exhausting. Everyone was in a good mood and shockingly friendly, which strikes me as a good sign. Selfishly, I like that nobody’s overtly miserable. I do feel a bit self conscious here. I need clothes badly, most of the office is sales, and I’m not quite well dressed enough to blend in. (A former coworker used to host these style seminar things once in a while. I only actually showed up once, but now, when I actually really need help? I don’t suppose I can convince her to move to California with me…)

I’m still waking up roughly when I would be in Rochester, which is super early here, and very, very helpful. I started writing this on the bus downtown, and if all goes well, I’ll get in almost half an hour early. (According to HR, I’m supposed to be logging a rather long workday. I guess that’s the price for free health insurance, free food all day and a spiffy view from my desk. Oops. Silly me.)

This business of pretending to be a morning person for a couple weeks has been pretty entertaining. I get to see non-morning people (read: myself) from everyone else’s perspective. Are we always this much fun before we’re fully awake, or does the humor wear off after a while?

So now that I’m here and working, I’m experiencing an age old dilemma: crowded express bus or less crowded local bus? I couldn’t actually get an express bus home a few nights ago, the lines were longer than anything I’ve ever seen for a bus. Ever. All the way down the block, like a good NYC Italian bakery on Christmas morning, and when they get to my stop, they’re usually standing room only. I gave up after half an hour and grabbed a nice empty local bus. But the express is nice when I can get it comfortably.

In the morning, I’ve been grabbing a nice empty local bus. Sure, it takes an extra ten minutes or so, but I’m almost guaranteed a seat. This morning, I used my half hour with a seat to do things like catch up on news and Facebook, read personal emails that accrued overnight, start this post, and so on.

The past few days have been hectic, and full of goodbyes.  We’re trying to make it to all the places we’ve been regulars at for the past few years here in Rochester.  I’m just still so relieved that nobody’s (openly) mad at me, especially at my old office.  So far, the tone has mostly been congratulations and people being happy for us, but it’s still kinda sad.  I’m starting to feel like here just aren’t enough hours for me to get to everything I want before that impending 6am flight out.  Luckily for me, Dean will be in town for an extra two weeks, and can pull the rest of this together.

Today, we made it to some of our favorite vendors at the Public Market, little Aidan’s birthday party, the UPS store to ship some things my baby sister wanted, and I made it to my last haircut with my favorite hairdresser ever.  I did not make it over to the cobbler in time to pick up my resoled boots, Dean will have to pick them up for me and ship them.  (But I wanted my soft slouchy boots for the airport! Waah!!) We didn’t make it to the dairy, or my to favorite sandwich shop for lunch.  (But I wanted to say goodbye to the awesome cheerful lady! Boo!!)  In other words, today had a big dose of time management fail.

It’s not all bad, I did find organic whole wheat pastry flour at the market, and I’m carrying it with me to my new home. I finally sold that 7 year old desk that had been taking up the from room of our apartment.  We unexpectedly made it to the chocolate shop around the corner and picked up some of their newest cool new thing.  We even managed to say goodbye to the owner of the local deli/grocery.  He’s leased out a nearby landmark building, and is refurbishing? restoring? respiffying? the place for a new restaurant.   I’m disappointed I won’t be here next week when they finally opens, but I’ve ordered Dean to take lots of pictures for me.

I’ve never had such a hard time moving before, and I’ve moved a lot.  I’m realizing today that this whole ‘being part of a neighborhood’ thing adds a lot of overhead. But I think it’s been worth it.

In my defense, it was very tasty vanilla soup.  Oh well, next time I’ll try a quarter of the recpie.

So far, the batter hasn’t kept any of the fluffiness from the whipped egg whites. Shaping the layers on cookie sheets is like working with paste or playdough. I’m having a really hard time making them evenly shaped.

12:10 AM: Aaand we’re out of raspberry jam. Drat. Dean is off to the store for me. (Translation: Dean is off saving the day. evening? cookies? something?)

12:20 AM: Wow, this thing is actually kinda working. The cooked up layers actually do feel about right. Yes, one of them is wildly lumpy and asymmetrical, but the small chunks I’ve broken off do taste like they should. Now I just hope they hold up to the rest of the assembly process, like, say, the part where they spend a day in the fridge squished together under a board….. I just need my jam to find out.

12:45 AM: All layers are now stuck together, and under weight in the fridge. They actually held up to being handled better than the usual gluteny baked layers, they’re much less brittle. (Maybe a side benefit of all the added xanthan gum?) I guess I’ll find out tomorrow night if they can keep their consistency and hold together.

7:30 PM: (next day) All done! Taste is normal, but the layers are a bit more crumbly than the usual layers.

Overnight, they didn’t fall apart, but they didn’t really absorb much jam and glue together either. They layers slid more than usual as I cut and handled the individual cookies.

Also, there are sprinkles everywhere in sight, oh god, how did this happen?

Originally, I just happened to be one of those kids who read lots and lots of books. They piled up. Later, I found Dad had the sequels to books I’d been reading… somewhere.  I may never understand how random books wound up in disused cupboards, corners of the wall unit with old clothes and dishes, with others in the basement, the attic, and so on.  I think it has to do with housekeeping.  When putting things away, where do you put an object you never quite made a place for? Mom’s old books wound up in all the same odd places, and somehow, it all just filtered it’s way into my room.  I dusted them off, made places for them, and generally kept them from winding up in any more junk piles.  It’s always fun to watch my parents bicker over which of them a book belongs to.  (“It must be yours!” “No, it’s yours!”)

A couple of years ago, I hit the motherlode (at least for an artsy pack-rat nerd who spends too much time baking).  I was given my great grandmother’s handwritten cookbook, which had previously been hidden away on top of a refrigerator in Florida.

I never knew my great grandmother, but I’ve heard stories of how wonderful she was from my Mom and Aunt.  And this is just amazing.  At first, it was a bit of a disappointment to find that she never wrote down the recipes I’ve heard so much about.  But I’ve come to realize that she had no reason to write down recipes she made weekly or more.  The recipes in this book are the ones she didn’t make often, and that she would have considered special.  Like wedding cake.  This cookbook is a stream of interesting things from another time, in large flowing script, littered with cutouts from boxes and newspapers, things she saved for one reason or other.  I’ll never know how many of them she actually tried, but I have clues in the form of splashes and other use marks.

It can be hard to follow sometimes, mainly because times have changed.  A recipe labeled “Brownies” turned out to produce something more like fudge, and I’m not quite sure what “Pot Cheese” is.  Unlike my aunt, who actually got to know my great grandmother, I don’t know her speech patterns, or any unusual names she might have had for things.

The book has spent most of the past year languishing in a fire safe. I’ve been so scared of damaging it with my grubby little hands.  But this afternoon I’ve pulled it out from it’s hiding place to take fresh scans of it’s pages.  I’ve been meaning to put them online for the rest of my family.  In the process, I’m remembering how lucky we are to have it.