“Can I show you something?”
“Oh, no . . . uh, yes, thanks. I just rented my first apartment and need the basics until the movers arrive. I never knew there were so many kinds of towels.”
“Ah. Then, you want to go with cheap. Here’s one hint to help. Our most expensive stuff is on the middle shelves—at eye-level. Look down to the bottom shelf and you’ll find good merchandise that costs a fraction of what the other stuff sells for.” He grinned at her and moved on while she added two towels and a washcloth to her basket. In the linens department, she opted for a good mattress pad but chose inexpensive sheets, a blanket that might serve later as a throw, and two foam-filled pillows.
Then she headed for the grocery side of the store and the paper goods aisle. The store brands had no fancy embossed decorations but appeared serviceable. She chose large plates and cups labeled for both hot and cold beverages, thinking they would do for coffee, juice, or soup. Rather than looking for plastic utensils, however, she discovered bins of loose silverware on a bottom shelf. She picked out a few spoons and forks, two sturdy-looking knives, and a combination can opener and bottle opener.
Again, Sarah hesitated. She was enjoying her shopping adventure and found the grocery shelves tempting. But logic prevailed. She hadn’t turned the refrigerator on or checked to make sure the other appliances worked as advertised. Food would have to wait until the kitchen was ready for it. She settled for two energy bars and a bag of Werther’s caramels to tide her over until tomorrow.
Sarah and Elijah checked out of the motel on Sunday morning and headed for Riverside Gardens. When she pulled into her assigned garage, she found a luggage cart waiting for her. An attached note from Maude told her the cart was for her use; Maude herself would be back after church to see if she needed anything else.
Elijah’s travel pod and cat bed, his sandbox and dishes, his scratching post, food supplies, and toys all fit onto the cart for the first trip inside. She wheeled him straight through the apartment hallway to the sliding doors that led to the screened-in porch. When she had unloaded his things, she unzipped his carrier and invited him to look around. Elijah poked his head out first, his eyes jumping from one new sight to another. He crept out, stomach close to the floor, and began to explore this big open space, stopping only to sniff and identify his belongings. Then he sat down in the middle of the room and stared at Sarah.
“I know. I know. You don’t understand, but you’ll get used to it. This will be your very own play area, and you can spend your time watching other people and animals out there in the garden. Birds, too. Lots of birds. Once I have everything unloaded from the car, you can come in and look around the rest of the apartment, but for now, you must stay out of the way here on the porch.”
When she finished moving her earlier purchases to their assigned rooms, she checked the refrigerator temperature to make sure it was working. Then, discovering that the cat was taking a nap in his travel pod, she headed to the nearest grocery to gather her survival rations. Ginny’s list gave her a starting point, although she could not resist adding a few ideas of her own—a jug of unsweetened tea, a bag of tiny mandarin oranges, some baby carrots and radishes, crackers, and a small wedge of brie for evening snacking. True cat parent that she was, she even added a box of kitty treats for Elijah.
To her surprise, she finished all her listed chores well before noon. She opened the sliding door to the porch so that the cat could come in when he was ready. Then she unearthed the movers’ folder from her suitcase and curled up on the loveseat to read. Just as Ginny had said, the inventory sheets listed every item the packers had transported.
“Oy veh!1 Such a lot of stuff! And furniture! Why did my mother think I’d need all this furniture? A chest of drawers, a rocking chair, a desk, end tables, lamps, matching side chairs. What will I do with it all? And kitchen wares. What will I do with a cherry pitter? A garlic press? An ice crusher? An egg poacher?” Sarah realized she was talking out loud, but stopping the words did not put an end to her frustrations.
She was still mumbling when a tap at the door let her know that Maude was home from church. She welcomed the interruption, but her agitation was so obvious that Maude expressed concern. “Has something gone wrong? Is there a problem with the apartment?”
“No, no. I just got a look at the moving list of things my mother has sent me. I’ll never fit them all in here!”
“Ah! Storage doesn’t have to be a problem. Are there things you don’t want on that list?”
“There are things I have never even heard of. Do you know what an egg poacher does?”
“I do, although I've never felt a need for one. A small pan of bubbling water works just fine for me."
“And I don't even like poached eggs. But that’s just one example. There are dishes and pans, linens of all kinds, appliances galore. I won’t know where to start.”
“I’ve seen some folks using little post-it notes to stick on cupboards and drawers so they’ll remember where to put things.”
“Not a bad idea, but I have a cat who loves post-it notes. He’d steal them before I even had them in place.”
“Well, make a few notes right on your inventory. The method doesn’t matter. What’s important is that you decide before you have to unpack. Come with me. Let me show you some of your apartment’s advantages.”
They walked from room to room, Maude pointing out every drawer and cabinet and suggesting what might best go where—towels in the utility closet in the bathroom, bed linens in the drawers under the built-in bedroom counter, extra dishes and little-used appliances in the dining room under the buffet shelf.
“Try to keep everything where you are most likely to use it. Your suitcase is a good example. When you travel, you must bring the suitcase to your closet. But you have a walk-in closet. Why not store it there so it’s ready when you are? And in the kitchen? Unloading a dishwasher can be a real pain if the china cupboard is across the room. Keep everything close. Skillets and pans go in the warming drawer under the oven. Spices stay near the stove. See? If you find things you know you’ll never use, donate them to some place that can use them. And furniture? If you put it out on the curb, someone will carry it off as a treasure.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“That’s because you were dithering. Relax a little this afternoon. Take a nap. Walk in the garden. Say hello to your neighbors. Play with the cat. Watch a little TV. You’re home now.”
Elijah was ready to help. Fresh from his own nap, he pushed his nose through the open doorway and was soon running laps from the front to the back of the apartment. When Sarah started to make up her bed, Elijah was there to help with that, too. A shaken-out sheet made a wonderful tent, and the new blanket proved perfect for a little kneading. By the time the bed was ready, Sarah was laughing and Elijah was purring. They were home.
The moving van showed up on time Monday morning. Sarah was still nursing her Starbucks frappé as she took her position at the back door, inventory list and pencil in hand. All went as planned, thanks to experienced movers and a well-rested young woman who had little to do but point the workers in the right direction.
“If you know where you want things to go,” the crew boss explained, “we’ll unpack the boxes and put the items away.”
“I didn’t know you did that.”
“We prefer to do it. That way we can see if there is breakage or other damage, and we can take the boxes back to the warehouse. We’ll at least get items in the right rooms and cupboards. You can always rearrange them later.”
By late-afternoon, the job was complete. Pictures needed their hooks, and final touches would have to wait, but throw pillows on the sofa, towels in the bathroom, and canisters and appliances on the kitchen counter declared that someone lived here. The matching side chairs had found their own corner in the living room, and lamps cast a warmer light than the ceiling insets had provided. Her grandmother’s rocker waited by the window in the bedroom, and an old-fashion
ed roll-top desk filled its allotted space in the kitchen.
Sarah settled into the comfort of her new surroundings and almost forgot she was going to dinner on campus with the other new faculty members. At the last minute, she slid into a serviceable little black dress, her only pair of heels, and some understated earrings before dashing out the door.
The Faculty Club was an interesting venue. True to its origins as the private quarters of the nunnery’s abbess, the architecture was plain rather than ornate, but the wood glistened with polish. Heavy damask draped the tables, and antique china and glassware defined the place settings. The cutlery appeared to be pure silver, and candles flickered under hurricane lamps. At the door, a maître d’hôtel welcomed each guest and handled out small name badges. Near a flower-filled fireplace, the college president and his wife held court, shaking hands with each new professor and asking all the right questions about settling into this new venture.
The new hires eyed each other, looking for someone congenial and easy to talk to. One bearded fellow approached Sarah and introduced himself as the new biologist. “My name’s Lyle Agaretti. I am a mushroom specialist, and, yes, that means I spend all my days with fungi. And, before you ask, I never eat them.”
She laughed despite her nervousness. “Is that a dietary rule, or is it because you know too much about them?”
“No. I just prefer a change of pace after spending all day looking at caps and gills. How about you? Aren't there things you don't eat?”
“Well, I'm allergic to tree nuts, so I have to be careful about what I eat. I'm also Jewish and my parents keep a kosher kitchen, but I eat pretty much what I please when I'm not dining with them—except for nuts. I have to choose my battles.”
“And what do you do when you’re not professing . . . uh, history?”
“Deal with my opinionated cat. We’re still getting to know one another and I’m finding him a challenging personality.”
“Can't help there. Too bad I’m a flora-type biologist. You need to meet the fauna-side of the house.”
Before she could think of an appropriate comeback remark, a young woman interrupted their conversation. “Excuse me, but are you Sarah Chomsky? Mrs. Wright told me to look for you.”
“Oh, why? Is something wrong?”
“No, no, I shouldn’t have put it quite that way. I’m Beth Wilkerson, new to the English department. Mrs. Wright told me we will be neighbors.”
“Here on campus, or . . .”
“No, at Riverside Gardens. I’ll be moving into my apartment next weekend.”
“My sympathies.” When Beth’s eyes widened in alarm, Sarah shook her head. “No, I didn’t mean . . . Oh, why are new meetings always so awkward? I just finished moving into mine about an hour ago. I love the apartment, but I’m frazzled by everything I’ve had to deal with today.”
“You like it, then?”
“Yes, it’s nice. I just didn’t know what to do first.”
“Neither do I. I’ve never handled a move before.”
“You must meet my next-door neighbor, Ginny. She’s a lawyer and a long-time resident. She gave me lots of lists. I can share them with you. Do you know which apartment you’re getting?”
“14A, I think.”
“I’m in 6A. We’re on the ground floor, the ones with the screened-in porches. The B-units seem to be above and have balconies.”
A tap of silverware on crystal served as a dinner bell. “Ladies and gentlemen, if you will find your place cards, we’ll get this evening’s formalities underway.”
Conversations broke off as people began to search for their seats. “Each table should include one administrator, one department chair, and several new recruits, none of whom will be from the same department,” the president explained. “I assume you won’t have any trouble getting to know your departmental colleagues, but we want you to feel at home with the entire campus, so try to make some friends and contacts this evening. While we wait for our appetizers, please introduce yourselves.”
The room filled with a soft buzz of conversation as the guests followed instructions. At Sarah’s table sat the head librarian, the chair of fine arts, a mathematician, a poet, an economist, a geographer, and the mushroom fellow. She was wondering what they would all find to talk about when the librarian asked her what kind of history she did. She at least knew the answer to that one.
“Civil War—American Civil War, that is—although I’m interested in the global perspectives that have started to appear.”
“You’re a New Yorker, from the sound of your accent. Does that mean you take the Yankee side?”
“Not at all. I do comparative studies, looking for similar motives and goals on both sides of the argument.”
“You may run into some students who will take exception to that approach around here. The Appalachians have never gotten over the insult to their Confederate ancestors. Drop by the library some day and see what our students are reading.”
The waiter broke up that uncomfortable conversation by delivering their first course, a fine wild mushroom paté accompanied by tiny toast points. Sarah caught the eye of her biologist friend and they both laughed aloud. He rolled his eyes at her and then picked up his paté knife with a look of resignation. Their table mates looked back and forth at them, but no one asked what was funny. That made the situation even funnier, and they giggled their way through the next several minutes.
Deeper conversations developed as the evening progressed through salad, a filet mignon in a red wine reduction, potato puffs, and tiny green beans. And by the time dessert—a chocolate tart with fresh raspberries—arrived, several friendships were forming. The after dinner remarks touched upon some college traditions, and Dean Henderson announced the schedule for the rest of the week.
“You may feel free tomorrow and Wednesday to do as you please. The campus will be open if you still have details to take care of, but if not, use the time to get your living arrangements settled or tour our town. We’ll need everyone on campus starting Thursday morning, however. The new freshman class will arrive, and they will need some molly-coddling, which we will expect you to provide.”
When he noticed a few raised eyebrows at that suggestion, he chuckled. “Oh, not the students. They will be rarin’ to go. But the parents—well, you’ll see for yourselves. The most difficult will be the ones sending off their firstborn children. You’ll see helicopter parenting at its worst. They will want to meet the people to whom they are entrusting their prized possessions. Your job will be to reassure them that their kids will be in good hands, so please try to charm and soothe.
“Around 4:00, we’ll force them to untie the apron strings. We’ll give them only a few minutes to say their good-byes. Then the students will attend a meeting in the auditorium where some of our class leaders will talk them through the traditions we expect them to observe and also explain our honor code ceremony, which will take place on Friday. While that is going on, we will invite the parents to a farewell reception in the Cloister Garden. We’ll feed them fancy finger sandwiches, cookies, and punch, and the faculty will be there in force to let them know it’s time to go home. With a little coordination, we’ll point them toward the parking lots before the student meeting concludes.
“On Friday, the freshmen will get their pre-registered class schedules, along with having their photo I.D.s taken, picking up their freshman week beanies, and meeting with their new academic advisors. That’s you folks. You’ll have a list of your advisees, and they’ll wander into your offices in ones and twos. Your Friday job is to make them feel welcome, assure them that you can solve any problems they encounter, and answer their questions about schedules. There will be complaints from those who did not get the classes they asked for. Mrs. Wright will have crib sheets for you, listing the courses freshman need to take and which classes still have openings. It’s a juggling act all around. If you can’t solve an issue, send them on to my office.
“As for the next week, well, things g
et worse. The upperclassmen will filter in over the weekend, with the majority waiting to show until Monday. They, too, will have scheduling crises, which, you will be relieved to know, they will take to their seasoned advisors. But some of them will end up in your offices begging you to shoehorn them into your classes, even though those offerings are already full and closed. All I can advise is that you be firm. If it’s a senior who cannot graduate without your credit, allow the student to add the course. But be careful. If you add too many students, they won’t have chairs to sit in or places to work. My only prescription for Monday is the offer of free wine and cheese in the Faculty Club at 5:00.
“That brings us to Tuesday, which will intensify the course scheduling game of roulette, wrapped up with our traditional convocation at 3:00. That will be your first formal academic function, and it requires you to attend in full academic regalia, ready to march by 2:45. If by some accident you do not yet have your caps, gowns, and hoods ready to go, you have one week to take care of the problem. See Mrs. Wright if you need help.
“Then bright and early Wednesday morning, classes begin. I expect each of you to be on time, with every syllabus prepared, copied, and ready to hand out. And we do not abbreviate those first classes. You need to be ready to plunge into your subject.
“If you are a first-year professor, this week will be the toughest one of your career. Keep that thought in mind when chaos erupts. It gets better from here, I promise.”
The evening closed with a college quartet of young men singing the fight song and the alma mater. Sarah was walking to her car when she heard a voice call her name. She turned to see Beth Wilkerson waving at her.
“I’m sorry. It's late and you're in a hurry to get home, but I was wondering if . . . I don’t want to be any trouble, but . . . If you will be at home tomorrow. . .” The young woman almost cringed before she got around to her request. “Could I come by and see your apartment? When I signed my agreement, Mrs. Davis didn’t have an open one to show me, and I’d like to know . . .”
What Grows in Your Garden Page 5