I need a bigger shoehorn.

The unpacking is, let's say, 85% done. And it'll probably remain between 85% and 92% done until I pack up and move out again. (Not like I'm saying anything we don't already all know.)

In a certain way, I love moving. Weird, right? But I love the fresh start. I LOVE getting to organize everything, decide where everything's going to go, make it all fit nice and neat. I also love the excuse to throw things out, because lord knows we in this family are not the best at throwing things out. (Did I ever tell you about my grandparents' collection of Natural History magazines?)

But for the last week I've felt like I just don't have a big enough shoehorn. Moving into a house that's already full - of other people's stuff - is so not fun. There's been so much "am I allowed to put this here?" and "if I squeeze this stuff together can I have that shelf space?" that I'm feeling a bit claustrophobic in spite of this being my largest abode of the last, oh, well, 30 years I guess.

It makes me really excited for having my own place, where I don't have to ask permission before unpacking my electric can opener onto the kitchen counter or hanging pictures on the walls. I worry, though, that this means I'm rapidly becoming a *grown up* - kids don't really fantasize about owning a modest home with hardwood floors and lots of kitchen counter space, do they?

The Adventure Continues

Well, folks, I'm back in New Jersey. It's been an intense couple of weeks - packing, selling, donating...and saying goodbye - but everyone seems to have survived, which is nothing short of miraculous. Of course, I kind of feel like I've been beaten very thoroughly with a baseball bat. At the same time, though, I've felt extremely well cared for through the entire process, not just by everyone involved but by everyone nearby. There's a list of people that I just can't thank enough.

Special kudos go to my awesome big brother, who took nearly a week out of his busy life to fly to Tennessee (Tennessee, people!), carry everything I own down a long flight of stairs and pack it into a fifteen foot truck (fifteen feet!), drive said truck nearly a thousand miles over the course of three days, and then carry everything I own into my parents' already full house. And not once did he and I argue.

Everyone should be so lucky as to have family like I do.

Now I'm taking a break from the unpacking to say hello to you all and pick out a chocolate cake recipe to try this evening. I think it's going to be this one: http://glutenfreegirl.blogspot.com/2010/02/pioneer-woman-cooks.html (scroll down). (I love reading Shauna's blog - I like the way she writes, I like the passion she has for food (REAL food), I want to meet her because she just seems awesome.)

Happy March! Go eat some chocolate cake.

Snowy Day Update

Since the snow has been falling for nearly 24 hours now, and that's always an invitation to bake, I decided to go for the holy grail: gluten free yeast bread. I got out the tapioca flour, the xanthan gum, and a recipe for which I have very high hopes (http://www.artisanbreadinfive.com/?p=1396) and started mixing. The dough is resting now, so I'll have to give you an update on how it turns out.

In other news, the reason I vanished again after recently resurfacing is that I've been doing a lot of traveling and logistical business, the upshot being that I'm now back in scenic NJ and will be here for probably the next year or so.

It's a long story, and not particularly interesting, but the time has come to conclude The Nashville Experiment. The irony is that I've finally found some things in Nashville (namely a handful of people) that I'm reluctant to leave behind. But such is life, and in a couple of weeks I'll be making one brief trip back to pack up my apartment and drive the thousand miles home.

Which means... we begin the next chapter in the saga! Right now I'm hoping that this one will include things like a food processor and a large kitchen to house it. The main goal, though, is good health, and to that end I'm going to walk away from the computer, make a cup of tea, and watch the snow fall.

The Move

The following episodes chronicle my move from Boston to Nashville in the middle of August, 2008. They were written at various stages, not in chronological order, so please forgive the tenses.

Episode 1 - Packing and Preparing

I've known for about four months that I'd be moving to Nashville this August. Early in the summer I started packing up clothes to take to Goodwill and posting crap on Craigslist that I knew I wouldn't want to take with me. I actually managed to do a really good job of starting early and planning ahead, for most things, and by the time I went out of town a week before moving day I had things pretty well under control.

I did, in fact, take a three day vacation less than a week before I was slated to move halfway across the country.... and I recommend it to anyone who's thinking of moving. Before I left I had gotten most of my stuff packed, and then I was able to walk away and not think about any of it for three glorious days in the Adirondacks. (The lake was beautiful, the mountains were beautiful, the company was perfect, the cupcakes were delicious. What more could you ask for?)

So I returned from my vacation with four full days to prepare, and on Friday I was to drive away with everything I still owned (i.e. that I hadn't sold over the internet) in the tiniest trailer rentable from U-Haul and the back of my glorious 1996 station wagon. Good plan, right?

The week was, of course, jam-packed with pre-leaving friend time. Perhaps I should've slept a little more, or spent a little longer on the moving part of things and less on the "OMG I won't see you for, like, three whole months!!" part of things, but "should" is a funny word, when you think about it. And if things had gone according to plan it all would've worked out just fine.

The plan began to run off its rails on Tuesday, I think it was, when my aforementioned glorious 1996 station wagon began acting funny. And by "acting funny" I mean "accelerating by itself, without me stepping on the gas." It felt sort of like a jet getting ready for takeoff. And then it stopped, so by the time I took it to my trusty (read "amazingly awesome and wonderful") mechanic there was no problem for him to diagnose. Right.

I retrieved the car from the mechanic and decided I'd just really really hope that nothing would go wrong again until I was in Tennessee. Alas, the jet engine started preparing for liftoff again as I was on my way to U-Haul to collect my little trailer. By the time I got home with the trailer it had gotten bad enough to incite rather a lot of screaming and swearing, and a phone call to my parents to say "HELP!! WHAT DO I DO?!?!??"

Long story short (there was a lot of unhappiness and NOT PANICKING and frantic phoning) - I ended up calling a lovely moving company who were able to schedule me on only 24 hours' notice. They picked up my stuff Friday morning, and I was left with just myself and a handful of things to truck home in my death-mobile, I mean station wagon.

And, of course, through those last three days were the goodbyes. Not really goodbyes, I guess: more like "talk to you online"s and "see you at Thanksgiving"s. They still weren't fun, not even a little bit. But since I couldn't pack all of my friends into the car and take them with me...beers were drunk, dinners were eaten, and leave was taken. I was, it seemed, on my way.

Episode 2 - Seven Hours from Boston

The drive from Boston to northern New Jersey normally takes about four and a half hours. Now that I was sans trailer, that was about the time I expected to take for phase one of the actual moving part of this whole escapade. I should, however, have anticipated Friday-afternoon-in-August traffic. I couldn't really anticipate the monsoons.

The good news is that having the entire contents of Lake Champlain dumped over my car seemed to keep it from acting up for most of the trip. It got a bit cranky about taking three hours to get to I84 at the Connecticut border (which normally takes an hour), and was threatening to take out the sedans in front of me in the last bit of that interminable crawling - leaping ahead every time I took my foot off the brake. But as I crossed into state two of my nine state (total) trip, the rain apparently cooled off the grumpy bits enough that they were willing to behave. (The rain also chased me off the road and into a rest area until it slowed down enough that I no longer felt that I really ought to have been in an ark.)

The Camry and I did successfully make it to NJ, and I even managed to not fall over upon exiting the house. My parents seemed slightly concerned about my well being, but after feeding me they decided I had revived sufficiently and could be put to bed. After sleeping, well, almost not at all and then taking 75% longer than normal for the trip, being put to bed was like a gift. It was a brief respite before the next episode was to begin.

Episode 3 - Maybe This Drive is Longer Than I Though

According to Google Maps, the drive from NJ to TN is approximately 12 hours. Of course, Google Maps doesn't have to stop and pee. Or get a sandwich from Subway and clean the windshield. And so, eleven hours in, my father and I are stopped at a Super 8 just outside Knoxville.

We thought that stopping before Knoxville would be good because 1. it's already been a long day, and 2. starting about 90 miles back there have been all sorts of signs about I40 being closed downtown. We figured this way we could plan our alternate route and not have to default to the detour that may or may not be terrible and/or backed up with horrible traffic.

So here we are with Ladysmith Black Mambazo on the television.... and I think I'd like to go home now, please.

Episode 4 - Welcome to the Central Time Zone

There's a sign along I-40 between Knoxville and Nashville informing travelers that they've crossed into the next time zone. I'm not sure exactly what it says because I was too busy telling my mother, over the phone, that my father and I were crossing the time zone line. I was pretty excited.

The whole last day of driving was a bit of a roller coaster both literally and figuratively. We were past the proper mountains, but it turns out that Tennessee is all rolling hills, and of course as we approached our destination there came ever more frequent interjections from my side of the car, along the lines of "OMG I live in Tennessee now" and "what have I done??"

The scenery was quite pretty, and if I managed to adequately capture any of it with my random shots through the car windows I'll post them here.

Eventually we started to see signs of greater population density, and then we got a glimpse of the buildings of downtown Nashville before the beltway swept us off around the city to our final destination. My new home. In Tennessee. Where I live now.

Exactly where I live now happens to be an awesome one bedroom apartment in the upstairs of an adorable house. (My two new friends even, upon pulling into the driveway, began exclaiming how totally cute it is. They happen to be very male friends who wouldn't normally go on about the cuteness of something such as a house.) I am slowly collecting furniture and trying to make it feel like home, but mostly I'm waiting for the movers to arrive with my stuff. (I'm also waiting for the coolest company in Nashville to bring me things from far-off Ikea.)

Downstairs from my awesome apartment are two even awesomer ladies, Priscilla and Lila. I love Priscilla and Lila. From the first time I talked to Priscilla I knew I liked her, and she's even cooler in person. Lila is Priscilla's mother, and you know what they say about the apple and the tree. I totally lucked out with this apartment and these landladies/neighbors/friends. I think once my stuff gets here I'll have to bake them some cookies as a small token of my gratitude for the welcome they've given me. (Though I bet they can bake circles around me.)

I will definitely post a few photos of The Apartment once I get them uploaded to the computer and figure out which ones I want to show the world. I'm hoping to post lots of photos in the coming weeks and months so y'all can see for yourselves what this Nashville business is all about.

Of course, the best way to see it is in person, and by the time you get here my air mattress might finally be inflated......

So Much Moving

Lately it seems that I spend all my waking moments moving - going from room to room with boxes full of crap and bags full of trash, driving from place to place canceling gym memberships and buying trailer hitches, or just wandering around the house trying to get some sense of what's left to be done. Occasionally (like just now) I stop moving long enough to realize what it is I'm doing.

As sentient adult (and not a nomadic one), I am willingly choosing to stuff everything I own into small cardboard boxes, fit all of those cardboard boxes into a 4'x8' trailer, drive 1000+ miles (with gas now slightly under $4/gallon), carry all those little boxes up a bunch of stairs into a completely empty apartment, and start over. 1000+ miles from everyone and everything I know.

I don't know the town I'm moving to - I spent 2.5 days there a few months ago. That doesn't count. I also don't know any people there - I've met a few in passing, and have had virtual conversations with a couple, but that also doesn't really count. I can't afford the trailer I'm renting or the new appliances I'll need to buy when I get there. I won't even have a bed to sleep on when I first arrive (unless you consider a waxed canvas air mattress, aged approximately 50 years, a 'bed'). And yet, somehow, pretty much everyone who knows me really well seems to agree that this is exactly the right thing for me to be doing.

I happen to think that I have no idea what I'm doing, but apparently I'm doing it anyway. Too bad all those people who think this is a good idea aren't doing it with me. My message to all those people: now might be a good time to upgrade your phone plan. The unlimited one might be a good idea.

Now to get everything packed, finish all the errands, stave off panic, say some (probably tearful and definitely difficult) goodbyes, and .... move.

...from Somewhere Behind that Pile of Boxes.....

A few observations on moving:

- Trying to pack everything you own into little boxes that you'll have to carry up and down multiple flights of stairs and fit into a small vehicular-type container gives you a whole new perspective on the value of the things you own.

- Everything costs twice as much as you thought it would.

- Every moment you spend with the people you care about (who aren't coming with you) passes four times as fast as it would otherwise.

- Nobody wants to help you carry everything you own up or down any flights of stairs...but someone will, and for that you will be willing to offer eternal gratitude, sexual favors, and your firstborn child.

- Are you familiar with the concept of 'limbo'? (not the thing people do at parties with a broomstick)

- ...but really, how can one person possibly own so much completely useless crap?

- Sitting in total silence, doing absolutely nothing but sharing someone's company, can be the best thing in the world.

- If you change your mind and come back, all you've really lost is a little time and a lot of money.....

Moving Right Along....Or Trying To

I will take just a moment to ponder the issue of why it is so entirely difficult to move farther than across town, and just how anyone is supposed to do it without spending half a million dollars and asking favors of everyone they've ever met...and all their uncles.

Moving really only seems to work if you are 1. an upper middle class or wealthy family with both the familial manpower to deal with the necessary labor and the funds to hire people to do most of it for you anyway, or 2. in possession of nothing more than a car, a couple of suitcases worth of clothes that fit easily into said car, and ample funds for gas, tolls, and caffeinated beverages and death sandwiches, I mean, fast food. And maybe maps. or a GPS. Anyone whose situation is somewhere in between seems doomed to some level of purgatory or hell when embarking upon a long-distance move. How is one person supposed to carry furniture? or drive the car (which needs to go) -and- the truck (which is needed to fit the stuffs)? How can one be expected to pay at least $1000 in moving costs on top of the first+last+security for the new apartment (or the down payment for the new house!) as well as all the little things that a new abode requires, like trash cans and cookie ingredients (for attracting new neighbors, whose friendship and/or pity will be needed for getting the furniture up the stairs)?

It makes me think that those crazy people 150 years ago who never left their hometowns and died at the age of 45 may have been onto something after all. Maybe not the dying at 45 part. (Ask me in twenty or thirty years about that one.)

Maybe moving companies could just donate their services to poor, unfortunate 20-somethings who are ill prepared to fend for themselves. (Anyone? Anyone? Just leave a comment with your number.....)

Choosing an Adventure

My father advocates a very complex system for making decisions, involving a kind of matrix and a bunch of math. It is a good system, and has helped me make many a decision - all of which seem to have worked out okay so far.

My mother, on the other hand, is a big fan of the flip-a-coin method. Her reasoning goes like this: when the coin lands, if you feel relieved or happy, you know that that's the outcome you really wanted. If you're disappointed with what the coin chooses, you know you really want the other option. (And I guess if you genuinely are happy with either outcome then a flip of a coin is as good as any other way to decide.)

So, by my mother's logic, if you get what should be good news and it makes you cry, does that mean you're making the wrong decision?

I know the blogs lately have been, um... "thematic," we'll say. But can you blame me? I'm moving a thousand miles, people, to a city where I barely know a soul. And I'm going back to school to do something I basically haven't done in ten years.

Maybe getting upset isn't a bad sign, maybe it's a good sign. As in, I really ought to be a little freaked out, and if I wasn't that would be bad. Maybe?

I suppose I can refer here to another aphorism my mother favors: "it's all part of the adventure." And, in theory at least, I can choose my own just like I could back in my early reader days. Too bad this time if I don't like the ending I get I can't flip back a few pages and try another one.....

An Open Letter (3)

Dear Likely Future Landlady,

You are entirely cool. You remind me a little bit of my mother, but with a serious drawl. You are (most likely) rescuing me from potential homelessness in my new city - or, more realistically, from paying $700 a month (not including utilities) to live in a (barely) glorified closet. You will let me park my car in your garage and wash my clothes in your washing machine. Your son is going to install Dish Network in my (hopefully) future apartment. The only way this could be any better is if your son turns out to be my future perfect husband. (Maybe that's asking too much.)

Thank you for being so nice. Thank you for sounding so Southern. Thank you for saying you couldn't "put the photos up on the craigs list." I very much hope I can spend three years living upstairs from your overtired self and your deaf mother.

p.s. The forty-year-old avocado green stove is beautiful. Please don't get rid of it.

Free Stuff

The following is a list of stuff I currently own and have no intention of carrying 1000 miles when I move. If you have any interest in any of it, make yourself known! Otherwise, you can just chuckle (or shake your head) at the odd collection:

- various pairs of shoes, at or around women's size nine, including one pair of platform flip flops
- one men's XL timberland jacket that once belonged to someone on the touring crew of the rockstar-no-one-has-heard-of i used to work for, possibly even him himself
- three cans of playdough, never opened
- a thigh master (I don't want to talk about it)
- two small bookshelves that are totally serviceable as long as you don't really plan on looking at them
- a wheely desk chair with slightly ripped fabric (but it's relatively comfortable)
- a very small, very thin, very aquamarine 'throw rug' from Ikea
- one sheet of poster board and one of foam core (both white)
- a shopping bag full of yarn (this has actually been promised to some friends of the knitting persuasion, but if they change their minds it's up for grabs)

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I'm making non-jokes that aren't funny.... that means it's time to stop.

Better Things To Do

I find myself, at this moment, most of the way through a weekend that has been....well, awesome. It's been the kind of weekend where I forget about all the trivial crap that I get so cranky about day-to-day, and just get to enjoy the really good stuff. Even the stressful parts of the weekend have been things that really matter - which seems so much more worthwhile than getting stressed out about a stupid part time job or the logistics of moving 1000 miles. It's been the kind of weekend that hasn't been "perfect" but has been exactly right. I wish more of life could be like this weekend.

And it's all going by so fast. How can it be the middle of June already?! It's now only two months until the Big Move, which I still can't believe. I guess that just means I need to make the next two months more like this weekend, and less like last week. (Last week was pretty well summed up by "urgh.")

But I shouldn't be spending this afternoon in front of the computer. Blogging is fun, but I'm pretty sure I have better things to do....

A Tale of Two Cities

I want to go down to 3rd and Lindsley and run into all the people I used to see at the Lounge. I want a spicy chocolate chocolate chip cookie from Fido after dinner at Diva. I want two homes and a private plane.

I want to tell my friends that I’m not really leaving, I’ll just have a slightly longer drive to meet up with them. I want to believe that there will be no sense of loss, just a geographical redistribution. I want to say that I know it won’t be easy, but what’s (and who’s) important won’t change. I don’t know how it’ll work, I just know that it will.

Things You Leave Behind

It's funny how things can change so fast. One day you're meandering through your twenties, minding your own business, and the next thing you know you're a few months away from uprooting completely and starting a new life in a new time zone - new apartment, new friends, new school (for the first time in a long time). New you. And there's a lot you'll have to leave behind.

- Impromptu dinner parties with The Girls, who make you laugh harder than anyone you've ever known.
- Friday nights out at The Spot, where you're genuinely happy to see the people who stop to say hello.
- Ice skating in the park.
- Ice cream cones in January.
- That one view of the city that you still love, even on days when you can't wait to leave town.
- Your roommate's cat who barfs at least once a week but still manages to be quite endearing.
- The dive bar in the 'burbs you all end up at until much too late on a weeknight because you just can't help yourselves.
- Remembering what used to be in the storefronts where the chain restaurants have since moved in.
- Those rare perfect days when the wind lets up and the sky is the most beautiful shade of blue.
- The friend's family who have taken such good care of you when you needed it most.
- The friend with the extremely expressive face to match the extremely snarky sense of humor. The friend you've known since at least two lifetimes ago. The new friend who you hope won't get lost in the move. The friend who helped this whole change to happen in the first place.

And so much more. Bad stuff too, but you never think of the bad stuff when the melancholy of leaving sets in. It's all wistful glances backward at the good times that were had.

There are many reasons to go, better than the reasons for staying. The new town, new school, new career path, new you all promise to be not just new but improved - that's the big selling point, right? You'll be new and improved and there will always be long drives back to visit and see how much has changed since you left.

It was twenty years ago that you cried over the ugly, broken dining room chandelier that was being replaced. Even then you knew that the new light would be so much better, but you couldn't help being sad for the loss of the one you'd always known. Is trading one city for another any more or less trivial? Any more or less difficult? At least Boston won't be sent to the garbage dump on Monday morning.