So I moved into my new
Victorian flat in
Alameda today.
A friend in need is a
friend indeed; of all the people I know in the
Bay Area, just one came to
help me. Someone I hadn't even met in person, too. She helped out a lot
and as a result of that and some amazing
yard sale luck, all flat occupants
have something to sleep on tonight. I found some lavender
wildflowers in the
backyard, in addition to the
pumpkins already growing there, and spotted
several patches of vibrant
clover. People who had to go around Jen's
car
to continue walking on the
sidewalk were friendly about it, some even
chatted, and a frail elderly man, when I apologized, said, "I can't help
you, but I gonna make sure you get it down okay." Guess he was going to
call for help if the mattress fell on us as we slid it down from the car.
Driving
880 with a huge mattress and box springs on top was quite an
experience, but we did it, even roped the stuff onto the car ourselves;
two women who never did learn knots in
Girl Scouts. Had the first hot
home-cooked meal I've had since the end of May. It wasn't fancy, but it
was good, and we ate it in our new home. And I've been wanting a
shawl to
put over my arms (it gets chilly here)--I got a large pure
silk scarf at an
estate sale: beautiful, perfect and cheap. I got to have a delightful
conversation with Jen. We talked about
friends and lovers and
life and
Weird Al and Jen's lovely
Mackintosh Art Nouveau tattoo and
motorcycles and
Starrynight. It was nice to talk to someone besides my flatmate, with whom I've been
on the road for seven weeks. Jen even offered me a
job if the
museum one doesn't work out.
There's not really
a point here. It was just a day unimportant to anyone
but
myself, full of tiny triumphs and small pleasures. It was
a very good
day. Here's to the next year, in
the House with the Disappearing Stairs.