27 June 2010
"I'm moving! I'm moving! I'm moving! I'm moving!"
I sounded like the audio version of a 6 year old on a pogo stick, bouncing up and down with excitement. Who gets excited about moving? Nobody. Certainly not me. I've never been this excited to be physically carrying my things out of one residence and into another. Normally, like most peoople, I dread moving.
What makes this time different? Well, one reason is an painfully negative, current living situation. The friends that already know about it have heard enough and the ones that haven't heard don't need to, right? Right.
Another reason is that almost all of my belongings are still in a luxurious temperature controlled storage locker in Los Angeles. I haven't acquired a lot of household goods on this coast and the things I do have with me are either very necessary or very inexpensively acquired. It's an odd thing, buying something that is so ugly you know you'll be glad to take it to Goodwill one day in your fantasy future. But that's what I've done.
I asked my mother for the ugliest, tackiest holiday decorations she could send at Christmas. (She showed an absolute flair for that, by the way! Thanks Mom!) A beloved niece handmade my miniature Christmas stocking sticked with a personal message. And I've picked up anything else I needed at thrift stores and out of the way places. It's been sort of fun.
I think once you've been through the whole mess of being able to buy whatever you really wanted and then having to carefully box, stack and store those things thousands of miles away, you don't need to feel sad that they're gone. I don't need anything more because my stuff is just somewhere else at the moment.
If you have heard part of that Carrie Underwood song out in the last couple of months, called "Temporary Home," then maybe you understand a little of how I feel:
"This is my temporary home.
It's not where I belong.
Windows and rooms that I'm passin' through.
This is just a stop on the way to where I'm going.
I'm not afraid because I know this is my temporary home."
I'm not sure how long I'll stay in the Washington area. It might be just a stop. It might be The Stop. But I do know this: Monday night, I am moving.
And today, three different friends all volunteered to drop everything and help me move. So for a temporary home, this is feeling pretty good right now.
15 June 2010
This is Gordon. He's 6-7. Which is to say, he tells me he's 67 and I'm guessing he's 6'7" in height as well. I'm not quite sure what to make of that perfectly round goose-egg looking thing on the upper portion of his forehead. It was, uhhhhh, actually more pronounced in person. Here's how I came in contact with Gordon: I was in Dupont Circle, having a spot of pizza with a relative who was about to leave the Washington area when I caught a glimpse of Gordon, all 6'7" of him, walking by out in front of the restaurant. "Wow, look at that man! He's totally an eyeful! Isn't he just wonderful!?" My cousin is actually accustomed to my great delight in people who are out of the ordinary, so she turned around to see who was walking down the street. In addition to that sleeveless campshirt, Gordon was wearing khaki shorts and a brownish "nude" colored sock on his right lower leg that made me contemplate whether it was "orthopedic" (support hose?) or an ultra-cool fake lower leg. He had a bit of a "gait" going on. It was all so delicious. I decided I liked him immediately... for a part in the next John Waters' film set in my mind's neighborhood. But too quickly, Gordon lurched off and I lost hope of further relishing his presence.
After dinner, the cousin and I wandered over to Second Story Books (directly across the street from my favorite pizza place ever) and when I walked into there store, Gordon was behind the counter! And when I asked if I might take a few snaps for us, to my utter delight, he graciously agreed. (And before you ask, YES, he does have a left arm. He's just tucked it behind his back.)
This is when you know someone is The Good Stuff. He said yes. He knows he's a character in someone's "yet to be written book" and is so wonderfully comfortable in his skin. He has a bit of a gentle way about him. It was possible to like him immensely, so I did. How could I not?
Gordon told me he's lived in Washington for all his 67 years. He doesn't own Second Story, but he's been working there for a very long time.
I may need to go back and buy a book. If you go into Second Story Books in Dupont Circle, be especially nice to Gordon. He'll likely be a famous movie star some day.
08 June 2010
06 June 2010
This particular day, he finished the mechanics and tossed in removing a screw that I had stripped. As it turns out, I'm quite good at stripping screws. He expressed his admiration. I expressed my cash. Everybody's happy. Except on the way in, I had seen this little arrangement off of a wayside church.
Having grown up in a small town, I can't resist a gathering of gentle folk at a small country church. Toss in barbecue and I'm a goner. I asked the mechanic. Sure enough, he was game. After the car repairs, off we went.
The inflatable alligator lands on top of the barbecue stand. I'm not sure what the game was here exactly, but it seemed to be irresistable.
Maybe you had to be there. You wish you had been, don't you?