7 or 8

We moved. It was my 7th or 8th time in four years. I must say, I did well. 

It was sort of a last minute thing. Found a really good deal on a bigger space, two blocks from the studio. So now we live in Myrtle Tree Apartments, right above old town, with neighbors, a laundry room, and enough space to cook a three-course meal if we wanted to.

We have so much space, so it seems to us. Space on the walls, space on the floor, space enough to park our bikes inside. Which, makes my heart skip a beat. Simply delightful, parking your bike inside.

We only have one chair for the dining room table. And it’s a chair I attemted to “shaby chic” five years ago. Having survived numerous occasions of , “where’s the step stool? oh, out in the garage? I’ll just use this chair right here,” and “hey, it’s a party! someone stand on the chair and dance!” it’s on its last leg. We’re having Janice over tomorrow night and I’m thinking will just sit on the floor. The table itself is an antique, and antiques can stand alone so I don’t feel bad for having an impaired table with no chairs.

It was better and worse moving with someone. Better in the sense that with just one look someone could say, “yes, this sucks.” Worse because it sucked for two people and those two people had to go to bed that night tired and grouchy.

But then later we were able to laugh, and laughing is the best medicine. My husband makes me laugh, and it delights me to no end- laughing, and knowing that we’ll get through the undersirable tasks of life with a sense of humor. 

So here we are; one chair, two bicycles, our bodies strewn on the carpet in empty space, laughing at how a dead rat fell out of the refrigerator we got for free.

~ by Jen on June 10, 2009.