I've been here for a little over a month, so let's rewind the videotape and start over.
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Movers arrived at the Home in the Sky, snatched all my stuff -- well, most of it -- and stuck it in a truck.
Mover Guy: "And where are we taking this lovely collection of furnishings and household goods?"
Me: "Boston."
"Anyplace particular in Boston?"
"Well, I don't have a place to live there ... yet."
"Oh."
"I'll have one in a week or so."
"OK, sure. I guess we're storing it for a few days then, right?"
"Yeah. The coordinator said you can hold it for three weeks, no charge."
"We can, but you'll be living without any of this stuff for that long. And then there will be some delay while we take it out of storage and arrange to ship it ..."
He stopped before saying, "... way up North. With Yankees and funny accents and freezing winter nights matched only by the freezing attitude of Boston's legendary rudeness." I could see it in his eyes. The same mixture of curiosity and doubt as to why anyone would voluntarily choose to leave the Big Peach, Capital of the New South, and the home of Georgia Tech -- the finest school in the country, sir.
Long story, but I had just made that semi-voluntary decision. I was moving to Boston!
The plan was to leave Atlanta on a Friday afternoon, visit with my younger son and his wife Friday evening, meet Mom and Dad Saturday, hand off my little dog, and drive to Boston in the Outback. I'd get a hotel room for a few days (sans le chien) and find an apartment. I'd to the same thing the following weekend -- Labor Day weekend -- fly back to ATL, and drive to Boston in the TT, picking up the dog on that trip.
With very careful planning, I had separated those things I would need during the time my "lovely collection of furnishings and household goods" would be unavailable: things like an iron (I was going to work), my heavy bedspread/blanket (it's cold in New England at night), mustache trimmer, coffee pot, bills and important papers. Almost immediately, I realized this very careful planning had far overestimated how much stuff would fit into my car.
A quick local call: can you hold a few boxes for me until I can arrange separate shipping? And the vacuum cleaner? My older son is a good man, so he agreed, but, really, who's going to say no to someone making that desperate request?
An all-nighter of packing, followed in the morning by more than the usual disorganization that besets all my plans, and I ended up leaving Dunwoody about midnight Friday (instead of Friday noontime) with the Outback crammed to the ceiling with clothes, fragile objects, and a bicycle strapped to the back; all -- as it has turned out -- stuff that was of very little use during the time my furniture was in storage. All the important stuff to have during the "interim" remained in boxes in Atlanta, as per the last-minute request to hold a few boxes. [For the record, the boxes are still there.]
Anyway, a midnight departure meant I arrived at my younger son's house at about 4 am Saturday. Or was it 5 am? Got a bit of a nap, met Mom and Dad, handed off the dog, made a couple of travel plans, got another brief nap and started driving.
I-77 to I-81 to I-78 along the spine of the Appalachian Mountains to Hershey, PA. About 500 miles and 8 hours on the road, almost all of it in a drizzly rain that made the pavement slippery as a lifetime politician. Just what one desires when driving a grossly overloaded car, along unfamiliar mountain highways, at night, at top speed so as to keep to a self-dictated schedule.
Stopped near some "burg" in Pennsylvania for gas, coffee, and a hot dog. (Chambersburg? Shippensburg? Harrisburg?) It was just before midnight, only an hour left to Hershey. Stuck my debit card in the pump, punched in the secret code, and -- boom -- the overhead lights went out and the pump went dark. Wow! I did that? Headed inside to ask the attendant what was up, and she shouted through the locked doors, "Midnight's closing time." Really? Really? After a nerve-racking night of driving, you're really slamming the door in my face?
Went next door, by turning left into incoming traffic, to an open gas station. Bought my gas, hot dog, and coffee, and splurged for a doughnut and two Slim Jims just to thumb my nose at the rude lady who had turned me away.
The Hershey hotel looked great that night, but morning sunshine showed it quite differently. It did have hot coffee, eggs and apple-smoked sausage for a free breakfast, and -- to me -- a good breakfast makes up for a lot of shortcomings.
I simply must digress here. Does anyone really like apple-smoked sausage? Why can't people leave sausage alone? It's GREAT in it's pure state! Why disrespect the pig who has given his life for our enjoyment? Don't adulterate the pig's noble sacrifice by adding yucky artificial apple smoked flavoring.
I simply must digress here. Does anyone really like apple-smoked sausage? Why can't people leave sausage alone? It's GREAT in it's pure state! Why disrespect the pig who has given his life for our enjoyment? Don't adulterate the pig's noble sacrifice by adding yucky artificial apple smoked flavoring.
Enough about breakfast. I turned the key, fired up Camilla the GPS, and headed off to drive through Manhattan.
