Moving day

It's a good thing the furniture came on Monday because I was getting sick of that tiny bed. It's perfect for camping, and it would probably be quite comfortable for one person. But two people? No way.

So, to our relief, the moving truck showed up Monday morning and a team of three people began bringing stuff up.

Now, I just tossed out the phrase "bringing stuff up." I should probably recast it, but I can't find any expression to do justice to the work they had to do. Perhaps a picture will give you some idea:



This is a photo of the stairwell leading to my apartment on the third floor. It's a brisk mini-workout just climbing them; I don't want to imagine what it's like to move books, dishes and furniture up these stairs. *shudder*

Anyway, after they moved everything up Jenn volunteered to start opening boxes while I went to the Registry of Motor Vehicles to get my Massachusetts driver's license.

The wait at the RMV was long, almost two hours. And once I was called, I discovered that my proof of Mass. residency wasn't good enough, and there was no compromise. Thank you, sir; please come back again.

I was annoyed, but all that melted away when I saw what an amazing job Jenn did while I was away. I don't know how she opened so many boxes so quickly; steroids is the only theory I've devised since then. But she did a heck of a job, unpacking about two-thirds of the boxes.

We finished with the dishes and kitchen a few hours later, and, amazingly, it actually started looking like someone lived in the apartment; it wasn't just a warehouse.

BEFORE

AFTER

BEFORE

AFTER

To celebrate, we went to Whole Foods and bought the ingredients to make shrimp al ajillo and rice, and we had our first home-cooked meal that night. Later, we watched "The Sandlot," but we turned it off early because we were so tired.

Emotions ran high Monday night. I was so happy to be finally settled in Boston because, for once, it no longer felt like I was on a long vacation. It felt real.

At the same time, I was crushed — Jenn would be leaving the next day to go back to Jacksonville before hitting the road for St. Louis. We'd been together every second for the past nine days, and I didn't want her to go. "We'll see each other again soon," I kept telling her (and myself), and although it's true, it doesn't take away the sting.

The next morning we took the subway to the airport and I held her for the last time for several weeks, and it was all I could do to prevent the huge lump in my throat from giving way to tears. That lump was there when we left the Metro Diner in Jacksonville and said goodbye to Richard, Melinda, Liz and Patrick, but my excitement for the impending road trip kept me from being overcome with emotion. On Tuesday, it was all I could do to try not to cry for Jenn's sake. Fortunately, for me, I had to go to my first day at the Globe almost immediately afterward, so I didn't have time to dwell on her departure.


At Walt Disney World, months before this Boston nonsense started.

"Boston won't be home for me until you're here," I told her as she sobbed at the airport. I didn't realize how true that statement would be until I woke up alone the next morning.