[img]958|left|Alex Campbell||no_popup[/img]Dateline Boston — There is nothing quite like moving in the middle of the holiday season. I’ve been packing, shifting boxes so they look semi-presentable for apartment showings, and moving stuff to the new place. Oh, and celebrating Christmas Eve and Christmas with S.O., friends, and S.O.’s family (for the first time). It’s a wonder I’m still standing. Well, okay, I wasn’t standing last week, but I’m back up, Readers! Thanks for your patience.
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I have a couple of days of down time, and I’m sitting in my much-cleared out studio apartment as I write. I look around, and it hits me. I’m leaving this apartment, my home for seven years. It’s the longest I’ve ever lived anywhere, with the exception of my childhood apartment, which I lived in for eight years. I’ve had stability and comfort here, which is extremely important to me. I’ve lived with fantastic neighbors, most of whom have become good friends. We’ve eaten meals together, played Scrabble and fed each other’s cats. We gave out Halloween candy, left presents on doorsteps, collected mail and signed for packages.
We had run-ins with the fire department, when mischievous spiders tripped the fire alarms in the basement (multiple times). They also didn’t like it when guests parked too close to the corner, because it blocked the way for fire engines, should they need to come through. Yeah, the fire department loved us, all right. They made us clear most of our stuff out of the basement because it was a fire hazard. They admonished us for not calling immediately when the fire alarms went off. We knew there wasn’t a fire; we just wanted to talk about options first! Who knew it was the spiders?
We React Like Champions
My town is very responsive in an emergency. The best town service I ever got was the time I called 9-1-1 because I was having an allergic reaction to my allergy injections. The ambulance, the police, and the fire department came! I must have had eight men in my studio — it was pretty amusing. It looked like an apartment for those car clowns.
My upstairs neighbor, SW, used to give me notes, knock on my door and call me on a regular basis. She was four years old at the time. It was SW’s dad who told me about the studio apartment that was available seven years ago. On the third floor lived E, and her dog, a German shepherd mix named Mia. Mia would thunder down the stairs at top speed. I always knew when E was coming or going, based on Mia’s footsteps. There was one fun summer night when E and Mia slept in the entryway outside my apartment because there was a power outage and it was too hot to sleep on the third floor. I would have invited them in to my place, but my cat Shelby wasn’t too keen on sharing a sleeping space with an energetic giant dog.
Shelby’s been pretty good about all the transitions in the house over the last seven years. Since I’ve lived here, there have been three babies born, two cat deaths and the arrival of the most adorable Golden Retriever puppy you’ve ever laid eyes on. Shelby only escaped from the house once, and she was so scared she hid just a few feet away, under the grill.
Changes Are Rushing Toward Me
Ah, Shelby. She hasn’t been in the studio for the last three months so it could be shown to potential buyers. My plan is to bring her from her foster home to the new apartment. I don’t want to bring her back here and have her get readjusted, just to leave again. Things will be very different for her. She’s used to climbing her personal set of stairs to get to my loft bed. She drinks her water from the bathtub faucet. She frequently goes into the hallway to sit on the rug or just say hi to the neighbors who are coming and going. We had a routine in this apartment, Shelby and I. She has a routine at her foster home, I’ve heard, and she’ll have one in our new place, too. It won’t be the same, though.
A lot of things won’t be the same. I won’t be able to sit in front of the TV at every meal because we’ll have an actual dining table. Shelby won’t be able to drink from the bathtub faucet. Our new tub’s faucet is…old. No more bubble baths for me.
And no more tiny refrigerator and two- burner hot plate! I will have a real oven, not just a microwave one! And a big fridge! With an ice bucket! And a bed on the floor! And a separate room for an office, and seven closets and a porch, and…
Yes, I will miss this studio. But I’m looking forward to my new place where my friends can visit. Lots of friends, not just one or two. Come on over, I’ll be baking cookies!
Ms. Campbell may be contacted at her new address, snobbyblog@gmail.com
