Wednesday, April 06, 2005

Our friend Raven came down from Nashville to help us move last weekend. Raven is the most fabulous moving help ever.

We closed on the house Thursday night, and the husband surprised me by taking me out to one of the nicest restaurants in town, The Oceanaire. We split a lobster and had the most fabulous deserts. I ordered baked Alaska because whenever you have the chance to watch a really good waiter set food on fire, you should. The husband ordered the white chocolate banana crème pie, which did not get set on fire but tasted like the best banana crème pie you’ve ever had, only better.

When we got home we met up with Raven, and the moving began. Raven, for those who haven’t met him, is about 6’ 3” and was raised by interior decorators. He has a habit of wearing a black wool coat and a fedora. His long brown hair goes down to his waist, and his blue eyes are always seeing something that you haven’t. Raven is pure Nashville, walking around in bondage pants and shoes that need mending. He will not move to Atlanta, although the husband and Daniel and I have tried to persuade him. Raven talks about New York sometimes, and I hope he goes there. He talks also some times about Memphis, which has a big goth scene. I hope he doesn’t move to Memphis. Memphis scares me a bit in a way I can’t describe.

We took Raven to Cafe Intermezzo before he left. This made him pretty damn happy, if only because he was able to get a good shot of expresso. Raven says he can't get a good expresso in Nashville anymore, not since Bongo Java changed a few years ago.

We have moved, and moved, and moved for a week nearly now, and we will not be done moving for a couple more weeks. This is the way of moving. Somehow, when you are moving into a house that you own and not an apartment the moving seems more intense and arduous. We have only moved about 5 blocks in the physical, three dimensional world; yet we have moved into another phase and plane somehow, we have crossed rivers and dragged boxes through deserts somehow else.

I can’t explain this to you. I don’t have the words to explain moving into the first home that you own. Nothing seems real to me still. Owning our condo seemed a little more real when I bought a curb key and showed off my ability to turn on the water without the water department’s help. Perhaps owning our condo will seem even more real once we’ve painted and have a chance to sleep in a bed again instead of mattresses on the living room floor.

Does anyone, by chance, know how you get rid of a mattress?

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