Saturday, April 14, 2012
How to Move: Part 2
I bought this place where I currently live at the absolute teetering peak of the market and will not be able sell it for what I paid for it. Not even close. But we're going out with guns blazing. A website with the real estate equivalent of glamor shots. A holding period after it's put on the market after which sealed bids will be accepted and opened on a scheduled date. Maybe they'll serve caviar and Vueve Clicquot at the open houses?
No paperback books, family mementos or photos are to remain here on my shelves. The dog bed which has become a napping cushion since the deaths of Lola and Layla must go. My desk will be cleared and polished. The art rearranged by a more discerning eye.
So the rest of what I'm pitching into my car has nothing to do with what I'll need to spend a day or so at the new house. It's a matter of, where in the hell am I going to put this--oh!--the car, yes, let's drive it to the new house! Oh!--yes, I think this will fit, too. And that! It's a jumble. It makes no sense. But it's all going north. And, oh, I mustn't forget the blue camp chairs so I have something to sit on up there.
Those blue camp chairs were the only living room furniture I had when I moved here after the divorce. There was a pile of sand, remnants from some beach trip, in one of them, and at least a week went by before I had the wherewithal to clean it out. Someone would come to the house--the cable TV guy, or the phone guy, or someone delivering something. "Have a seat," I'd say to whomever was gripping his clipboard looking for a place to sit. "It's okay," I'd say. "I'll take the chair with the sand,"as if having a nylon camp chair with a pile of sand in it in the middle of the living room was the most normal thing in the world.