Wednesday, August 28, 2013


Years and years ago, at the mature young age of 19, I helped a good friend move to her first apartment. We loaded up her father's car with all her belongings: a couple of cardboard boxes, a mattress, a big suitcase, a dresser, a teddy bear.  She was renting a bedroom in an apartment in Queens. We were so grown up.

When we arrived her landlady was nowhere to be found and the kitchen looked like a scene from an insect post-apocalyptic horror movie, if cockroaches made films.  We set up her bed and her cardboard boxes and unpacked her suitcase into the dresser. We ate some take out sitting on her bed and watched TV and then lay down to sleep on her mattress on the floor.  It was summer. It was hot. It was a long night. Mostly because I spent the whole night making sure that not one inch of me was touching anything other than the mattress. Certainly not the floor. In the morning I left and she (my wonderful, amazing friend), started her independent life. Which, thankfully, no longer involves cockroach infested apartments in Queens.  :)

Fast forward 2 decades and a husband and two kids to last night.

We moved. We moved into our dream house. Or at least, the glimpse of our dream house. No dishwasher yet, no laundry room yet, no AC.  We dug our way out of the cities of boxes in our living room and lay down to sleep on a mattress on the floor. (Our box spring couldn't fit up the stairs.)  It's summer. It's hot. It was a long night.  All four of us trying to find some rest and comfort on a mattress on a floor.  As I did so many years ago, I desperately tried NOT to touch anything other than the mattress. Certainly not the filthy cat hair invested carpet.

Just when you think you are all grown up something propels you back in time. I'm 19 again, hoping to grow up and not quite sure if being an independent grown up is worth the sacrifices and hard work. I'm 37, not quite sure if having a "dream house" is worth all the sacrifices and hard work.

And then I found myself going shopping for an AC and some more paint and a thingy to hand our towels on...

So I guess here we are. Starting our independent life. Again.

What's your favorite (or terrible) moving memory?

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