Episode 121 - A Proper Home

This must be the place

Now that I had someplace to put it all, my sister in Carson City supervised the packing of my worldly possessions onto a moving truck bound for Abington. I decided a lot of the non-bedroom furniture from Reno should not make the trip. Yes, I’d miss my red leather couch and black lacquered dining room table, as well as some of the other furniture I designed and had built. But logistically, it was better to not ship it across the country. And by better, I mean way less expensive. I did make sure to include my grandmother’s outstanding examples of mid-century modern end tables. Of course, when she had then, they were just called end tables. One thing I wouldn’t compromise on was the washer and dryer. I didn’t care what it cost. There was no way I was schlepping my clothes to a laundromat any more than I already had to.

It took a little more than a week for the truck to show up at my place on Cleverly Street. As the movers unpacked my slice of the truck’s interior, I was very excited to see that 99% of it arrived unbroken. I was also very impressed by the mover who carried my washer and dryer upstairs by himself. He stood with his back to the washer/dryer, bent at the knees, and reaching behind him, squeezed it between his hands and stood up. Then proceeded to walk it into the house and upstairs without a single wall bump. I was in awe and happy to tip once everything was unloaded.

First things first, I set up my bedroom. It would be the weekend before I could spend the night in Abington, but it felt good knowing my days in the Newbury Street apartment were coming to an end, and I likely only suffered minor dain brumage from all that natural gas exposure. Or was never forced to flee from blood pouring out of an elevator in the bathroom.

Next up was the car. My little red Mazda Miata now officially lived in Massachusetts. I did feel a little sorry for it though. It had spent its entire life living in a garage. Now though, it was forced to spend life outside in an uncovered parking spot. The house came with two assigned spots, and since I never had anyone come over that needed to park, I could at least park it in the middle between both spots for ample room on either side. The Miata was a convertible, but came with a removable hardtop. Which gave me a little peace of mind. It was not impregnable, but to break in, you’d have to do more than slice the top open. Not that crime was a problem in my neighborhood. Cleverly Street wasn’t on the way to anything. Unless you lived on the street, or were lost, there wasn’t any reason to drive down it. In fact, the only time I ever saw anyone in the neighborhood who didn’t live in my complex, was when there was a service at the funeral home across the street. Couldn’t ask for quieter neighbors though.

Now that my car was in Massachusetts, it was time to get a Massachusetts driver’s license. I went to the Registry of Motor Vehicles (RMV) to trade in my Nevada driver’s license for one issued by Massachusetts. Like every other interaction with a state motor vehicle office, mine was more than an hour of waiting, followed by 15 minutes of being on my best, most patient behavior while I stepped through the process with the customer service agent. I had utility bills to show I was indeed a resident of Massachusetts, and my current Nevada driver’s license to prove another state thought I was competent enough to operate a vehicle on public roads. And since my eyes were only 34 years old, I passed the eye test first try!

After completing the application process, passing the eye test, surrendering my Nevada driver’s license, and handing over $35, I was issued my Massachusetts driver’s license. Yes, I had a job and a house, but getting my Massachusetts driver’s license made it seem very official that this was where my life was now. Without really looking at it, I slid my new driver’s license into my wallet and headed back to Abington.

It was only when I got home and took another, closer look at my new driver’s license that I noticed there was a slight problem with it. Next to Sex: instead of an ‘M’, there was a ‘F’. This little typo effectively now made the driver’s license useless for anything but a laugh.

I got into the car and drove back to the RMV to get a corrected license issued. After waiting another hour, I finally made it back to a customer service agent window. I explained to him that I just got the license, but there was a mistake on it, and I wanted a corrected license issued. He said it’d be another $35 to reissue the license if the mistake on it was my doing. Then he asked what the problem was, and I told him the sex on the license was female instead of male. He took the license, and after spending a good minute looking at it, asked, “Is that all?”

“Is that all?” I first parroted back. Quickly following up with, “That’s enough.” Not one for being ungrateful, at least he didn’t ask, “Are you sure?”

I could tell he knew there was really only one thing he could do, but he still sat silently for another 30 seconds before handing back the license and finally saying, “Okay, we’ll reissue the license, and since you haven’t even had it a day, we’ll go ahead and waive the reissue fee.”

Now it was me that was silent for a beat while I waited for him to do something crazy, like apologize on behalf of the RMV for creating the problem in the first place. When it was obvious no such apology was forthcoming, I smiled and said as sincerely as I could muster considering, “I really appreciate that.”

He typed some information into his computer, then disappeared to the back for about five minutes. When he returned, he handed over a new license. “Here ya go.” I looked over the license, and sure enough, I was an ‘M’ again. I thanked him and asked if he wanted the original license back. “No. You can keep it.” Okay, I thought. If only Massachusetts hadn’t outlawed ‘Ladies Night’ at the bars, I could’ve really saved some money on booze. I took both licenses and left. Unaware at the time, but a few months later, I would be glad I had two driver’s licenses. Even if one of them said I was a female.

I now had everything at the house in Abington except my cat Giselle. Even though she was technically still a minor, she could not fly as an unaccompanied minor. So my sister made the trip from Reno to Boston with a drugged-up Giselle snug in her carrier riding under the seat in front of my sister. Reno to Boston is a long day of travel for a person, I can’t imagine what Giselle was thinking about the length of time she had to spend in the carrier. She’d always been a sweetheart, and this adventure was no exception. When everyone finally made it to Abington, Giselle’s cooperation and relative quiet on the plane were lauded. I’m sure the drugs helped, but still, she was a trouper. I had everything set up for her, so the first thing I did before letting her wander around to figure out her new stomping grounds was show her where her food, water, and litter box were located. She partook in all three before setting out to sniff every square inch of the townhouse.

While I had a lot of housewares from my place in Reno, I still needed a fair amount of new furnishings for my house in Abington. I feel like this next part should be prefaced with a, “Now gather ‘round kids, and I’ll tell you a tale of Urban Outfitters and Restoration Hardware that will seem impossible in those stores today.” The Restoration Hardware was located a block over from my old Newbury Street apartment on Boylston Street, and the Urban Outfitters was on Newbury Street proper. Which made them very close to my office and easy to stop at before my commute home.

Let’s start with 1998’s Restoration Hardware, which looked nothing like the behemoth of expensive, heavy, predominantly beige furniture that it is today. The 1998 version of the store was like an upscale hardware store that also carried a little furniture. The store’s stock carried a serious vintage vibe. There were large sections of the store dedicated to brass drawer pulls, and kitschy metal toys from the sixties. Neatly packaged vintage tool kits, and some heavy, solid wood furniture. It was an eclectic mix of things built around the central theme of nostalgia. More importantly to me at the time, I could afford to buy things for my new house. Yes, there were also a Crate and Barrel and Pottery Barn nearby, but they were both well out of my price range if I was still interested in eating a couple times a day.

I could spend hours after work wandering through the store looking for anything that piqued my interest. Talking myself in and out of dozens of wind-up toys, or a stylish home tool kit. Most times frugality prevailed. Did I really need a dozen shiny brass door pulls that looked like fancy beach shells? Sure, my house was located on the way to Cape Cod, but it was far from a beach cottage. Seaside chic would just have to wait.

The blonde solid oak floors throughout the house were beautiful, but relatively soft for oak. Drop anything metal on them, and it was guaranteed to leave a little dent. I found this out by accidentally dropping my car keys on the floor which left a little crescent-shaped indentation. It was obvious I needed some rugs. 1998’s Urban Outfitters was just the place, and true to its name, had almost everything needed to furnish an urban apartment. Or in my case, a small suburban home. Heavy on home furnishings and lighter on clothing, it was easy to get distracted by the lava lamps, records, and bohemian textiles. But rugs and cheap paper lamps were my priorities. I settled on two light blue machine-washable chenille rugs and a couple of white conical paper lamps. The rugs were 5 by 7 and 4 by 6, so a little big for a standard washing machine, but that didn’t mean I didn’t jam them into the machine and wash them from time to time. In the end, they were serviceable, soft, and helped protect the floor from the side effects of gravity.

The house was starting to look occupied. Next though was the removal of thousands of square feet of wallpaper and painting over the sandy rose-colored paint on every wall. Hello Martha Stewart’s brand Bright White paint from Kmart.