Okay. It seems you won’t be traveling with Phil the few blocks from Linden Green to Mt. Royal Avenue after all. The Fitzgerald notified me this morning that the apartment I’ve so looked forward to occupying has finally now been occupied. After all my preparations – both practical and psychological – for the move, I’m disappointed. But not really upset. No matter. Now there’s no need to find just the right new round table to sit at the left end of my sofa in the living room. I no longer must decide which wall my desk should abut so that the view out the window will help me find just the right word when I’m writing. I won’t have to use a closet in the apartment as a pantry or grapple with a decision over whether to outfit the second bedroom in a traditional manner or use it as a den with a good sleeper sofa. There’s no conflict about where to put my antique chest, no need to cut down the base on my Paul McCobb credenza, no decision about how to make the lighting in the bathrooms more becoming. My friends won’t have to pay $10.00 for parking in the garage when they come for dinner. I won’t have to give up any of my art. And best of all, I can finally get rid of that sorely dog-eared chicken gravy box that’s been holding all my toilet articles for the last six months.
Last spring, when contemplating a move to The Fitzgerald, I talked myself into leaving Linden Green, imagined myself in new surroundings, tried on the feel of a garage, elevator, receptionist, all those subtle changes that apartment living entails. But as the quest to sell my house seemed less and less likely to be fulfilled, I talked myself back into staying right here, enjoying the view of my garden, the crackle of my fireplace, the freedom of that extra space in my basement, and the oh-so-satisfying feel of rooms so selfishly filled with my own peculiar personality.
If home is where the heart is, my heart’s back here on Linden Green.
Since this blog was designed for sharing my travels – to wherever they might take me – this will be my last entry until some new alluring place in the world attracts my attention. Maybe a cruise next (without a dancing gig) would be a good thing. Thinking about all that effort involved in a move has tired me out. Sunrise at sea, lunch on deck, tea at four and wrapped in a blanket in a deckchair with a good book as the world goes by sounds really relaxing.
Stay tuned.
