Dear Friend

Hello Blog.  It's been a while...

A lot has happened since we talked last.  I suppose this isn't too surprising since I wrote my last post a little less than a year ago. Apologizing seems silly, though--so I've decided I'm not going to. 

Life happens (especially in Boston, it seems...).

So, the meat of this post is actually something I wrote back in October.  I'll get to that.  Here's the backstory: 

At some point this past fall I became inspired by something I read online.  A professional blogger anonymously told the story of a girl who had written to her.  The blogger explained how discouraged this woman was...with herself, with life, with everything.  The woman who wrote to the blogger was essentially contemplating giving up her own life.  After sharing this story online, the blogger strongly urged her readers to offer words of hope and encouragement to the woman in the comments section at the bottom of her post...to provide her with as many reasons as possible to keep on living.

I began reading the comments with hesitance, hoping for the best in terms of the good will of the commenters.  But after a very short amount of time I was brought to tears by the amount of heart that saturated the comments.  Essentially, this had been a plea for this woman's life.  And people had responded with resounding love and compassion through words of comfort, empathy, faith, and support.  They had provided her with reasons to fight for her life.  Reasons why she was an essential part of the puzzle that is this world.  It was raw, emotional, and incredibly touching.  It also left me hoping, with all my might, that these words would become the life rafts that they were intended to be...the life rafts that this woman so desperately needed.   

I added my own comments to blogger's post, but all of it stuck with me.  Additional thoughts and words of encouragement for the woman continued to float around in my mind.  It had definitely resonated with me.  Though I did not know the details of this woman's life, or what had brought her to her feelings of hopelessness, the hills and valleys I had felt in my own life that year definitely made it easy to relate to the woman's feelings of loneliness, saddness, and despair.  But I wasn't quite sure what to do with all of these residual thoughts bursting at the seams to get out...So, I turned to my journal and a pen.  What poured out?  I've decided to share it below.  Most everything (punctuation, capitalization, emphasis, indentation) has been transcribed as is as it was originally written.  The funny thing is, I have found myself coming back to these words on numerous occasions.  They have served as a helpful reminder for me.  My hope is that by sharing them in a public space they can be a helpful reminder for someone else too.

__________                                                                                                            

Dear Friend,

You feel like the world is crashing down on you.

I've been there.

You feel like you are treading water just to stay afloat.

I've been there. Dearest friend,

You feel like everyone around you has their lives together,

While you're still trying to figure out how to put one foot in front of another...

I've been there too.

(There is beauty in imperfection...)

Dear friend...

     You are not alone.

Dear friend...

You are loved.

Dear friend...

You are special, unique, valued, and more than enough.

Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

Dearest friend...

DANCE!

Dearest friend...

play.   Dear friend,

touch,

feel,

be.

Be aLIVE!!!!!!

Dearest friend...

you are alive...for a reason.

And don't you forget it.

You have dreams.

Don't let them die.

You have hopes.

Don't settle.

You have friends.

Who will always be there for you.  Let them be there for you.

You have family.

Who will love you when the sun rises and will love you when the sun sets.

You have ONE LIFE that may throw a handful of CRAP at you--but you can more than handle it...

You can pick it up and throw it across the room.

You can excel.

You can thrive.

You can weather any storm.

You are somebody! Who matters.

Make it happen. Fly. 

Soar.

Soar higher than anyone ever imagined.

And stare in awe and humbleness at the view below.

You have the potential.

Make it happen.

"Jump so you don't regret standing at the ledge!" 

(Corny? Yes...but who cares??!)

You are strong! So strong.

You can move mountains.

DO IT.

What are you waiting for?

LIVE,

Dearest friend, it's time...

__________

  

Dear Boston

Dear Boston,

Yes, I know it's been a while...but I'm still here.  And after three and a half years of living in this town, it's time I had a word with you…

So, upon leaving Omaha, I was fully aware that you were a little rough around the edges--but I don't think I realized how down-right RELENTLESS you have the potential to be.  Yes, I will fully admit, you have a million and one things going for you: parks, events, public transportation, sports teams, historical landmarks, prime harbor-side real-estate...However, you also have the uncanny ability to be BRUTAL to outsiders, and even more brutal to outsiders who are already down on their luck.  Actually, let’s face it—outsider or not—you simply have a knack for kicking a man when he’s down.

But my question is this: why??  I understand it is a dog-eat-dog world out there on those maze-like streets of Boston that may or may not have originally been formed by cattle (still not completely sure I believe that one…)—but why, Boston, WHY make things worse by being so unforgiving?? You only make it harder on yourself and everybody else…

Yes, I’m aware.  It’s a part of the culture, this rough and tumble New England demeanor...possibly a spirit of grit that has hung on since the days of the colonial soldier.  However, there’s only so much stinging bluntness and fast-paced, eyes-forward, don’t-you-dare-get-in-the-way-of-my-life, attitude a long-time Midwesterner can take before they reach a breaking point…Or worse: they begin to get sucked in. 

It’s true. No one is immune to it—even us Midwesterners.  Believe me, I’ve given in to the pull of the angry, impatient Bostonian.  It happens in this town…but I am writing to let you know, Boston, that I am putting my foot down.  No matter how hard you try to shake me, knock me over, and tear me down, my Midwestern roots will remain grounded, and I will hold on to them for dear life.  I refuse to be jaded by the “daily grind”.  I will smile when I want to smile, take my time when there is no rush, and acknowledge that others exist outside of myself—even when I am in a public place and have my own agenda (!).  And when you pelt me with criticism, judgment, impatience, I will take it in stride and refuse to let it get me down…because, you know what, Boston??  Midwesterners are strong too!!

(Little known fact: We can also be intelligent! Oh, and we’re not all farmers--but those people who are, more often than not, are pretty hard-core individuals…) 

Now, I fully realize, Boston, that Midwesterners could stand to take a few notes from New Englanders, that not every Bostonian falls under this stereotype, and that many “Bostonians” have roots in the outside world like myself...but if you could encourage your strong-willed, brutally honest, extremely driven residents to stop and take in the scenery every now-and-then, I truly think it could do everyone a bit of good. 

Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to read this letter. You can now go back to plowing the 4 feet of snow on my street up against my car so I have to spend all day shoveling in order for me to go to work tomorrow (if I even have work tomorrow...).

Sincerely (and with outsider love),

Elise

     

Working Things Out

I have to say, the last time I blogged, it actually felt very therapeutic.  For anyone who is going through a rough time or two, I recommend getting out your thoughts on paper, or in a word document—just put them in words.  It helps make sense of everything.  Not only that, but it helps make things feel more manageable.  Blogging isn’t a very private form of thought-purging, but sometimes it feels good to throw thoughts into the abyss.  Even if I’m only connecting with a few people through these posts, it’s still nice to have that connection. Not to mention, it is also refreshing to be “real”—with yourself, and with others. 
Anyway, let me dig in to the heart of this post by offering a little epilogue from my previous post...

It’s not easy to get out of a slump.  Throughout the tough times of this transition I have needed to be patient with myself and with the situation.  Even when I knew what changes needed to take place, I could not expect change to happen overnight. 

I guess I could put it this way:

 18. Recognizing what changes need to be made in your life is a great start to putting yourself onthe right track.  Following through with the goals and expectations you set for yourself, no doubt, is the more difficult (and often the more drawn-out), second part of this deal.   

At the Husker Bar. 
Our home-away from home.

But, I went for it...and, slowly but surely, I began to feel life start to fall into place around me.  As advised by my Mom, I set a schedule for myself during the day, and I made it a point to get out—even if that meant just heading to the library, to a local coffee shop, or to one of the numerous farmer’s market scenes.  I kept an eye out for any kind of inexpensive public event or attraction that was worth going to, and Aaron and I both began searching for outlets that would help us feel somewhat rooted in the community.  We found ourselves routinely spending a portion of our fall Saturdays amongst a rowdy pocket of red in Cambridge at Boston’s one and only Husker bar, while Sunday mornings eventually became our church-shopping time.  And, finally, after a dry spell of not hearing back from employers and receiving rejection, all at once I began hearing back from employer after employer.  A good problem to have, I suppose...

Well, one thing led to another, and soon enough I found myself employed in Boston, MA.  After rolling around several options I settled with the substitute-teaching/coffee-shop route.  It seemed like a great way to ease into the local job scene, as well as become familiar with the people and culture of the area.

And it was an amazing phenomenon.  Once I started working, I immediately felt connected.  And more alive.  It’s not that I’m one of those people who believe that our occupation makes up who we are.  But I do believe in the power of human connection, and the burning desire that many of us have to serve others and uncover our purpose in this world. 

Of course,

19. Entering the job scene in a new place means adjusting to a whole new culture.

Before I was employed in Boston, I was just an outsider looking in to a bubble and visiting occasionally.  Now I was an outsider attempting to live, breathe, function, and adjust to life inside this bubble.  And not only did I have one scene to adjust to; I had two...two completely different scenes, in fact.  There was the fast-paced, vibrant, and colorful scene at the coffee shop that came with a lot of quick-witted, back-and-forth banter, as well as memorization of sandwich orders, customer’s names/personalities, and routine procedures.  And there was the more steady-paced (with the occasional chaotic moment) classroom scene that linked me to a handful of Boston’s quirky, hilarious, hormonal, diverse, chatty, intelligent, stubborn, determined, unique, creative…youthful individuals.  Both have come with challenges. 

Biggest challenge of the coffee shop: The fast pace that all of the tasks require. 

Once you see all of the cogs at work behind the scenes, it is evident that a pretty amazing thing has grown from the seeds the owners planted five years ago or so when they opened this little coffee shop.  With that being said, it takes every cog doing their part and moving at the appropriate speed to complete the tasks at hand.  For instance, a lot is done by hand every day.  Basil is plucked, lemons are squeezed, meat and cheese are sliced, portioned, and bundled.  At a lot of other places basil would come in a spice container, lemon-juice would be bought, and turkey would come pre-sliced in a package.  But to this particular coffee shop, the quality and the source of the food is much more important than convenience, and in order to maintain this, they need every cog pulling his or her weight.  Not to mention, as a newbie from another part of the country I’ve also had to adjust to the Bostonian dynamic that can only be summed up with two words that are often articulated by customers in a hurry, or who just don’t want to say more to you than this: “Laage [large] daak [dark roast coffee]”.

Biggest challenge of substituting: Adjusting to the climate of each school and each classroom on the spot.  Sometimes I don’t have more than an hour and a half to prepare for my day of subbing.  This can be a thrill, but it can also be a little unnerving—especially since I’m uncovering the ins and outs of a completely new (to me ) district located in a completely new state, located in a completely new area of the country.  Never mind that I’m generally placed in a completely new classroom every time. 

Whew.  It’s definitely been a lot to adjust to.

But of course Aaron has been there through it all, juggling and adjusting right along beside me, and lending a stable shoulder, hand, arm or elbow when things get a little shaky.  It has been wonderful having each other there for balance and stability as we both figure out how to walk on our own two feet in this place.

Stay tuned for tales of fire-fighting and mountain climbing...

My Hiatus

Alright.  Time for a heart-to-heart.  Why am I just now publishing a post from December (which, truthfully, was slowly plunked out between October and December)?  And, while we’re at it, what was the deal with this long blogging hiatus??

Okay, reason:

Those several months that I stopped blogging?  They were tough…and it’s not quite as fun sharing the tough stuff.  It’s easy to share the adventures, the mishaps, the joys and excitement...  Admitting that times are tough?  Well, that’s tough in itself.  What made them tough??  Let me fill you in…

15. Transitions aren’t easy.   

Maybe they are easier for some people over others, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s this: Even the most spontaneous and transient individuals struggle with change.  Honestly, I think it is part of the human condition.  I mean, I love adventures; I enjoy tackling new challenges—but through every transition in my life, it seems there is a little bit of a turbulent period in there somewhere.  And until the next transition point, I always seem to forget this about myself…Why??   

So, in the very beginning of this adventure, things were kind of one exciting blur.  But once we began to settle in to this life in Boston, several real truths confronted me head on:

a.)    I did not have a job 

This lasted for around two months.  Looking back, this doesn’t seem like a very long stint of time—but let me tell you, it was long enough for me. Of course Aaron spent his days at work, which meant, for about two months, I spent my days alone. In the beginning, this felt great.  I mean, WHAT a deal!  I had the freedom (and time) to do whatever I wanted in this new city...So I spent a good majority of my days job searching, fixing up the apartment, studying for my MTEL exams (for MA teaching licensure), and doing some exploring. But as time passed, job searching became fairly discouraging, the apartment reached a fairly fixed up stage--and let’s just say, with slim-to-none social contact during the day, I began to feel pretty lonely.  And this really started to wear on me—which I actually had a hard time reckoning with.  ‘Why can’t I just enjoy this period of freedom?’ I reprimanded myself.  ‘Do I really need a job to feel happy…to feel like I have purpose??’  What I didn’t realize at the time was this: It wasn’t necessarily the lack of a job that was really leaving me feeling empty.  It was the lack of community.  The fact of the matter was 

b.)    We knew VERY FEW people here. 

Throughout this period, this truth kept hitting me like a ton of bricks.  I think the scariest part was, if we didn’t put forth an effort, we would continue to know very few people here.  Turns out this whole “finding a niche”-in-a-new place thing is a lot harder—and a lot slower of a process— than ever imagined.  I was forced to revisit the scary question of my freshman year in college, that stark question that accompanies “starting over” scenarios: ‘How do I make friends, again?’  Not an easy question for people who have recently left stable, familiar, broken-in, friend-and family-saturated environments.  In college you are surrounded by people your own age and are practically forced to see them day in and day out through classes, events, sports…Reality check: That doesn’t happen in the outside world.  You really have to work to meet people.

I knew the first step was just getting out into the community.  The problem was, I was losing my motivation—my motivation to job search, to meet people, to get to know the area.  Some days it was a struggle to even get myself out of the house—even though that was what I needed most.  And the kicker: I was angry with myself for being in this slump.  Nothing like being in a slump and beating yourself up for it... 
 
All of this hadn’t really bothered me before, I mean, Aaron and I had each other—wasn’t that enough?  At least for now while we were getting settled??  Don’t get me wrong, I always enjoyed my night and weekend time with Aaron—but, after a while, I began to dread the point when he would leave for work and I was left to face the day alone.  Once this began having an effect on my day-to-day emotions, I knew something needed to change. 

First change:  I needed to take control of those reins of life—instead of letting them control me.  I held the key to my own happiness.
Second?  Have confidence.  I could do this.  I was capable.  I had a lot to offer Boston—so WATCH OUT blunt, bean-eating people.  HERE I COME!!!
Third: Recognize that I was not alone.  There were others out there who had been unemployed way longer than I had been—and some of them trying to feed a family.  There were others out there trying to carve niches for themselves in a brand new place just like I was.  And even if I didn’t have a close network of friends surrounding me in Boston, there were all sorts of people around the United States—and beyond—who cared about me, and who were willing to offer me advice and support.  And of course I had Aaron by my side.  We were jumping into this crazy thing together.
Fourth: Take note of all of the wonderful things that surround me in my life.  For one thing, I had an amazing fresh start at my finger tips.  The possibilities were endless!
Fifth: Stop punishing myself for feeling down.  It was okay for me to feel sad sometimes.  It was okay for me to miss my friends.  This was a natural part of the transition.  Ironically, I think allowing myself the occasional sadness increased my overall moral. 
But with that being said…
Sixth: Limit the amount of time I felt sorry for myself
One day when I was down-and-out, Aaron reminded me of a piece of advice offered in the book Tuesdays With Morrie. In this book, author Mitch Albom tells of moments spent with his friend Morrie in the final days of his life—a time in which Morrie beautifully shares life lessons learned throughout his days.  In one particular instance, Morrie tells Mitch he gives himself 15 minutes a day to feel sorry for himself—just enough time to realize that this act doesn’t do him a whole lot of good. 
Upon testing this out, I found that this made a lot more room for moving forward with my life.
Seventh: Utilize this time as an opportunity to grow
Though Aaron and I came to Boston together, we were still our own people with our own individual needs.  And even though we had each other, we both needed an “outside world” (a world outside our relationship) just as much as any other person.  In fact, I think one of the biggest conclusions that I have come to upon being out here is this:

16.  We are better able to grow in our relationships with others when we provide ourselves with outlets to grow as individuals


With all of these goals in mind, I forged ahead... 

And would you believe it?  When I started to look up, slowly but surely, so did life.

On that note, I leave you with this:

17. Dropping an oscillating fan into a full litter box leads to an exciting series of events.

The Lost Post

Upon reading this, keep in mind that I wrote it around December 14, 2011, but just never published.  Why?  I'll explain in the next post...

I know, I know…I’ve been gone for a while.  I’ll just say this: It’s amazing how quickly life can get ahead of you.  Good thing is, I’m back—and ready to share more lessons learned in Boston.

12.  Want an adventure in Boston?  Go to Target.

 

Let me explain:

Earlier in my blog I spoke of our first visit to Target not long after our arrival from Nebraska.  This was Target adventure #1.  Target adventure #2 happened soon after Aaron and I moved into our apartment.  Upon moving in, we soon realized that we needed storage and organizational devices…stat.  Target seemed to be the answer.  Since our initial Target visit had been in Braintree, and we were now living in Mission Hill, we needed to find one closer to the heart of the city (as well as one that was fairly accessible by public transportation, since Aaron’s car was wearing the doughnut at this point…).  Well, turns out there aren’t many Targets in Boston.  In fact, without a car, the closest one requires a subway line change, as well as about an 8-minute walk.  So just in travel alone, we found this to be about an 80 minute operation.  The good thing was, once we got there we realized, not only was there a Target in this shopping district, but there was also a Best Buy, a Bed Bath and Beyond, and a Home Depot.  Now, I am all for supporting the little guy, but it was really nice to stumble across an area where we could get things taken care of in one fell swoop.

       

Keep in mind, this particular Target visit took place at the beginning of the college school year.  And remember when I talked about how crazy it was when we moved in with all of the college kids?  Yeah…it was just about as crazy inside this Target.  Description: clothes strewn, kitchen items in places they shouldn’t be, shelves once full of home décor and organizational mechanisms--now empty.  At least the workers were having fun.  A snippet of a conversation we overheard between some coworkers:

Worker #1- “Hey man, what if you changed your name to G. Vanni.  Like a rapper name.  You know, like, G. Vanni….??”

Worker #2- “No man, then you might as well say my whole name, Giovanni”

Worker #1- “Or what about a hyphen in the middle: Gio-vanni…?  Or just Gio??”

Then there was the part when Aaron and I decided that we were super hungry and there was no way we were going to be able to wait to eat until we got home since it was already getting late…

I knew exactly what I wanted from the little Target food stand: a soft pretzel and a yogurt parfait.  Had my heart set on it, in fact…Well, Aaron went up to get our food while I watched our stuff.  Disappointedly, he came back empty handed.  He reported back that they had been out of just about everything in the kitchen.  In fact, the guy at the register had been so nonchalant about it all that Aaron actually had a hard time believing him at first.  But after the cashier even pulled out the pretzels from the display case to show him that they weren’t edible, Aaron was assured (apparently this cashier even told Aaron a story about how a new worker accidently sold a display pretzel to a customer, who ended up leaving a bite mark in the plastic display).  Bummer.  Guess it just wasn’t a soft pretzel and yogurt parfait kinda’ night… 

As we made the hike back to the subway station through a sketchy area with backpacks and shopping bags full home materials (after taking a wrong turn, I might add), I couldn’t help but add a tally to our list of crazy Bostonian experiences.

And this wasn’t the last of our wild trips to this shopping area.  Two others involved pouring rain, missing a bus, and drenching ourselves and our bags of stuff on the walk back to the subway station.

13. Sometimes the things that take the most time and effort are also the things that bring us together.

Aaron and I began to find joy in daily time-consuming tasks such as cooking and doing the dishes.  Now, keep in mind, in this apartment our dishwasher runs on man-power, and our kitchen/oven/fridge are pretty much “fun-sized”, so this whole process is far from convenient, and I can disclose with full honesty that every dish-washing experience has not been speckled with rainbows and bunny-fluff…Yet, there is something about working with another to complete a task in a small confined space under less than desirable conditions that leads to a sense of togetherness.  I could get into this topic farther in a discussion about how I think everybody would be better off if we all went back to churning butter and tending to our own gardens—but I may save that for a later post…

Doing dishes and cooking together basically became a time for us to decompress, vent, share about our     days, hold serious and non-serious conversations, goof around, and/or dance around our tiny kitchen together.  Not to mention, we have had a pretty great time experimenting with different recipes and ingredients.  Whether attempting a legendary heirloom family recipe or envisioning up our own dishes, we have produced some pretty knock-out meals (and some that aren’t so knock-out, but this is part of the learning process, right?).  Both of us dream of a day when people from near and far come to sample our famous food and drink items.  For now, through, we’re just working on getting through the dinner and dishes process in a timely manner (like, before 9pm), and not setting off the fire alarm in our entry-way.  In time, in time…     

14. Look up the hours of a laundry-mat before hiking the half mile with four bags of laundry in the rain

So…when we first moved in to our apartment the laundry-room that existed underneath our apartment complex could be described as an extremely musty and sketchy room that could serve a dual purpose as a dungeon.  Therefore, Aaron and I decided that it would be a good idea for us to search elsewhere for our laundry needs.  Luckily, a Laundromat happened to be located right down the street—or at least it seemed to be located right down the street from what we could remember.  Well, we had put off laundry to the point when we were getting pretty desperate (yes, I had just about used up my last-resort underwear…), when finally we just decided to “get ‘er done”.  Of course we made this decision at a less than ideal time…after dark, while it’s raining—but desperate times call for desperate measures.  We were goin for it.

I remember asking Aaron before we left our apartment with hands filled with heavy laundry bags, if the Laundromat was still open. “Oh yeah”, he had replied. 

Famous last words…

After trudging down the street (about an 800 meter stretch), lugging our full bags of dirty clothing items through the splattering rain, we finally arrived at our destination—only to have our hopes crashed to the ground with the words, “We’re closed”.  Since we had enjoyed the trip to the Laundromat so much, we got to do it all over again—with not a single piece of clean clothes to show for it.  You can bet Aaron was given a little grief for that one—though, I guess we both could have done better research…At least now we know: 8pm laundry deadline.

When Life Gives You Muck...

As I mentioned in my last post, upon moving in we had quite a bit of work cut out for us.  I remember going to bed the night we moved in and thinking: ‘Are we ever going to get this place put together??’  Well, after giving ourselves a day to refresh and sightsee with Aaron’s dad, we grit our teeth—and dove in.  Then, little by little, like a 1,000 piece jigsaw, we began piecing this crazy puzzle together. 

I’ll pick back up where I left off in a minute.  First, to introduce you to somebody…His name is Einstein.  He is Aaron’s cat.  I can’t totally call him mine, but I will claim him as my step-cat.  Let me provide you with a little profile of this guy...

Color: Black with white paws and a white belly (like he’s wearing a tux) 

Traits: Smart (sometimes), mischievous (especially when he has his crazy eyes on)

Likes: Eating plants, having his belly rubbed, bunny-kicking his stuffed mouse, sitting on oddly shaped items, and being within a foot of you at all times.

I call this his owl position

Dislikes: Traveling, getting squirted with the squirt bottle (when he eats plants)

Even though he did totally devour the flowers I brought home from the farmer’s market this past Friday, and he once knocked the cord out of my computer while I was typing some really important job stuff, I can’t help but love the little guy.  Since I am still on the job hunt, it has just been Einstein and me manning down the fort at home. Therefore, we keep each other company during the day while Aaron is at work.  In fact, since he has kind of become my lazy motivator I like to call him my “Mews”.  Yes, I know it’s cheesy…but also clever, you have to admit. 

Alright.  Picking up where we left off.

10. When starting over, any tiny bit of progress is worth celebrating.

First meal in the apartment.

Before

One of the trickiest things was just figuring out how to move our stuff into place when there just wasn’t that much space to begin with.  Boxes were stored on and under the dining room table, on the deck, in the closets—just to get them out of the way.  Slowly but surely, though, we began to see signs of progress.  The succession kind of happened like this: The family room was the first to get put in place, just to have somewhere to sit down—oh, and so we actually had a place to eat.  Next, the kitchen—make-shift self-assembled pantry and all.  Then, after one weekend of hard work and lots of brainstorming on space-saving techniques, our bedroom came together.  Finally, after a productive few afternoons and a cleaning frenzy-Saturday, we could actually eat at our dining room table, and just about every box that once cluttered our apartment was unpacked.  I can’t even explain to you how good this felt. 

After

Of course life’s little victories have also manifested themselves in other ways.  For instance, in obtaining a residency parking permit.  Who knew receiving this coveted sticker and placing it on our car (in the correct location) would end up feeling like we had just climbed Mount Everest.  This brings me to number 11…

11. Moving to Boston in the next year?  Work on getting your parking permit now.

Oye…Just thinking about this whole process all over again gives me a headache.  Let me explain.  So, in order to park on the streets in Boston, you have to obtain a parking permit for your neighborhood.  Sounds easy, right?  Waaay wrong.  Of course before obtaining this permit, one must also do A, B, C, and D.  But before doing A, one must also do a.) and b.) and receive x form and bring this to B, also bearing in mind that one can only do C after doing B, and the locations at which one brings forms B and C close at an hour that is inconvenient to any person who has a job—oh and you only have 7 days to complete D after completing A.  Meanwhile, you are receiving $40 parking ticket after $40 parking ticket because they’ve made it so difficult to obtain that stupid sticker.

Aaron playing the Blues on

his harmonica during our trying times. 

Now, I know you’re asking…“Oh, but, Elise, what if you get a flat tire throughout this whole process and can’t move your car right away?  What if you get your residency sticker and celebrate because you think you’ve defeated all odds, but then accidently put your sticker on the wrong window?  And, for goodness sakes, what if you if you happen to forget that there is street cleaning on the third Monday of the month...??”  Well, let me tell you the answer to all three of these questions: You get ticketed.  Oh except in the case of the street cleaning, your car gets towed and you get ticketed.  Don’t worry; we’ve tested out all three of these scenarios for you—just in case there were any doubts...

 Wow.  I’m sitting here in the beautiful Boston Public library rereading what I just wrote, and I’ve just got to say: despite all set-backs, I think we have come a long way in a short amount of time.  I mean, it seems like only yesterday that we were just realizing (in horror, after already receiving two of what would be eight total tickets) that we still had steps A, B,C, and D to go through before we were able to obtain that glorious residency sticker (we didn’t even know about sub-steps a.) and b.) yet)…It feels like just yesterday that I was resorting to parking in the Stop and Shop parking lot despite the warning that ‘THESE LOTS ARE CLOSELY MONITORED’ so I best not park there for more than 50 MINUTES...And it seems like yesterday that mounds of boxes stared us in the face throughout our apartment.  Though I am glad to have all of that muck behind us, I will say, all that muck does make you appreciate all the un-muckiness that much more.  I don’t think I will ever forget how accomplished we felt when a spunky Hispanic woman placed that  Massachusetts license plate in our hands, or how we were driven to giddy celebration at a nearby Irish pub after receiving our residency sticker.  I can tell you one thing: I will never under-appreciate a parking spot again. 

Oh, and what do you do when life gives you muck??  I say squish it between your toes.

Move-in Mahem

Alright.  Before I continue, I probably need to clear one thing up...

Aaron reminded me upon reading the last post, that, The Teriyaki Incident of 2011 actually occurred during a hand-off exchange between the fridge and the counter.  Being on the other end of this exchange, I may have had a hand in this incident.  So, just to get things straightened out, I may not be completely free from accusation--though I do not take full blame.  Don’t worry, you won’t find us on Judge Judy any time soon…

Anyway, I have a lot to fill you in on, so let’s jump right in. 

6. Beginning of September move-in is a zoo in Boston.

After doing our time in Braintree we were set to move-in to our apartment in Roxbury Crossing come Friday, September 2^nd.  We had the keys, movers were hired, Penske truck and Aaron’s car were loaded and ready to go.  Bright and early we said farewell to our Braintree hotel and caravanned over to the apartment. 

We had witnessed the zoo-like madness that was ensuing in our neighborhood the day before when we had come over to get our keys from the realtors.  To paint a little picture: The turn-over for most apartment complexes in Boston occurs on the first of every month.  Since the Boston area is home to over 100 colleges and universities, the beginning of September is the craziest…Aand of course we just happened to be moving into an area in which we would be surrounded by students from Northeastern, Mass Art, Boston College…So picture narrow streets (that are crowded on a normal basis) crammed with moving trucks, parent and student cars, as well as the cars of your long-time residents.  Now picture movers, parents, and students moving in and out of tiny apartments with boxes, lamps, tables, chairs, stereos at the same time as other movers, parents, and students are moving in and out of tiny apartments with boxes, lamps, tables, chairs, and stereos…Finally, picture a hobo’s paradise: perfectly good dressers, lamps, speakers, Tupperware, shoes, hangers--just about any random item you could ever want or need—piling up out on the curbs for trash and recycling pick-up.  It was nuts.  At least we had received a taste of it all a day ahead of time so we knew what we were getting ourselves into...Or did we??  (Duh duh duh...)      

One thing I must mention is the state of our apartment when we showed up that Friday morning…When we had peeked in the day before (around 5:30 pm or so), our realty company was just beginning to do some cleaning.  Great that they were cleaning.  Not so great that it was 5:30pm, the evening before we were suppose to move in, and it looked like a pig sty: dirty walls and counters, stuff still left in cupboards and closets…We hoped for the best and prayed that these cleaners would work some extreme magic. 

7. Upon hurriedly exiting an apartment, apparently it’s okay to leave things in complete filth and disarray.    

   Well, when we showed up at 6 or so AM that Friday morning, it was still a sty.  Yes, it was evident they had done some cleaning—but it was also evident that we had more work ahead of us than we had ever dreamed.  As I did a walk-through inspection, and documented the mess in pictures, my heart sank deep into my chest.  Cupboards: full of half-used boxes of food and ingredients.  Drawers still full of dishes and utensils.Fridge: extremely gross.  Still full of leftovers, wilted produce, used condiments, beer.  Possibly blood from raw meat dried and incrusted on the bottom?  (I still shutter at the thought of this image…) Stove and oven: rusted, food and grease splatters from the dark ages.  Counters: evidently used to open beer bottles, home to food in plastic bags and stacked dishes that were thoughtfully left by the cleaners for us to sort through.  Closets: orphan hangers, as well as abandoned cleaning supplies, paper towels, plastic cups, and toilet paper.  Back porch: beer bottles scattered everywhere, along with other random pieces of junk.  Oh and there were also the  maintenance issues, such as: the fist-sized hole in the entry way closet door, snagged carpet that bares nails underneath, cracked kitchen tiles, crumbling walls, baseboard heating in which the baseboard had pulled itself away from the wall…

 
I could have cried.

Aaron’s dad and I knew Aaron wasn’t going to be able to help us out much that day because, being a Friday, he had to work.  We also knew the movers wouldn’t be coming until around 5, due to the high number of people moving.  But this didn’t keep Aaron’s dad and me from tackling the apartment bright and early that morning…It was tough figuring out where to start, but as soon as Aaron left for work, his dad and I dug in. 

As his dad began cleaning off the porch and bringing in boxes, I began cleaning inside.  I knew I was going to have my work cut out for me that day, but I had no I idea how extensive a cleaning task I was taking on right then and there.  Vacuuming the floors and the heating vents was enough to gross anybody out.  Then there was the kitchen.  As you already are aware, it was pretty disgusting--and it became my nemesis that whole entire day.  One thing I did learn for certain through this process:

8. I hate putting up shelf paper. 

I’m not good at it.  The whole process makes me edgy and frustrated, and it never turns out how I want it to.  Out of all of my least favorite things to do in the world, I’ve decided this is a big one on the charts.  I hate it.  Thanks for letting me get that out there...

       
Oh and also,

9. Grease has a way of caking itself to places you would never expect in a kitchen.

Like…the top of the cabinets above the stove.  Who knew?  And who knew it would be SO TOUGH to remove!?  I didn’t…until I worked up a sweat after 45 minutes of elbow-greasing it.

 All in all, I’d say Aaron’s dad and I were a pretty good team that day.  I mean, we covered a pretty vast chunk of ground.  By the time Aaron got home (lucky guy), about half of the boxes from the truck were in the family room, the porch was clean, the floors and vents and baseboards were vacuumed, the old food had been thrown out, the fridge and freezer were clean emptied and spotless, the stove was coming along, and just about all the counters, cupboards, shelves, and drawers in the kitchen had been gutted and cleaned out.  It was a start.

From there, things picked up pretty quickly.  Once Aaron arrived, the movers arrived not long after, and no later than an hour and a half after the movers had arrived, they were gone.  Finally, we were able to stop, take a drink of water, and take a look at our apartment.  Everything that had once been 3D puzzle-pieced into our Penske truck was now surrounding us in our family/dining room.  Not going to lie, it was a little bit of an overwhelming feeling.  One hurtle down, the next stared us in the face.  One thing we knew for sure: it was going to be like a game of Tetris trying to figure out where to start in on those boxes. 

First step, we figured, would just be to clear enough space for us to sleep for the night.