Daily Stats: New York, NY to Pittsburgh, PA (6/29)

Miles travelled: 376 mi.

Major roads travelled: I-76, I-81

Destination fact learned: Pittsburgh is the City of Bridges. The city is ranked third in the world for having the most bridges within city limits after Hamburg and Amsterdam.

Funny lines of the day:

“Our car is too heavy! Our car is too heavy!! We won’t be able to get up the hills in San Francisco!!!” ~ Jenny

“Well, we can dump stuff along the way ...” ~ Ann

Shout Outs:

-Matt, Steph, and Will--you have the most fabulous apartment in New York City! Thank you for letting us spend our final night in New York with you!

-A BIG thanks to Kar-mun and Steve, Virginia and Marc, and Chris. The GPS is amazing. It has saved us many times already.

-This leg of the trip was sponsored by Lauren Dunseath (NYT crossword extraordinaire) and fabulous Fritz (cutest bunny in the world). We give 5 stars to the LD Hotel for its all inclusive package: turned down sheets, bedtime stories, and breakfast banana pancakes.

Link to Photos:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=451186&id=737260531&l=02d6738adb

Monday morning junkluggers

The sound of a mosquito's ominous hum magnified a hundredfold awoke me from my deep slumber on Monday morning. It had been a late night of packing, the final push before moving day, and I had collapsed on my sister's bed. Slowly coming to my senses despite the nasal drone of our door buzzer, I mutter, "Who is that?" Immediately panic forces my eyes completely open and I sit upright, "The junkluggers are here!"

Buzzzzz. Buzzzzzz. Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Now Jenny is frantic, and the two of us are scrambling like ants trying to find clean clothes amidst the sea of boxes, some taped closed, others overflowing with their contents--clearly NOT ready to be moved. (Thankfully, the movers were scheduled to come later that day.) Thirty seconds later, during which time I've found more dirty expletives to use than I normally do in a year, I'm running to the door, traces of drool still on my face, my uncombed wild woman hair flying every which way.

Our junkerluggers, two young lanky looking people in their late 20s, one guy and one girl, puzzled me. They appeared so ... normal. Granted, they were much taller than me, but I had expected a team of brawny strapping men with bulging biceps to arrive and muscle the massive couch in our living room down the four flights of stairs of our elevator-less apartment. Maybe these were the greeters and the real luggers were still downstairs?? Dressed in bright green t-shirts with their company logo, junkluggers.com, they looked more like Geek Squad than gladiator.

The bearded quiet guy politely asked which things we wanted them to make disappear. Jenny listed our unwanted furniture, all too flimsy or too old to be wanted by anyone in their right mind. And then, before our very eyes, these two very nice and very normal people started hauling off a twin-size mattress and box spring with the same ease and casualness as I would a music stand. Was I really awake?

I glanced at Jenny and said out loud, "Could we have moved all this stuff ourselves and saved some money?" Then I looked out the door at the four flights of stairs. Nope. Not a chance.

* * * * *

Two beds, a desk, and kitchen table later, the guy asks, "So, where are you going?"

"San Francisco."

"Oh," he looks at me knowingly, "I did that a while back."

Immediately I perk up. (By this time I have washed my face and combed my hair and am able to make small talk.) "How was that? Why did you come back here?"

"Well," says he, "I ran out of money and after being homeless for six months I got tired of that and came back."

Strangely enough, he was the second person I had met within a 24-hour period who had migrated west to California and migrated right back to New York after disillusionment--our lugger with homelessness, our waitress from the night before with the night life.

I have no illusions of being homeless or a party animal--they just aren't my particular cup of tea--so I continue to move forward.

Often asked question

Question: What will you miss most about New York City?

Answer: Hmmm ... that’s a hard one. But I would have to say the Manhattan skyline.

Manhattan has been compelled to expand skyward because of the absence of any other direction in which to grow. This, more than any other thing, is responsible for its physical majesty. It is to the nation what the white church spire is to the village--the visible symbol of aspiration and faith, the white plume saying that the way is up. The summer traveler swings in over Hell Gate Bridge and from the window of his sleeping car as it glides above the pigeon lofts and backyards of Queens looks southwest to where the morning light first strikes the steel peaks of midtown, and he sees its upward thrust unmistakable: the great walls and towers rising, the smoke rising, the heat not yet rising, the hopes and ferments of so many awakening millions rising--this vigorous spear that presses heaven hard.

--E. B. White, Here Is New York

Photo of Manhattan skyline taken at 12:25 pm on 9 December 2009 while riding the Q24 bus on the BQE (Brooklyn-Queens Expressway).

A mild ache

During the past week, I find myself growing more reflective and nostalgic over the past 3 years in New York. I replay certain clips in my head of past moments. Meeting friends for the first time. Discovering tango. Working late nights with co-workers. Sharing a feast at a new restaurant. Walking briskly down streets or across long avenues. I never expected the move to San Francisco to provoke such thoughts of the past. I expected the move to push me to think ahead, to want to start afresh, and to leave what is behind so that I would feel...lighter. I did not plan for the difficulty of actually letting go of the weight of this city, defined so much by the wonderful people I have grown to love here. More often than not, the lows I have experienced have accompanied such highs. Stress at work has brought camaraderie among teammates. Prior relationships have held as many memories of pure joy as there have been hurt and misunderstanding. Chaos and bustle of nightlife have resurfaced as silly stories, often prompting loud laughter, the next morning. When I look at the big picture of what/who I am leaving, I hesitate to drop anything.

A mild ache sets in.

I wonder if I should be somewhere other than where I am.

I try not to think about it too much because such thoughts just delay the packing process and I have only a day left to finish before the moving company gets here. I always get a second wind of motivation when Ann is around. Her positivity and excitement of what lies ahead makes me feel braver to keep looking forward...to have faith that over time, San Francisco will become as dear to me as the one in my soon-to-be past.

Making progress with my room

25 June 2010: Jenny is very happy with me.

24 June 2010: Jenny is not very happy with me. But I seem to be doing just fine.

To keep or not to keep

To keep or not too keep ... that is the question I've been asking myself constantly these last few days. How many times have I said to myself in the past, "Let me hold on to this. It may come in handy some day"? And yes it may, but it also may not. And given the number of times I choose to hold on to something, probability says that I will not use most of what I save. Except when it comes to letters from friends or other sentimental objects. These items represent memories of bygone times, perhaps of a dear friend, or even a different self. As I was sifting through one of my letter boxes today, I found comics drawn by a friend of mine who passed away a couple of years ago from leukemia. All of a sudden, I was in fourth grade, sitting next to Ann Metz in our social studies class, covertly folding a note to slip in her desk. We had pseudonyms when addressing our missives--she was the "Ark," and I was the "Dove." Would I have had that precious moment of remembrance, had I not saved her letters? Life goes by too fast as it is--one barely has time to process the events of any given day, let alone periods of one's life in retrospect.

A little life pruning has its benefits. Discard the clothes, shoes, bags, and humidifier. (I can get a fondue pot again in California if I really need it.) Hold on to and revisit the memories. They will remind you where you have come from. Without remembering the joys, trials, and tribulations on a journey, how can one learn or take pleasure from the experience?

Packing, packing, packing

Packing, packing, packing. Jenny is on me constantly about packing up as much of my stuff as I can in the next two days. Even though the movers come to pick up our things on Monday, we have much to do besides packing this weekend. Interspersed between spewing spurts of packing tape and bubble wrap--which is quickly taking over our apartment--I am shuttling to Manhattan to see friends for last meals together, running to Beacon's Closet to drop off parts of me that I have decided to leave behind (my two-sizes-too-small pastel blue capri pants, a cute red purse in the shape of an upside down hatchet head, etc. etc.), arranging lodging plans with kind friends across the country willing to take pity on two New York nomads traveling to San Francisco, and practicing for a performance on Sunday. On Saturday, I'm off to Greenwich, Connecticut, to see my dear friend Christine--the first person I met when I arrived in New York six-and-a-half years ago--get married. How fitting it is that she will be one of the last people I see off before I leave!

Yes, much to pack before this weekend ...