Moving Day

Yesterday I moved.  I did it without fanfare, anxiety, or anticipation.  I just did it.  I made the call to Humboldt Moving and Storage who have steadfastly supported me throughout this quest.  I packed my boxes in-between the dozens of events I’ve had over the last few weeks.  Tossed the clothes, donated the books, re-gifted, re-cycled, re-peated all the things required of someone moving, for the 8th time in 10 years.  It no longer feels special.  It feels mechanical.  Even the hunt, which has always been one of my most favorite activities – seems less exciting.

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It’s a wrap.

Is it the fact that there are so few properties on the market?  Is it the fact that the stocks are being batted around like a ping pong ball being hit by a pale blue Tiffany Paddle (it’s true – they have these – I just saw it advertised for the person who has everything – good golly!  If I was gifted such a thing I’d feel compelled to encase it in a lucite frame and design a room around it.  Suffice it to say, that I am not in danger of having this happen, and you are not in danger of having to witness it.)

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See…there they are in all their Tiffany Blue glory.

So what is dampening my enthusiasm?  Number 5 should feel like a milestone – half way to my quest.  Is it that I am not half way to my financial goal of $1M.  I say this and fail to scowl as I envision Mike Meyers with his pinkie finger poised at the corner of his mouth….one million dollars – as if that were a lot of money.  But it is a lot of money to me, and I imagine to many of you, and that does make me smile.  Am I making more money for the people associated with the process than I am making for myself?  Is the only way to do this, to do it on the cheap.  I rail against that realism, and steadfastly refuse.  I am interested in design.  I want to create beautiful spaces.  I believe that the beauty of them is not skin deep, that proper wiring, sound structure, solid doors, and working plumbing are all beautiful – even though, like a problem child, they are only given any attention when they are acting up.  I know, and work hard to leave what lies below, better than when I found it.  This costs money.  I wouldn’t want to do it any other way.

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Adios pretty pastel kitchen.

This is an important time.  I have four months to find a place or I’ll be forced to rent.  Four months of living out of a suitcase, and by the kindness of friends.  Four months to figure out if a need to move into another that I own, invest in a rental with friends, find a suburban property that I can flip for the cameras.  It’s a lot to consider, and I have never before had to consider so many options without a clear answer.

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Sayonara!

Advise welcome.  Happy Sunday.

Santa Baby: All I ever wanted

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The Lucas . Shawmut Ave. Boston

I would take a sable under the tree, that would most definitely please me.  A duplex and checks – I’ll take it with two decks, and with a majority share in Tyvek, because what the heck, I wasn’t born yesterday.  Santa Baby, hurry down the chimney to me.  Eartha Kitt and Henri René sang this timeless classic for the first time in NYC in the summer, ironically, of 1953.  Her timeless crooning in her low sultry voice makes her requests for a platinum mine, a 1954 convertible light blue, and a ring – not on the phone – totally acceptable, and somehow, feasible.

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The Airstream . Globetrotter.  A Glamper.

It got me to thinking about what my own outrageous list might include, and decided I should put it out there – just in case Santa was curious.  After all, I’ve been an awfully good girl.  Santa Baby – slip the deed to a two bedroom condo at the Lucas under my tree.

I’ll take an Areostream for all my “Glamping” adventures.  An Eclipse 550 because commercial airline travel is …. disrespectful!  I’ll take a Goyard Travel Trunk too – in blue, because you simply can’t land on the tarmac with duffle bag in toe.

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Godard Travel Trunks.  Oh la, la.

A yard of diamonds from Tiffany, a bottle of Clive Christiansen “X” perfume, A Pied a Terre on the Left Bank, a driver, and a maid – she need not be live in, but she must do windows.

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Tiffany . Elsa Peretti Yard of Diamonds

Santa Baby, I forgot one little thing – a Renoir with the authentication papers – a girl needs a little extra security to ride those volatile economic times.

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Clive Christenson . “X” .  A heavenly scent and I’ve been an angel all year….

May the magic of the season infect you with a childlike wonder and belief.