Home Sweet Home

I write to you today, on day 2 of our Boston-new-life transition, from 'my' local coffee/home made ice-cream shop (brilliant combo in Jennifer's book of great life pairings), JP Licks (www.jplicks.com). I walked here, from our apartment. I am sipping iced coffee and anticipating my first day on the job. I am in heaven and it seems that we are officially home. This feels great. But these are not the reasons why I feel that we are home-sweet-home, no, you must read on.

As many of you know, I am a faller. Meaning, I fall down. Often. Unexpectedly. Up stairs, and down stairs. On rough roads, and on smooth roads. Where there is debris, and where there are miles and miles of nothing-ness. I will, I have, and I do, fall down. In fact I fall down so regularly that my old friends know not to give it a second thought when I stumble, tumble and get back up without dropping a beat in our riveting conversation. I also warn new friends of this tendency because invariably we will be walking (to get coffee, a greeting card, wine, whatever suits ones fancy) and I will stumble, tumble and fall down. In the past these sweet, naïve new friends, who have no idea that I am a faller, go out of their way to try to catch me or keep me from falling….which all too often ends in my taking them down with me. My warning to my new friends usually includes awareness building of my potential to fall (and I try to do this PRIOR to my first tumble, but sometimes during), and I also let them know that I am not embarrassed to fall down (that ended years ago when I would stumble while on a date, or on stage during a performance), so they shouldn’t be either. Can you see where this is going?
After returning home from a productive shopping trip (think cleaning supplies, window dressings and cat bed) I eagerly carried our bags into the house. I love this part of moving in…new sponges, shower curtains, dish racks and curtains! As I brought in the second trip of bags, daydreaming about the newly purchased roman shades in a gold and burgundy striped pattern, I tripped up the porch steps. With a wild swing of bag filled arms (without dropping a single sponge) and a giant lurch forward, it seemed I would catch myself. Whew. Then, a millisecond later, I realized I that my wild arm swinging and lurching had actually increased my propulsion toward the ground (force times mass…I hate physics). I hit the porch hard, and that handy, rough door mat was like sliding into home (pun intended) on a pad of steel-wool…on my knees. Well, knee to be precise (I always like things to be correct and precision is an essential element to correctness). My left knee took the brunt of the fall leaving me with a wound that looks like I shaved with a rusty, sharpened brillo pad. I am bruised in other places and have a weird scrape on my right bicep…in the fall I believe that I fell onto the boxed shower head. I guess this is the case only because the box is decimated (again force times mass) and was carried under my right arm.

So, I have fallen in my new city, and I think, this means we are home.

Post Script: note to the reader: Picture of injured knee is no where near as gross as the knee actually looks. For the first time ever I am relieved that my BlackBerry doesn't take super clear pics!