his time in the afternoon last week, I had waved goodbye to my stuff and finished tidying up in the hermitage that had been my home for nearly a decade, in the neighborhood I lived in for nearly 15 years, in the town I moved to in 1979 from New York City. And writing that run-on sentence helps me understand why I'm feeling both exhausted and elated.My trip was not without adventure. Not even four miles out of Princeton I had to pull over to because water from the betta's bowl had sloshed onto Mr. Oatmeal. I stopped to mop him off and relocate the betta who was pitching a fish fit.
But the real fun began when I blew out a rear tire on I-95 near the Philadelphia airport. A real blow out with tire guts popping out. During rush hour. Great support from friends following my color commentary on Twitter and Facebook. Fascinating collection of tatts on the AAA guy who showed up a half hour later and told me to forget driving on the spare donut.
Ruth navigated me to the nearest Pep Boys where I received stellar service. I was back on the road within an hour and arrived at my new home without further mishap ─ until I had to deal with Verizon, the details of which are easily imagined and cannot be captured in a blog post.
