There’s so much to say, dear friends, and I’m the first to admit that I’ve fallen down on the job at saying it. I have yet to write a proper “farewell, New York” post. I have not yet begun to enumerate just what it takes to leave the place you’ve called home for 14 years and move to a place further away from home than you’ve ever lived. (The short answer, though, is “money,” and you’d better believe that I have opinions about this. The sheer panic of the last week, of getting out of Astoria; of having to hire a private carting company to pick up all the trash we could not leave out for NYC Sanitation; of spending 90 minutes at Staples trying to UPS the last of our belongings to San Jose; of spending four days at a hotel on the ass-end of JFK Airport, taking Long Island Rail Road into Manhattan and walking around the city as visitors, as opposed to residents; of getting on the plane and having an uneventful flight (save for the moment when I tried to buckle my seat belt and discovered that no, I did not lose any weight this month as I thought I did); of arriving in San Jose, driving around for an hour with a miskeyed GPS system (once we corrected it for driving as opposed to walking, we were fine), losing our calm minute by minute, and then finding it again at the truly fine Thai restaurant on the Alameda where we stopped for lunch; of gradually getting our bearings and finding our home and our hotel and school and ‘mouse’s office—it’s all there, clanging around inside my head, which, really, is a terribly selfish place to keep it.
It will all be shared in due time, dear friends, from the pure joy of discovering what is considered “humid” in San Jose to the pure whimsy of stopping at a dollar store in Fremont to get some paper plates and plastic utensils following our Trader Joe’s run, and finding dollar packets of curry leaves at the register. In the meantime, I can say that it’s quite something to consider: in less than a week, we have gone from this:
Okay, in fairness, we don’t actually live there yet. We are living in a hotel in Fremont until Sunday, and then moving to another hotel in Santa Clara for two more weeks. But at least now we know we have a safe place to land, and that, to crib shamelessly from Robert Frost, has made all the difference.