On a
brighter note, I’m settling into my new house nicely. I’m
officially unpacked—I’ve moved all of my stuff out of the room next to mine,
put away clothes, arranged books and odds and ends on shelves, and have set up my
Tom Hanks collection (all 22 DVDs), prominently displayed on my corner shelf. I’m
actually really impressed with how I managed to get the most out of the small
space I have. At the moment I still have one empty dresser drawer and one empty
small shelf that I don’t quite know what to fill with. I’m sure I’ll find
something.
My room doesn’t have its own closet (because it’s somewhat
closet-sized itself), so I get full use of the hall closet just outside my
door. I put up a tension curtain rod so I can hang some of my clothes, but it has
already fallen twice, causing my nice shirts and dresses and plastic hangers to
form a sad little pile. I decided to reinforce it with a second rod, two of
them side by side. I’m hoping this works, but I won’t be surprised if I wake up
in the middle of the night to the sound of clangs and bumps and wrinkles
forming in my skirts.
The first time I did laundry in my new place, I was
ridiculously overjoyed. Back in my old apartment, I had to haul it down two
flights of stairs in suitcases, walk to the corner, wait for the bus, and sit
in a sad but noisy Laundromat for two hours. My clothes always came out just
smelling like wet clothes, no matter how much tropical-flower-smelling
detergent I used. But here, hallelujah, the washer and dryer are a mere twenty-five
feet from my room, and pulling my clothes out of the dryer has never been so fragrantly
satisfying. I encourage any of you at home who grumble about doing laundry to
go visit a Laundromat; you’ll run right home and hug that whirring machine you
currently think you hate.
And the quiet outside my window? I’m in love. Sometimes at
night I even hear crickets!
Because I now live up in the Cambridge-Somerville area, this
past week I was finally able to go to the famous Tuesday Night Bluegrass at the Cantab Lounge, where they claim “the atmosphere is tolerant and the music is
hot.” The second band to get on stage, Chasing Blue, was definitely rockin’ the
banjo and harmonies. Although I can’t tell you what the band looked like, I can
tell you all about the yellow shirt of the guy standing right in front of me
from Banjo Camp 2010. It was apparently held in either Groton or Croton (maybe
even Crouton?!), Mass., but the combination of dark lighting, not wearing my
glasses, and the two empty bottles of beer beside me made it hard to decipher.
Nonetheless, it was a fun night with good music, and I’ll probably find myself
there many a Tuesday night from now on.
