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Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Monday, August 30, 2010
Goodbye, Tremont
It's hard not to cry, even though I'm just moving across town. Not even "across" town. Just across the river, in a new neighborhood. I've lived in North Chattanooga on and off since my sophomore year or so of high school. But the neighborhood isn't everything though. I haven't felt comfortable in my apartment for the past three months, at least. Between an excessive leaking pipe and—yes—a leaking water heater under my house, I've been upset and the mildewy kind of mold I've found on some of my items, not to mention the outrageous bills.
I thought I wouldn't be affected—healthwise, or even bothered by having to get rid of the damaged items—but of course, my high-priced "outdoors" goods are the first to get mildewy damage because they're made of highly porous synthetics. My messenger back, my backpack, my nice down vest, an old blue purse. Maybe some of my quilts that had been in my closet. I have to get out of here as soon as possible.
The packing started today. Grace brought some boxes by and left them on my porch. So far? One box. 100 tears. Some sad music that's only made it worse. It's hard to imagine a nicer apartment after I've been suffering in this one for so long. It just feels like a mundane thing to do—especially compared to some of the past moves.
A little longer than a year ago, I moved in with ZERO furniture and just happened to adopt a couch. Chairs and bookcases and a dresser came later, as well as some stools. Before that, my moves to and from Oregon consisted of four or so packages and as much as I could feasibly fly or take a train with (not much). Before that, my sister and I were moving around Knoxville. She had this crazy ability to round up a group of guys—maybe 4, 5 of them—to appear at our house early moving day.
What bothers me about this move is NOT so much the damage, but the neglect on behalf of the landlord. I don't wish this apartment on anyone. I don't wish to pay even MORE rent to live in a shittier, more problematic space in this neighborhood, either. Get me out from under all the trees, a little further away from the river, out of this holler. I'm heading toward a more urban area, lots of folks, not nearly as many hills and easier access to a wider variety of neighborhoods and amenities.
I have let this become an emotional move, and I don't mind it so much. Mold must make me a more emotional person.
I thought I wouldn't be affected—healthwise, or even bothered by having to get rid of the damaged items—but of course, my high-priced "outdoors" goods are the first to get mildewy damage because they're made of highly porous synthetics. My messenger back, my backpack, my nice down vest, an old blue purse. Maybe some of my quilts that had been in my closet. I have to get out of here as soon as possible.
The packing started today. Grace brought some boxes by and left them on my porch. So far? One box. 100 tears. Some sad music that's only made it worse. It's hard to imagine a nicer apartment after I've been suffering in this one for so long. It just feels like a mundane thing to do—especially compared to some of the past moves.
A little longer than a year ago, I moved in with ZERO furniture and just happened to adopt a couch. Chairs and bookcases and a dresser came later, as well as some stools. Before that, my moves to and from Oregon consisted of four or so packages and as much as I could feasibly fly or take a train with (not much). Before that, my sister and I were moving around Knoxville. She had this crazy ability to round up a group of guys—maybe 4, 5 of them—to appear at our house early moving day.
What bothers me about this move is NOT so much the damage, but the neglect on behalf of the landlord. I don't wish this apartment on anyone. I don't wish to pay even MORE rent to live in a shittier, more problematic space in this neighborhood, either. Get me out from under all the trees, a little further away from the river, out of this holler. I'm heading toward a more urban area, lots of folks, not nearly as many hills and easier access to a wider variety of neighborhoods and amenities.
I have let this become an emotional move, and I don't mind it so much. Mold must make me a more emotional person.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
In my cool house, with no lights on, I can hear the buzz of the pressure washer across the street. J is off to pick up some bicycle tubes. There is so much to pack, yet I plop down in my chair and start plonking on the keys.
I'm moving off Tremont in a week. I realized yesterday that I'll probably have to change my banner photo on the blog, but that should be a welcome change and will come so naturally in light of all the other changes I'm about to undergo.
Last night I dreamt my black bicycle was stolen while I was eating dinner with old school friends. I returned to find only my front wheel and lock left, as police were talking on their radios. I failed to complete the police report of my stolen bike. The next day, I was concerned about finding a better lock. But still didn't think too much about my bike—only where I might have left the receipt to prove it was mine. I woke up this morning at J's thinking about it.
It is fitting that I'm moving as the seasons change, albeit very slowly. Like going back to school—a new bicycle route, new faces (literally going through campus), new neighbors, on a busy street, my quiet new space below street level.
I'm moving off Tremont in a week. I realized yesterday that I'll probably have to change my banner photo on the blog, but that should be a welcome change and will come so naturally in light of all the other changes I'm about to undergo.
Last night I dreamt my black bicycle was stolen while I was eating dinner with old school friends. I returned to find only my front wheel and lock left, as police were talking on their radios. I failed to complete the police report of my stolen bike. The next day, I was concerned about finding a better lock. But still didn't think too much about my bike—only where I might have left the receipt to prove it was mine. I woke up this morning at J's thinking about it.
It is fitting that I'm moving as the seasons change, albeit very slowly. Like going back to school—a new bicycle route, new faces (literally going through campus), new neighbors, on a busy street, my quiet new space below street level.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Townsend Pedaling
Recently I visited my brother in Townsend, Tenn. Andy, a mountain biking enthusiast, has been oneof my biggest influences in cycling. From helping me pick out my first bike (the Jamis) to talking me through taking off my back wheel and showing me how to lube the chain, he's been not only a great teacher but a HUGE supporter, and he has worked in bike shops since I can remember. Most recently, he works with Luke at the Fountain City Peddler.
I still think his main love and passion in life is cycling. Maybe followed by turtles.
So Sunday J and I drove out to Townsend for a visit, and we got to ride, all together, down the greenway there. I'm still impressed by his skills and jumps and fast downhill stuff (though our ride only included the former...). The ride was relaxing, and we stopped by the Little River, where I waded around to cool off.
I hope to return prepared for a road ride-because Townsend is perfect for that. Regardless of where we go though, riding with my brother remains a very special occasion. I wouldn't be the cyclist I am today without Andy!
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Friday, August 6, 2010
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Savory Sunday
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