No Storage for Me

Photo: Creek Love: Ducks Out for a Swim

Joyce said, “Don’t talk to me.”

Earlier today, Joyce and I drove back to Newburg and met up with Anne so we could return to the small apartment on the property of one of the most interesting mansions in Newburg, the small, walkable city I was planning to move to. Yesterday we met the owner of the property. We asked if we could come back today to measure the rooms.

I didn’t tell the realtor that Joyce was my realtor for selling my house; I introduced her as my friend/decorator. Yes. Joyce is all of these things – and more.

Right before we arrived, the realtor sent me a message to let me know that the owner changed her mind: I could not have any additional storage.

Sigh.

He asked if we still wanted to see the apartment.

Yes.

But grrr. There was so much storage in the carriage house below the apartment, but no storage for me. I just wanted a place to keep my Christmas ornaments and maybe a few beach chairs.

Nope.

I walked around the apartment, trying to visualize my things here. There were two rooms that I could choose for my bedroom, a larger one and a smaller one. Most people would scoff at choosing the smaller room since it didn’t have windows or a closet, but with my light sensitivity issues, a room without windows would work for me.

I checked out the two closets the apartment did have. Small. Narrow. Shotty. The one in the hall had a bar to hang coats on, but the bar kept slipping out of the fixture, even with no clothes hanging on it. Imagine how poorly it would work with a few winter coats.

That’s a bad sign.

The closet in the bedroom was a little bit better: the rod stayed in place, but it was so narrow that there wasn’t even room for a shelf over the bar. I wasn’t sure that I could fit any kind of organizational system inside the closet.

This place was small, but maybe this was what I needed. Maybe it was time for me to drastically downsize.

I had a lot of decisions to make. Time to close my publishing company? Should I close my skin care company? I kept hoping that I would find a way to heal so I could move forward in my life, rather than being stuck in a poverty / disability cycle. I had a lot to think about.

Joyce called me to the living room. She asked how I was thinking of setting up the apartment.

I told her that the couch could go against the kitchen island and the fireplace could go on the opposite wall, if it fit.

Joyce considered the opposite wall. “It will completely fit there.” She said that the dining room table would fit next to the oversized window and my plants could go on an adjacent wall.

Great ideas.

We walked into the bathroom. I told her I didn’t like storing towels over the toilet.

“Me neither.” She measured a spot close to the window and said that we could find a small shelf to fit this area that we could put towels on.

Anne and the realtor were talking. When I walked back into the kitchen, Anne grabbed my arm. “He used to be in the Chills!”

My mouth fell open as I considered this young man. Years ago, Anne’s nephew had a group of friends that started a band when they were teenagers. This was one of the musicians. I shook my head and said, “That’s amazing.”

The realtor looked at Anne and said that he knew he recognized her from somewhere.

Joyce and I poked around in the kitchen. She knew that one of the things I loved about the house I was selling is that it had a Bosche dishwasher—it’s the best dishwasher I’ve ever had.

I said to Joyce, let’s see what kind of dishwasher this is, fully expecting it to be a cheap appliance that barely worked.

She stood next to me, watching.

I opened the dishwasher door. Bosche.

That’s a very good sign.

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Welcome to my long days. I’m glad you’re here.

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If you want to start at the beginning of my Long Days of Holly Journey, read the posts from the bottom UP. Click HERE.