Moving Day

Our Tacoma Home

Well, folks. We’ve done it. We’ve gone and moved.

Moving day is always difficult. Last night we were up until after midnight packing last minute items. Today we were up at six finishing up before the movers arrived. Three guys showed up, two young men in their early twenties and a lanky fellow in his fifties. They took inventory, got to work. Angie and I continued packing, sealing and labeling boxes, cleaning, and generally looking after the haphazard trio. Like herding kittens.

We were done by five. The movers had successfully gouged the hundred-year-old hardwood stairs with sloppy prep work and moving. Bought them lunch and tipped ’em anyway, bleeding heart that I am. I’ll file a claim and get the money back before the landlord comes asking for it. Not that it should be a problem; we were handed a check for our full deposit upon final walk-through today with the landlord’s realtor. Excellent chap.

Took us a few more hours to clean and round up our items for the car and do the walk-through. Finally checked into Hotel Murano around eight-thirty, famished. In our greasy shorts & shirts we got ourselves a table at Bite restaurant. Figuring it would be one of my last Pacific Northwest meals for a while, I ordered the day’s special, razor clams with local berries and … whatever. Of course they were out of the whatever. My ill luck at restaurants is legend. I ordered the wild salmon instead, but told them to throw some razor clams on the side to make it up to me. Gotdam they were delicious. Salmon wasn’t half-bad either, though more mild-mannered than wild. Gorgeous balsamic demiglace painted on the plate had sat in the pan a minute too long, too hard to actually sop up. But it looked good. Angie’s caesar was a perfect caesar. And, honestly, if you haven’t ever been to Hotel Murano and you’re in the vicinity of Puget Sound, check it out. Glass art theme, with individually curated floors, each devoted to a different glass artist. And the lobby ain’t too shabby either. Seriously. I’m not working for the tourism bureau anymore. You can trust this review. Spend a night at the Murano, then check out the Museum of Glass and the sleek new LeMay: America’s Car Museum. (Yes that is the museum’s full, chewy name.) Walk along the Ruston Way Waterfront, eat out on the patio at Duke’s or Katie Downs. THAT is some Northwest gorgeousness right there. Then go do your whole Seattle thing.

I tried to come up with something poignant to say about Tacoma, or about my three and a half years here. Something wise or profound, maybe vaguely poetic. Something about finding inspiration in its almost-there, once-was mediocrity, its sullen glory, its rough and mossy shine. Something about military wives with big hair and glossy nails and fake tans, about redneck meth addicts with rotted teeth and dopey grins. Bad tattoos on every third arm, something, something, something. But no, not tonight. Tough titties, I say. I just don’t have it in me. My brain is creme brulee. My feet are sore. The bed is comfortable here. And an adventure beckons.

Tomorrow we leave the Northwest for good.  First destination is Missoula. I hope to arrive by sunset. Our Passat’s all packed up and I’m ready to take photos, blog noteworthy doings, and carpe the diem out of this all American road trip. Stay tuned.

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  1. So good to hear, Zak. I’m postponing my MFA for a year (eep!) and reapplying, so you’ll have to test the waters for me. Best of luck!

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