“So the years roll on by, and just like the sky the road never ends.” – Allison Krauss
It’s the end of an era.
I moved into this building seven years ago; Spot and I are now preparing to leave it. As this blog owes its name to this apartment, I think the occasion calls for a blog post.
For the info of my (three) dear readers, “Spot on Top of Bar” referred to the fact that our apartment used to be on top of a bar that drew crowds of undergrads with its loud music and relaxed attitude towards underage drinking. It also refers to my best friend Spot, who lives with me, on top of a bar. I kinda miss the bar. The owner used to give me free cappuccino while I watched the World Cup matches in 2006. Yes, I was there when Zizou consolidated his Dark Lord status by bringing France all the way to the final, only to bring them down by getting sent off for headbutting Marco Materazzi.
The bar is no more. In its place is a convenience store that thankfully stocks coconut milk, picture frames and cheap Bounty wipes. The people in the building have changed too. This place is like a freaking airport – so many people have come and have gone. Anna, Jeff, Tristan, Hannah, Paola, Ernie, Jen, Noel, Frances, Chilai, Mae, Mhir, Karla, Leanne. By next week, Spot and I will be added to that list.
It is amazing to me that I have lived in this building for seven years. For most of that time, I’ve never really felt that I could settle down here. In “Fiddler on the Roof” Tevye explains that Jews cover their heads so that if need be they are ready to leave at any moment (e.g. the Exodus). I have always had that subconscious covering over my head, always anticipating a moment of flight. And just when I thought that maybe, this might be home, it is time for me to go again.
I arrived in this country with one large suitcase, one small suitcase, and a backpack. Right now, I am writing this entry in a room with all the furniture pushed against the wall, all the better to accommodate the more or less (actually it’s really more) 25 boxes of my worldly possessions waiting for the moving truck to haul them away. I give the impression that I am moving far away. In fact, I’m only moving four blocks down. But it’s just dawned on me that I have stayed the same place for seven years, and while I could conceivably still stay, I am getting restless.
Even as this new chapter is starting, I can’t help but think of the next great move. I think of Barcelona all the time…perhaps I should take measures to plot my next adventure? In the meantime, I am putting up an image from Casa Batlló on my inspiration board, hoping to channel Gaudi in my decorating efforts.
And because I am kinda sick of Toby, meet Mr. Perfect.
Well, Mr. Almost Perfect. He doesn’t play for Liverpool.
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