Breaking up with San Francisco: How we decided

The way this whole thing started was my wife and I were sitting at the dining room table and I had my head in my hands and at this point I can’t remember but I think it was she who first said, Well, we could sell the house and move to Italy and yes, now that I think about it I’m sure it was she who said that first, not me, because if it had been me saying it then it would have been just another of those frequent outbursts I’m known for, when I want to throw everything over and move to the woods or New York or go camping or start a band or become a lawyer, or move into a tiny apartment or raise llamas except for that last bit I would never want to raise llamas especially in a tiny apartment.

Whereas because it was she who was saying We could sell the house and move to Italy all of a sudden it was a real and serious proposition and I sensed its possibilities immediately as I am the kind who becomes keenly interested all of a sudden if there’s any change or escape in the offing as I am in my heart a desperate soul always looking for a way out of whatever I have gotten myself into, and so I said with I think guardedly less enthusiasm than I was actually feeling, lest she be testing me, Yes, I think we probably could do that. If you are serious.

Ha ha me saying “If you are serious” was a ridiculous role reversal, which I rather enjoyed, getting to play the responsible one for once. Bravo.

And so the dialog continued not much longer in fact along the lines of, Yes, we actually could. Yes. It would make sense. It would be a little crazy but not all that crazy because this house we bought for nothing is worth crazy gazillions now and you have your European passport and we have people in Italy who will guide us and welcome us and make us part of their family and we have business there to support us and rents are reasonable in Castiglion Fiorentino and so is the excellent incredible food and plus we love it there and I think I said it already but you have your European passport and I am married to you. Along those lines.

So you know how things start happening when they seem like “right”? Right? Like it’s almost superstition? So we found by chance the same real estate agent who sold Joan Walsh her house and David Talbot his house and we said OK, we’re on.

Then she, Carren, our agent, whom we love, told us to get rid of everything we own.

Now that bit right there alone could be a whole chapter in a book called How To Turn Your Life Upside Down And Shake It So Everything Falls Out Into a Dumpster. Or how to find a guy named Javier to pick up huge things and carry them out on his head by himself, or how to give your big old Fischer bar piano to Linda Kelly who will put it in her bedroom and sell three of her Grateful Dead books to the movers two of whom were huge mountain men and one regular sized one. It could be.

But here is one interesting thing  along the lines of personal transformation etc. that happened then.

Because we had approximately 1,350 books, I could not decide which ones to keep and which ones to give away until I completely redefined myself as someone who does not keep books. I just did it right on the spot. I said, henceforth, be it known: I am no longer a person who keeps books!

Done! Amazing! So easy!

I do however like books. So the floor refinishers came with their giant sanders and hammers and the real estate agent said here, go up to our place on the Russian River and stay there until it’s over. Which we did, which is why we are there now. And what did I bring with me but the Norton Anthology of Postmodern Poetry edited by Paul Hoover and I am reading Alice Notley.

So things work out. I mean, I’m reading Alice Notley.

Enough for now. More to come. (I think.)