Why Yes, I Am A Local

Several years ago, I finally realized that this whole moving in with Lithus thing was going to stick and I gave up my Massachusetts drivers license for a Washington one. That license saw me through... a lot. A move from Everett to Vancouver, bombing through Mexico, a cross-country drive, an almost-move to Malaysia, a hellish four months in Connecticut, another cross-country drive, and a stint in Nevada ~ at which point, my Washington license expired. Grrr...

I went ahead and got a Nevada license, but not because Nevada was in any way, shape, or form home. It was a temporary fix, at best. But it took a long to get an address in Alaska after that. And we didn't get around to getting Alaska drivers licenses before it became obvious that the move to Alaska was going to be exceedingly temporary, as well.

And we got an apartment in NOLA, but only kinda sorta lived here. We had one foot and most of our belongings out the door, at all times. Until this last summer. Something shifted this last summer. This last summer, we realized we really, really love it here. I mean, love it like it's Boston, love it. We want to belong here. We want to be at home here.

Today, we did it. We went and we sat at the DMV for two hours. We found the cooler, emptier room, and plopped down on the floor. And waited. And chatted. And waited some more. Until finally, two hours, and $45.00 later, we are, officially and formally, residents of New Orleans, Louisiana. I will be voting here on November 4th. We will be paying taxes here and maybe even getting mail,

It feels good. And strange. We have hardly had a homebase, let alone a home. But we do now. We are settled people. People with ties, if not quite roots. For the first time, our licenses even have the same address on them. Not bad for a couple of married gypsies.

Weird, but not bad at all.

 

 

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee ~ with chicory in it, 'cause that's how we do it down here.