Nesting in Pennslyvania

I’m here. I’ve landed. It’s happened.

I drove 12 hours with all my earthly belongings in a box truck while towing my car and with two cats in the cab with me. Aside from my calico exploding out of her carrier several times and almost killing us all, the drive was uneventful. It wasn’t till I got to Pennsylvania that things got interesting.

I wasn’t even an hour into the state when I experienced my first tailgating incident complete with a middle finger. Thank you, PA. I’m glad to be home, too.

Once I reached my family’s compound out in the country I found myself unable to get my truck up their driveway due to the ice and snow. There was lots of sliding, face planting in the snow and cussing. My first 24 hours in PA I spent driving, shoveling snow, hacking at ice with an axe and then ate a cheesesteak stromboli. I am now one with the commonwealth.

I’ve been visiting new and old friends and am looking forward to next month’s First Friday art walk. I’m seeking a crew to lurk in the galleries with. I love Philadelphia in all its grotesqueness. I love it. I love hating it. It’s horrible and wonderful. It’s home. I know locals can relate, but trying to explain it to others never seems to be successful.

I’m painting while staying with my family and working remotely on my computer, but soon, it will be time to find consistent work and a place to live downtown. I’ve been told my best options will be South Philly or around Fishtown. 

Next week I visit PAFA’s campus. It will be for the first time I’ve been in a traditional school for years, but I expect it to feel comfortable. 

I’m here. I could kiss the concrete out of gratitude, but I won’t, because of Philly.