I Live Next Door to Elvis

Elvis is my next door neighbor - or at least a reasonable facsimile of him is.  The first time I saw him, I thought he was wearing an Elvis wig made of plastic - his "hair" is shiny and big and helmet-y-ish.  Upon closer inspection though, I think the Elvis hair is actually his own - he's got the Elvis muttonchops and the hair on his head is dyed an unnatural shade of black and fixed with some type of pomade that causes it to violently refract light.  "Elvis" is in his 70's I'm guessing, and I really want to ask him how long he's worshipped at the alter of Elvis.  I lay in bed wondering if he's had that hairdo for 50 years?  Every night, the sounds of Elvis's music echo from his apartment.  It's actually quite pleasant - he plays a mix of Elvis, Don Ho and some random country music thrown in.  He is quite the character and sitting upstairs in my bedroom, listening to "Elvis" playing Elvis, I feel as though I have been thrown back in time - if I walked outside and saw Packards and girls with poodle skirts, I wouldn't be surprised.

Part of that is the charm of this new town of mine, New Bern.  Everyone is nice here.  Really, everyone.  After 2 days, I am known by name at the Java City Coffee Shop, the Baker's Square restaurant (not the chain, a little indie restaurant where they bake their own bread and give you extra rolls to take home with your leftovers and don't charge you for your iced tea and the grits are real and thick and all the food is freaking awesome - but Ben, the chef/owner doesn't know how good it really is - he does Thanksgiving dinner at the restaurant and with a small amount of embarrassment told me that he charged a whole $13 or $14 for an entire turkey dinner including coffee and pie - yeah, that place).  Then there's the four star restaurant, Craven 247, where I had the best salmon I've ever eaten.  And how can I forget the local hardware store that looks like a throwback to the old Main Street hardware stores of yesteryear? All of it is amazing and beautiful and surrounded by water, lots of water - where the Trent and Neuse Rivers meet before heading out to the Atlantic.

The storm damage from Irene in the historical downtown area was limited to lots of downed trees - really big trees ripped from their roots and thrown into houses, or trees literally sheared in half by the winds, and not little saplings - trees that were easily hundreds of years old.  The huge tree that used to be in front of my house was split at the base and fell on my neighbor's SUV, crushing it.  Downed trees are everywhere, but so are the cleanup crews, they come in, cut it all up, stack it on the curbs and move on to the next house.  There is no wringing of hands here - the people do what needs to be done and get back to their lives.  My dream house down the street has already been repainted.  Today, I met a man who drove up and down the streets stopping and filling the bed of his pickup truck with the newly sawn logs - he's stocking up for his fireplace this winter.  He offered to show me how to split a log; knowing I'd probably cut my own foot off, I laughingly declined.

I am fully exhausted but happy and content; I have made the right choice.  I know this more than I have known anything else in a long time.  The drive was brutal especially given that I drove a 24 foot truck packed to the gills, by myself, the entire way (Yes, you were right, Drury!)  Turns out my sister Tiffany, does not have what it takes to be a trucker - I though, apparently do.  The first night, I was scared shitless.  We didn't get on the road until 9:00 p.m. and if you want to try something new and exciting, try driving a 24' truck down a dark interstate for four hours.  It was fine until the first 18 wheeler passed me.  He was so close to me, I was clutching the steering wheel so hard, I thought I was having chest pains; it was only a muscle cramp and I had to try to relax into the truck's rhythm.  Not easy, let me tell you!  Did you know that trucks this big have no rearview mirror?  At first, when I discovered this, I was pissed - all I could think was that Budget gave us a shitty truck with no rearview mirror and it's too late to trade it out and I have to drive the whole way like this....but then, to my mutual chagrin and amusement, I realized that there is no rearview mirror as you cannot see anything behind you because it's blocked by the truck. Dumbass alert! As Homer Simpson would say - D'oh!  Apparently, I am to drive 700 miles using the side mirrors only.  Oh Lord.

Did I mention that we had to take the first truck back because it was too small?  Two men told me that all my stuff and all my sister's stuff would fit into a 16' truck.  Turns out they were wrong.  It reminded me of that old joke about why women are terrible with measurements - we were always told by men that this (extend thumb and forefinger apart from each other) was 9 inches...har de har har...(Yes, I know - a real knee slapper, boss! Tell it again!) To make up for that huge inconvenience though, God sent us a truck packing angel from heaven. My neighbor brought three of his employees over to help us load and one of them was an unbelievable packer.  It turns out we needed every inch of that 24', and that man packed it so tight, we didn't lose a thing. (This entire paragraph is just set up to sound ridiculously pornographic, isn't it?!)  Regardless, we didn't lose a picture, nor a dish, and there wasn't a scratch on the furniture - even the three huge tomato plants that I refused to leave behind in Nashville made it safe and sound.

So, back to our departure - two trucks and about six meltdowns later, the Pletz sisters hit the road.  Tif said she'd take the first shift driving the truck.  We made it about half a mile down I-40 before my cell phone rang.  She was on the other end, weeping.  It was too much for the princess - as we all suspected.  (Love ya, Tif!) We pulled off the freeway and she got in my luxury and sports package-equipped Lexus, and I climbed into hell.  The seatbelt cut into my neck and the damn truck shook and belched and roared so loudly, I couldn't even hear myself think.  I put my Chihuahua, Pink, on the seat next to me, where she did some shaking of her own and left Blue, my lab, to keep Tif company - and off we sped (so to speak) down the freeway to our destiny.  By the way, did you know that the gas tank for these kind of trucks is literally directly under the drivers seat?!  Really.  I guess it's good in a way - if the worst happens and you're blown to kingdom come, it's gonna be quick. I'm always looking for the small mercies, you know?

So, there it is - the first part of my adventure.  I will recount more tomorrow.  Every little bit of my body aches and my legs hurt so badly, I couldn't sleep, so I decided to catch you all up and get back to my beloved blog.  Tomorrow, I am taking the day off and going to the beach.  I can't wait; I am never going to live far from the beach ever again...and I can't wait to learn more about my town - and besides living next door to Elvis, I almost forgot to tell you the next best part - I live 2 doors up from the library - now that is heaven!

Pax.