Moving to Santa Monica
Is this still available?
That’s the default first ask on Facebook Marketplace with an emoji tacked on—the one, I think, for blushing. In preparation for a move from Boston to Santa Monica, I proclaimed FREE! for my glass-topped deck table and chairs—after all, they were gifts. But pricing things from $5-30 signals a value real enough to make a plan for pick-up. A nudge to say please, say thank you.
I sold an IKEA desk I had bought the week before from a couple moving back to Vancouver. They have twin third graders and I have one thirteen year- old, so when they asked if I wanted both small desks, I realized shoving two together would come closer to fitting my child’s sprawl. A week later, a friend spotted a larger IKEA desk out for the trash and we carried it in, thus prompting me to get what’s not needed out again.
A mother-daughter duo came to pick up the small desks and Venmoed me. “I feel like we’re all just passing around our stuff and the same 20 bucks, right?” I said. The mom agreed. Since the double desk purchase, which my sister drove me to pick up, I’ve walked and bussed all over Santa Monica gathering things from people. One woman sold me her toaster, used twice: “We have a tiny countertop, so when I wanted a rice cooker, my husband pointed out we eat more rice than toast and could exchange one for the other.”
Then there are the people who, when I reveal I’m car-less but will walk/bus to pick up, offer to drive the item over. Why? Surely there are other buyers who have cars. Maybe there’s a ticking clock, like a move, or the desire to remove the unnecessary. “You’re a Facebook Marketplace angel,” I say to the ones who drive over their giant succulent, their modernist lamp, their laundry drying rack, their bar cart/plant stand. “What am I going to do,” they all say. “Make you carry it?”
Rueful chuckles, snippets of stories, text chains, almost friends. Maybe we all want to be helpful?
I met Jonnie when I bought an iron from him for $5. When I arrived, he offered his bike with lock, helmet, and pump, and drove me the few blocks back to my apartment. He was joining his family in Kauai, and invited us to visit after they were settled. Many beaches, he said, have No Trespassing signs. But nailed underneath the official print are small, wood planks with BEACH and an arrow pointed left, drawn by a human.
Like the red faux-leather ottoman that opens to stash board games and blankets for guests, delivered to my door by a Scottish guy who decided to shave five dollars off the listed price, furniture and household items are the gateway to the indescribable, the yearned for. Who are we going to be in a new place, we ask ourselves. What do we bring with us or leave behind? And who can we help and accept from others to create home and community in a new place?