After a year of tossing bags of discarded beer cans and bottles into our decrepit cobwebby shed, Case and I finally loaded up the truck and took them to the recycle center.
We ended up having $40 worth of recyclables. It was a little ridiculous.
The Launchpad was definitely the first non-parental house that felt like a home, the first place that was permanent enough to decorate and settle into. It's funny, the little things that make a place a home, and how the sense of home can be scattered through a couple of different locations, especially when you're twenty years old and nomadic.
A snapshot of home: Angela the mannequin in a mask from our Masquerade Madness party in front of a rainbow of National Geographic photos.
It's also strange how a place that was once a home, hollowed out of all the clutter just becomes an old house with too-white walls.
The loaded truck looked like quite the hillbilly rig, and we were pulled over less than half an hour after leaving the house. Turns out in addition to our ludicrous load we also had a broken tail light and one of the brake lights was out, too. But we got off with a warning and made it to Casey's without incident.
So, goodbye to Santa Cruz, hello Sonoma County!
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