Tag Archives: new home

Doctors of Domesticity

I spent a while yesterday trying to figure out where the past few weeks have gone, and I realized that they have been a blurred haze of unbounded domesticity. Moving into a new home – a real home, for equal partners with equal footing and equal floor space – has been mind-blowing.

For the first time in my life, I want to come home at the end of the day – and when I get home, I find myself doing things to make the house better. This must be what normal people feel like!

And Raven, well, he is thrilled. He is thrilled about the house, and about all of the reasons we moved into it. He has worked – hard – since last summer to make things stronger between us, and I see where he has changed.

It wasn’t a result of that, precisely, that led him to choose to do this, but it somehow meant a lot more than it ever has when he sweetly and thoughtfully bought something for me. For us, really, because we both bake, but intended as a gift for me. For our house, to mark this next stage of our lives together. I saw the clarity in his gift, and the fact that it comes from joy rather than something… less fun is the best part of it. It was incredibly generous, and it is incredibly shiny. I’m in love. With it, and with him.

Mix!

Here’s to better baking, gestures that are truly heartfelt, and eating all of the cookies I can possibly fit in my stomach. That is really the only outcome of having one of these in my house.

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The cleanest slate

There is literally nothing as effective as moving to create for me the illusion that this time, everything is going to be different. This time, I’m going to turn all of my domestic dreams into reality and my sock drawer is going to be organized by color. There will be no dust dragons in the corners and the light in my house will always be perfect. I will always have the exact right kind of tea to offer people, and I will entertain weekly. (Hahahahahahahaha etc.)

Yesterday was moving-the-stuff day (although moving-the-people day won’t happen for a few more days, so we’re set up with a pretty glam situation, air mattress on the floor and a suitcase full of work clothes) and it was glorious. The light was perfect, and the imperfections seemed manageable. That ripped screen I didn’t notice before we moved in? I CAN FIX IT. (And I have been scouring the internet for the right screen patch system, so I’m not just joking here.) I’ve ordered the replacement parts for the broken latches on two of the windows (not a safety issue, just a keeping-the-window-open issue) and really, I’m just spending the day mentally arranging lawn furniture.

It’s telling, perhaps, that I’ve never had a blogging tag for anything like “home.” I haven’t really had a home at any point in my adult life, so of course I haven’t written about it. I’ve had lots of places where I’ve lived, but none of them have been anything more than sleepholes. Well, to be fair, the apartment that Raven and I have shared for the last three years has been more than a sleephole, but much less than home to me. It was his home long before I moved there, and his memories and history sit in the place. He shared the space with other women at other points, and I just couldn’t ever settle there. I was a lodger, not an inhabitant.

So this Рthis seems different! It will be my home! Our home! We will set it up together and put the same furniture in different places and collaboratively choose the wall art, rather than living with his choices from long-ago times. We will agree on organizational systems Рor disagree, perhaps Рand I will put labels on drawers and pretend that maybe, after all these years of living in the world, I will be able to do it a little differently. I will be organized. I will dust weekly.

Yeah, ok, probably not that.

So, we we had movers move a ton of boxes (possibly literally?)photo (2)

And when we got to the new place, a couple of beautiful people helped us do some organizing and moving things around, and we kept coming across Raven’s little jokes to himself:

photo (1)He did more of the packing than I did (well, frankly, he has more stuff than I do, and also a much more flexible schedule) and had clearly cracked by the time he got to the end of the process. This one, in particular, made my day – which is pretty special, since the day was already pretty well made.

And in the evening, we went back to Washington Heights (for just a few more nights!) and went for a walk in the flower garden:

photo (3)Forget-me-not indeed. I won’t forget my years in Washington Heights, but I’m pretty sure I won’t yearn for them, either.

Clean slate.

Clean cup.

Move down.

I’ll be a Jersey girl before you know it.

And weirdly, I can’t wait.

 

 

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