It was absolutely hands down the craziest July I have ever lived through, and seeing as how I generally whimper and cower under the bed at the mere mention of “July” on an ordinary day, you know I usually expect them to be rather eventful. But I think it might even be the craziest -any- month I’ve ever lived through, and that counts births (which are high on the change-your-life scale, but at least I was expecting those by the time there was actual baby) and deaths (these top out the world-topsy-turvy meter, but because the immediate pain is so sharp and the ripples so long lasting, they can’t really be confined to within the boundaries of the month that they happened); injury and illness; and that summer when my best friend’s boyfriend ran off with my other best friend’s girlfriend to Los Angeles to become movie stars and we actually chased them down there to say “WTF?” and somehow it all ended in a trip to Disneyland. That was actually kind of an awesome month, really, at least for me because I wasn’t in a relationship with any of the wayward parties involved and I’d never been to Disneyland. But I digress.

Here we are, in about the space of a month, all moved in and unpacked and living in a whole new place. Actually, I’m sort of laughing at myself because of course I’ve lived in this same damn city since I was 15 years old – never thought I’d be the one that stayed behind while everyone else left to go live their lives – and this is really the first time I’ve lived on this side of town. I remember my Dad talking somewhat regretfully about how he had lived in all sorts of different places and traveled all over the world and then would wind up dying in a city just 20 miles from where he was born. I just move across town and I act like it’s some exotic new place. It surprises me, though, how different life already feels here. The side of town I come from just felt like one big Land of Suburbia. I like the diversity in people and places here, I like the older houses with the varying degrees of upkeep and the varying sized lots and the yards that are each intent on doing their own thing without worrying too much about what the house next door might be up to.

Everything about the move was a blur, and everything that went wrong was made right so quickly – I can’t believe how fast and how beautifully things came together. I can’t believe how many people turned up to help. It leaves me feeling a bit strangely, though, because I think in my head it felt like a very intimate, personal thing that I shared with these people – mostly my husband’s friends from work – and to them, of course, it was just some heavy lifting. They’ve all gone back to their lives while I’m still stuck with an element of feeling like we should be planning Thanksgiving together or something. I’m sure I’ll be back to my hermit-y ways soon enough and be grateful that no blood oaths were actually exchanged, but for the moment it feels peculiar.

And I’m still thrilled with the space, but it isn’t home quite yet. There are moments of home, here and there, like when it’s late at night and I come to sit out at the dining table which used to be in the biggest traffic flow of the old house and is now back in this quiet corner, right by the sliding glass door whose curtains I keep open all the time. At night I can see the lights of the city and the traffic and it gives me this bittersweet feeling right in the gut of being set slightly apart from the world, which is so familiar and natural to my being that it feels peaceful and almost like home.

Or when I wake up in the morning, every morning, to the light streaming beautifully through the autumn colored sheers on my bedroom windows, and a smile curves my lips before I’m even entirely awake, which is a minor miracle right there. Me smiling in the morning. We’d used the sheers as accents to the brown curtains in the living room of the old house, while the bedroom window was completely closed over by a gorgeous old wall hanging that kept the room dark all day long. I needed it then, the cozy darkness, the facade of safety and complete isolation. Here, up one level from the street, I feel set apart enough – and also ready enough in my life in general – to let some light in and enjoy my piece of the sky. So I have a lot more open curtains here, and that feels right and good.

But when I’m sick – and the lot of us have been passing around a nasty summer virus or three in the last week – or sad, or stressed, my instinct is still to go to ground, and in the back of my head it’s my bedroom on Davidson street that I want to retreat to. It doesn’t smell like home here yet, the carpet doesn’t feel quite right beneath my feet. It still sort of feels like we found this amazing new place to vacation, one of those once in a lifetime hotels that almost feels like home, but not quite, and you go around saying, “I could live here.”

That’s where I am now. I could live here.

Dear 2903 Davidson,

No one needs twelve rosebushes. No one. You bled heat in the winter and in the summer you clutched it so tight that it felt as though you were built on a vent of Hell, itself. Your windows were stupid and in all the wrong places. Your backyard was eternally unruly and unmanageable, and I think that secretly you laughed at our pitiful efforts to tame it.

I held a memorial for my father within a month of moving in. I placed my mother’s ashes next to his 9 months before moving out. In between my children grew mostly up, we marked their progress on your kitchen wall. I grew mostly up there, too, my progress was marked in subtler ways – an endless number of sleepless nights, of watching the world dawn morning through your kitchen window, of occasional refuge taken in your back bathroom. Sometimes it was the only place in the world where I felt safe.

We went from homeschoolers to public schoolers to unschoolers, mostly in your dining room. The Easter Bunny, Santa Claus and even the Great Pumpkin were frequent visitors, until they weren’t anymore. I spent one summer sending the kids out front to play so I could sneak cigarettes around back. Every May people would stop their cars out front to take pictures of the clematis vine. (It was fucking gorgeous.)

Nicky got a fork stuck in the bottom of his foot once, while carrying his dinner dish from living room to kitchen. (“Stick a fork in it, it’s done” will never have quite the same meaning.) Khy grew up across the street from his best friend. Stormy never wanted to live there in the first place, but she eventually came around.

They all three gave up their training wheels, eventually.

Your deck was the perfect place for that above ground pool we finally bought, and in that way we made our truce, you and I, over the summer heat. I miss your soft carpet. I miss the Lazy Susan style cupboard for canned goods. I miss the black linoleum in the kitchen that never, ever looked dirty. I miss the smell and feel of home.

But I won’t miss the rosebushes. Not at all.

#garage sale: some1 just bought one of my UV “happy lites” for her plants. about 16 hours ago via txt

Two weeks is how long it’s been from the moment when Shane and I heard the first rumblings that it just might be a good idea to look for a new place to live. Two weeks and tonight I started unpacking things into my new kitchen. I would say that my head is spinning, but I think I’m still in the stage just before that one, where I’m not even entirely sure what the hell just happened. Is happening.

I have WAY more cupboard space now.

#garagesale – was afraid books wouldn’t sell, but half r already gone. pagan books went 1st. pity, i wanted them 2 freak out my neighbors. about 16 hours ago via txt

The first day of garage sale was a roaring success. It was really hard for me and I ducked in and out the door a lot, but Shane was amazing. Giving deals, loading cars, helping little old ladies cross the street. When the potting stand priced at $20 and then sold at $15 wouldn’t fit in a woman’s car, he took her address and delivered it to her later. In the hubbub she’d forgotten to actually pay for it. He and I both draw a hard line on people actively trying to take advantage of us (cause that’s just yucky and not to be gotten away with) but we agreed beforehand that this garage sale was first about getting rid of stuff and second about making a little money. So neither of us were sad that a potting stand, 8 years untouched in the back of a shed, had been inadvertently donated to a good home.

#garagesale – lots of comments & general enjoyment of the atari 2600. some1 finally bought it for $20. about 16 hours ago via txt

And when there were two kids bikes priced at $30 each, the one with the flames being purchased by a grandma for her grandson when little sister, so adorable and wee, begged for the other boys bike (equally fierce in black and red) Shane gave them 2 for the price of one. This is why I love the man.

#garagesale – lots of people laughing at our CD collection, apparently garage-salers don’t take metalheads very seriously. about 16 hours ago via txt

And at the end of the day we still made enough to buy a new toaster, new coffee maker and new microwave for my new kitchen. (You can find the old ones at our sale tomorrow!) I LOVE the feeling of turning old things into new.

#garagesale – some1 just bought the dress I wore onstage as Agnes in Shadow Box. about 16 hours ago via txt

But no one would be terribly surprised to know that working a garage sale isn’t my favorite thing, ever. My home is my sanctuary and strangers give me hives on the best day, so inviting them to descend en masse and pick through my things doesn’t seem like the most obvious choice for me. And then you have the emotional factors – while I swear I was very good about not putting anything out for sale that I wasn’t able to honestly detach from, it was still oddly emotional at times.

#garagesale – day 1, made a killing, even with husband giving tons of deals. My hatred for garage sales might be upgraded to love/hate.

The worn out dresser that my Grandpa made himself – the one my mother painted blue to match my bedroom when I was 13 – now falling to pieces but bought for $5 by a fellow who looked like he would know how to fix it up nice. The woman who was so thrilled to find such nice yarn at such a good price – every skein chosen by my mother, some used to make afghans that I now own. So many yard tools that had belonged to my father and had already seen a lot of use when they were passed on to me when I was first starting a household of my own.

FEET HURT. But made enough in the garage sale to buy new toaster, new coffee maker and new microwave for the new place. Woot. about 2 hours ago via web

Onward and upward. And honestly, my spirits have been buoyed by the amazing people I’ve been lucky enough to have around me these days. There hasn’t been a day in the last two weeks that I haven’t been touched by someone’s kindness, a thoughtful gesture, an unexpected connection. I think, just lately, I’ve begun to realize what had always before been only the ghost of a suspicion – that I am a very lucky woman.

And OMG, the space I have in my new kitchen. about 2 hours ago via web

Another day of garage sale tomorrow, the kids will be off to Bend with my best friend, and on Sunday we move all the big stuff with the help of a lot of really generous people who weren’t smart enough to pretend to have other plans. And that will, for all intents and purposes, mark the beginning of life in a new home.

Two weeks later.

I know, it’s crazy, right? A month ago, less than that, moving wasn’t even in my sight line. Now I’m sitting here in a room stripped of pictures and spotted with boxes and the occasional gaps where certain pieces of furniture have already migrated or been doomed to garage sale humiliation. (Toy Story has ruined me, I feel guilty about everything now. “No, but I really did enjoy our acquaintance bread maker. It isn’t you, it’s me. I just… don’t want to make bread anymore. You had to have seen this coming – I only used you twice!”)

It’s funny, too, because whenever I’m away from the new place I find my brain downplaying it (I think it’s still refusing to process this as anything less than crisis. Stupid drama queen brain), so I’m always surprised at how awesome it is the next time I go to see it. To give you some perspective, where we’ve lived for the last 8 years is classic suburbia: three bedroom/2 bath single level. A generous living room and a great room which is, well, pretty great. The downside, though, is that as the kids have gotten older and there have come to be more loud electronics in our lifestyle, we are often on top of each other and in desperate need of a quiet corner.

The new place has 4 bedrooms (all similarly sized), 2 bonus rooms, and 2 living rooms on opposite sides of the space. And the space itself is large – most people look down our incredibly long hallway and want to know if there’s a mirror making it look longer than it is.

This is my (not to scale) rendering of the layout. Click to embiggen.

The Breakdown:

Front Yard

We’ve already sold the lawnmower.

Entryway

There are actually 3 closets altogether. I’m torn right now between making this space pretty (in which case the antique buffet goes here) or purely functional (in which case this is where we’ll keep the bikes.) Shane voted for the buffet and then later wanted to put the dry erase board in the same room. Men.

If you take a right, you’ll find on one side of the hall:

My Writing Room

and

Shane’s Office

Okay, confession. I was all set to take the larger of the two spaces, but since it also happens to be at the end of the hallway turned racetrack, the kids were drawn to it. (Well, it was the finish line.) So Shane gets the big space, while I get the ignored little room off to the side. No, but really he gets the bigger space because I love him. Plus, I’m trying to pawn off all the computer miscellanea storage on him, too, so he’ll need the extra space.

Across the way:

Kitchen

Living Room and Dining Room

This is my favorite little detail here:

As it stands right now, since we’re planning to use the other living room as our main living area, we’re not even sure what we’re going to do with the space on this side of the house. Storm has voted that we put our tent up in here.

Back down the long hallway

Hallway/Racetrack/Exercise Room

and past the entryway you’ve already seen, is the

Men’s Room

(Note: They get to do the laundry, too.) And then there’s the

Women’s Room

And then we have bedrooms:

Khy’s Room

Storm’s Room

Nicky’s Room

Oh, okay. That’s actually the hall cupboard. But he really likes it in there.

Master Bedroom

I’m in love with the closet shelving:

And at this end of the hallway is

The Other Living Room/Family Room

Just off of that is

Nicky’s Room/The Guest Room, Since Nicky Usually Sleeps on the Sofa

And finally,

Back Yard

I’m not in love with the carpet, I’ll be honest. But honestly, every other thing I can think of as a downside, I’m just perverse enough to love about it. Best of all, I think somewhere a quiet corner might be found… And once found, the door will even lock!

Garage Sale this weekend (Fri/Sat 9-4), and on Sunday we move!

All right, all right. A few eagle-eyed commenters that don’t like to play by the rules have revealed the true meaning behind the clues. And while traveling to exotic locales, zombie hunting and selling hippie children to fund world saving endeavors were all very, very close, the truth is that we’re moving across town. (Kind of anticlimactic, huh? Wait ’til I break the news that I don’t actually have the right to give away Paris.)

Well, it might not be world ending or life changing for you, but for me it’s been a pretty big dealio. Our current house and I have had our disagreements from time to time, but this has been my kids’ childhood home. They were 6, 4 and 2 when we moved in here, and now they’re 15, 12 and 10. Sure, they still have some growing to do, but no one is toddling about anymore. This was it, this was the place where all that happened. Lost teeth, bicycles without training wheels, summers swimming in the backyard, scribbles on the walls when Mom wasn’t looking, birthday parties and memorials, too – we did eight years of growing here. Leaving it behind is breaking my heart a little.

I’m going to continue to be a bit sketchy with the details because (for a blogger) I know how to be discreet, but you can’t really know how this all came down inside my head without knowing that less than a month ago moving was the farthest thing from our minds. This was an entirely unexpected turn of events, and also, I need to add, not due to anything we’ve done. We are rockstar renters. You wish you could be as good as we are at renting. But circumstances did what they sometimes do, and we had to make some changes accordingly. And rather quickly.

Luckily we did, however, almost immediately stumble across something that feels like a perfect fit. In fact, the new place has even more living space than our current house does, and in an arrangement that feels like it will suit our needs much better. Like anything, there are trade-offs, but luckily it seems like everything we’re having to give up are things that I didn’t really like having all that much anyway.

Once we have the keys and I can take some real pictures I’m sure I’ll be talking new apartment here very soon. Right now, though, all is chaos and boxes. I’m actually crazy proud of us and what we’ve accomplished around here in such a short period of time. Even in a rush we’ve sorted through everything – and that is 2 car garage worth of everything, tucked away by a husband whose super power is getting a ton of things to fit in places where, by all that is natural and holy, they should never be able to fit.

This is the corner where everything that we’re taking with us goes.

This is the corner for all the things that will go into the garage sale.

It’s been difficult, though, the worst by far being the several nights I spent sorting through boxes of things that belonged to my father. Things we tucked away 8 years ago in anticipation of a day when I would feel strong enough to deal with them. The irony is that a year ago I could’ve sorted through all of it pretty easily, but now that Mom is gone, too, it’s all become poignant and painful and terribly heavy again. The love letters and greeting cards were hard to take, of course (Dad, hoarder at heart, kept every single greeting card he ever received. I, child of a hoarder, was compelled to sort through every last one.) But probably the most painful of all was a completely random post-it note pad. Half-used, the top-most sheet had a note in my mother’s handwriting promising a quick return from a jaunt to Safeway. Something about just how ordinary everyday it is seems to be what makes it so sad.

This is another thing that marks this house, our time here has been book-ended by deaths. Dad died two months after we moved in, Mom died 10 months before we left. Our new apartment will be the first place I’ll live that neither will see.

I’m 38 years old today, and continuing to do the best that I can. I think this fresh start will be a beautiful thing, and I’m excited to begin the next stage of my life. But, like any change that’s worthwhile, it hurts like hell, too. I would probably curl up in a little ball if I thought about it too much, but right now? I have too much packing to do.