In my last blog post, I said our Princeton to DC move was our most pleasant yet but that was before we’d actually arrived and had all of our possessions delivered to DC. Let the record show: Moving is never pleasant, even when it’s just a few hundred miles away rather than the thousands of miles away that we’re used to.
We’re living in a one-bedroom attic apartment of a farmhouse on a gloriously leafy street in upper Northwest Washington DC. We lucked in to a sort of house-sitting situation (read: FREE) so I have no right to complain as we’re saving about 50k in rent over the course of the next 15 months. But it’s not ideal as there’s a whole house of things that do not feel like ours as they’re not ours. Although, it feels sort of familiar as the people we’re renting from are not unlike Adam and I, just 30 years older. They’ve lived around world, including in the Middle East, and there’s a little “ahlan wa salan” welcome sign downstairs, lots of lovely rugs, and antique furniture. We have the attic apartment to work with, and me being me, I designed the whole thing beforehand and it was going to feature the low L-shaped boho couch I had made in Algeria and a rug-covered Algerian wood chair that we also had in our Princeton apartment. But alas, when the movers came, neither piece could fit through the doorway to the attic apartment. But constraint, paradoxically, is the mother of creativity. (Something I’m currently writing more about for my design website) and once I got over not having the furniture I planned for, I decided to go full-on Barnes and hang most of the art we own. And in recent years, my love for art and buying art has grown, so there’s a lot of it. I am currently writing this blog post whilst having so many of my beloved things the little yellow poster of the Cinama Rif in Tangier, a carved elephant head from Laos, two paintings Adam bought in Yemen (our first art purchase as a couple), the Italian whores Adam’s grandpa painted inspired by his time in WWII more or less managing a brothel, the black and white photos of a topless girl on a riding a motorcycle past a camel that my friend Neda and I bought in Marrakech. And so much more! I’d truly like nothing more than to pour you a tea and tell you the story of everything in this room, but while constraint may be the mother of creativity, brevity is the soul of wit.
Back to how hard moves are: They are also hard on marriages. Despite doing this lots of times now, Adam and I are just not on the same page about what must be done right away when we get to a new place, and he has a very hard time living with clutter, so I kill myself trying for the world’s fastest unpacking, resentful of the pressure he’s putting on me. This is while he’s disapproving of me for putting so much effort into creating a gallery wall, as I’m sure he thinks “decorating” can wait. We received all of our things from Algeria – the second of two deliveries – the day before we were to leave for a 10-day trip. Adam commented that he wouldn’t be able to enjoy the trip knowing we’d be returning to so many boxes, so promised I’d get the attic apartment looking good before we left for Detroit in the morning. And I did. But it was exhausting and I was kind of angry about it.
Then we left for Detroit, the highlight of which was seeing our niece Campbell’s dance recital. Not having kids of our own, we volunteered to pay for an activity for Campbell some years ago, and she chose dance. I pictured like a casual class or two a week but that spun into competitive dance. It’s expensive and time consuming (for my neice and for my sister and parents who drive her to classes) but seeing how Campbell has grown both in talent and commitment over the past few years has been gratifying. And it’s been so character building for her, which was really the whole point. During a competition earlier this year, she froze on stage during a number. She was mortified. Within the hour, she’d signed up for an impromptu solo to be judged on the spot by a panel. Girl got right back up there – for a SOLO IMPROMPTU PERFORMANCE – rather than slinking away and crying. I can’t even tell that story without tearing up. Anyways, she was wonderful in all her numbers and performed with such a sense of fun and little bit of swagger. It was also nice to spend time with my little nephew Sammy. He has autism so me coming in every few months and attempting to connect with him is a tall order, but I did finally get a hug “with arms” from him at the end. My oldest niece Charlotte, who despite being a cool teenager who really just wants to hang with her friends, made time for her old aunt Emily and accompanied Adam and me to my college town of Kalamazoo. I hadn’t been back since 2006, just a few months after I unexpectedly graduated a semester early and moved to Washington DC for an internship. It was sad to see the empty building that housed the Kalamazoo Gazette, where I worked for two years, and rather full circle to see the beautiful old Victorian house where I lived – in the attic – with three friends.
A few days later, we were in Adam’s college town of Hanover, New Hampshire, nestled in the foothills of the White Mountains, the Appalachian Trail meandering through. Dartmouth students are crunchy, outdoorsy, brainy but in a quirky way. I’d visited Hanover before, but it was fun to see Adam revisiting a formative place, and being on such a small and pretty campus does make me ponder how things would have been different for me if I’d not gone from a 5,000 person high school to a 25,000 person college. After a night in Hanover, we checked in to Moosilauke Ravine Lodge, a 1930s lodge run by Dartmouth’s outdoor’s club. A nice dinner made by current Dartmouth students, and we bunked down, and were up early for a fun hike up Moosilauke Mountain.
Next up, we checked in on Adam’s condo in Newburyport, Massachusetts. Before I met him, Adam bought a condo in an historic building in the adorable seaside town about 45 minutes north of Boston. I’ve seen the place only a few times, so it doesn’t exactly feel like “ours” but it technically is. I can’t imagine a future in which we actually live in Newburyport, but it’s fun to fantasize about a day when I can renovate the condo, which currently feels a little like being on a tight ship, to something a bit more light and open, but still reflective of its nautical past. Also, Newburyport has a stunning beach. I just walked in the sand quickly and then were on our way to Maine for a few days.
In Maine, we stayed with my friend Wendie from my NYU Paris Writer’s Program days and her husband Max in heir absolutely adorable bayside bungalow. They were incredible hosts, from the welcome martinis on their deck, including us in a gala for a charity they’re involved with, Max taking us on a hike in Acadia National Park a kayak ride (in which we saw seals poking their puppy-like heads up out of the ocean), taking us to dinner in nearby Bar Harbor, to talking writing with Wendie (who, btw, is the author of a wonderful novel set in Maine). Maine is just stunning – such a great mix of ruggedness and charm in the landscape and the people.
But now we’re back in DC, and after a few days of arranging art, unpacking, ordering all those dumb little things off of Amazon that are necessary when moving to a new place (plug adapters for all our European lamps, over-the-door-hooks, laundry baskets) we may be close to being out of the vortex of having just moved. And then we’ll do it all again in a year. Yay. But for now, let me hit publish on this post, go to an Orangetheory workout class, and make clam pasta for dinner.
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