Transitions

The kids, the dog,  and I have moved out of our house and into a near-by townhouse with approximately half the  square footage we are accustomed to occupying.  It was an arduous process, despite the fact that I began cleaning out and organizing a year ago.  Moving is just hard, particularly when you have lived in the house for 8 years, and even harder when half of your belongings need to be shipped across the ocean and a fourth needs to go to the townhouse.  The other fourth?  Thrown away and donated and good riddance.  What the rest of the family doesn’t know won’t hurt them.

So for the rest of the summer we are somewhat condensed, shall we say.  So far I am finding it surprisingly comforting to be in less space with fewer things.  The best part has been that I am physically closer to my kids.  I can hear them, see them, touch them, and talk to them way more than I used to.  This is a good thing except when I am trying to sleep.  Because I have fewer clothes here, the “what to wear” dilemma is easily decided.  I have never been one to spend too much time on wardrobe issues, but  now it’s 30 seconds or less.  My kitchen is about half the size of my old kitchen, and much of the storage space looms 2-3 feet above my head, which is odd,  given my height.

Just for reference, my head hits somewhere between plates on bottom shelf and bowls on one above.

I need a helicopter

Fortunately, I culled my culinary inventory and storage is not an issue.  All my favorite stuff is on its way to France, so my pots and pans and cookbooks here are definitely The “B” Team.  That is fine, too, though, because I am forced to find new recipes and revisit old ones that I have abandoned in the ten years since Food Network, Ina Garten, and Splendid Kitchen entered my life.  I am finding that I really do not need four different sauce pans in different sizes, or a potpourri of skillets of varying sizes and materials.  Not that they are not nice to have, mind you, and I’m not giving up any of my All-Clad, but it’s good to be reminded that I can still cook without all the bells and whistles.  I can’t cook as much, though, because I have only one fridge now, and it’s woefully smaller than my beloved size of a small room fridge I left behind.  So that means fewer left-overs and, I hope, less food lost in the back of the shelves or on the bottom of arm-deep crisper drawers.

Sawyer misses his yard but loves the romps in the vacant lot next to our complex, where dogs and their owners visit and chase each other into exhaustion.  So far I have only visited- it’s kind of hot for chase.  Unfortunately, his claws make a very annoying clickity-click noise on the  upstairs flooring, particularly during the night, so either we have to get carpet or he has to start wearing fuzzy slippers.  We’re still negotiating that one.

I thought you said we were moving to Paris.

I do miss looking out at my pool and my roses, and it is a long walk to empty the trash, but all in all, townhouse life is good.  Come see me if you’re in the hood.