The last time I wrote was January. February was freeze-your-butt-off cold and consumed with the decision to move along with a lot of uncertainty about where I'd move to. March was all about getting rid of things. April was all about packing. (And getting rid of more things.)
I thought moving across the country was hard, but in retrospect it was nothing in comparison to moving after being in this apartment for seven years.
This was the scene on the last day before I turned in the keys. I stood in the living room and thought about the last seven years. I thought about marriages, births, and deaths that have happened while I lived here. I thought about all the things I had created and learned and read and listened to. I thought about the million times I had climbed the stairs to the entry door and passed through into silence and comfort. I didn't realize how connected I had become. Even considering all of the aggravations, it was hard to leave.
So if the late winter and spring was about moving, the early summer has been about painting and cleaning and yard work. I'm living in a house that had been empty for eight months but previously inhabited by a person who was too old to really maintain it. It's a post and beam construction, so painting was a real challenge since we had to paint around all the wood.
The first thing we did was remove bookcases. They were narrow, ate up wall space, and created so many extra lines that the place felt cluttered even when completely empty. The walls were beige. For the first time in my life I painted almost every wall white. Oh and the curtains went immediately.
The house is referred to in the plans as a 1 1/2 story Cape. Which I wouldn't know from Adam, but that's what the old plans I found in a drawer say. It's a half story, I assume, because the second floor is under the eaves. Here's a shot of the loft.
Note the exposed plugs, light switches and monstrous florescent panel lights. The thing under the window is a cat bed. The house sported two of these lovely fixtures. They are gone the way of the red curtains. Never to be seen again.
So after 5.5 gallons of paint, 10 rolls of painter's tape and many hours of work donated by some very generous friends who were willing to climb up the ladder needed to paint in the peak of the 15 foot ceiling, the painting was finished. I scrubbed wooden and ceramic floors until my knees gave out. It took a week to scour the kitchen. I kept finding surfaces I hadn't cleaned. Still today, after a month, I'll suddenly see something I missed.
Soon after this work was finished, I had to get started on the yard. This photo is only a quarter of what has to be cleared out enough to mow.
I am finding that a house with double the square footage of my apartment, plus a very overgrown yard that must be tamed, takes up a lot of time. Time that I used to spend knitting, spinning, reading, or creating something with paper and ink. I now have the space to house my hobbies. I just don't have the time to actually do any of them!