For some reason when I found these photos today, the song "A Long December" popped up into my head which only contributed to my reverie. I have been missing our old home. I miss this ratty tree that shielded us so well from our neighbors across the way. I miss the muddy little creek, hidden by spindly trees and prickly brush, that curved around the back of our house. When we moved to the East Coast I never thought I could hold such strong feelings for my new environment, and yet that is where I often find my mind drifting these days. When I think of 'home' it is this version of home, this house with its weathered deck perpetually littered with crunchy brown leaves, that my mind returns to repeatedly. I think of the chilly air, the gently rustling leaves, and the faint smell of cigarette smoke wafting over from our neighbor's backyard patio. I think of our kitties -- all three of them -- happily lounging outside all day, from late morning until the sun set low in the sky. And just like that, I have snapped all the way back through the dimension of time and space to the exact moment when I stood on the second floor, feet firmly planted on our old cream-colored carpet, leaning precariously over the rusty railing of our bedroom window to capture those few ordinary, precious, fleeting, golden, moments.
I don't mean to keep posting old photos but I can't help it. Something about this season; this time of year. Every time I start updating my blog with more recent photos I get sucked right back into snapshots from a previous time, place, and life. These photos pop up like an old friend I haven't seen in a while, and I cannot help myself but to stop and sit a while to revisit old memories. No wonder I never get around to posting photos until years after the fact.
For some reason when I found these photos today, the song "A Long December" popped up into my head which only contributed to my reverie. I have been missing our old home. I miss this ratty tree that shielded us so well from our neighbors across the way. I miss the muddy little creek, hidden by spindly trees and prickly brush, that curved around the back of our house. When we moved to the East Coast I never thought I could hold such strong feelings for my new environment, and yet that is where I often find my mind drifting these days. When I think of 'home' it is this version of home, this house with its weathered deck perpetually littered with crunchy brown leaves, that my mind returns to repeatedly. I think of the chilly air, the gently rustling leaves, and the faint smell of cigarette smoke wafting over from our neighbor's backyard patio. I think of our kitties -- all three of them -- happily lounging outside all day, from late morning until the sun set low in the sky. And just like that, I have snapped all the way back through the dimension of time and space to the exact moment when I stood on the second floor, feet firmly planted on our old cream-colored carpet, leaning precariously over the rusty railing of our bedroom window to capture those few ordinary, precious, fleeting, golden, moments.
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It's Korean tradition to order Noodles with Black Bean Sauce (짜장면 Jjajangmyeon) as your first meal after a long day of moving. We were more than happy to partake in this tradition.
Unpacking priorities
Our crap finally arrived! Or I should say, it was finally delivered after sitting in storage for the past couple of months while we sorted out our apartment.
On moving day the head mover came into our house and did a quick survey of the windows, checking each one and peering down onto the street below. Sly and I were confused, what did the windows have to do with the move? Finally Head Mover stopped in one of the smaller bedrooms, peered down, opened the window, and yelled at some tiny people 17 floors down. We heard a truck engine start and saw a moving van with crated items pull towards the building. They were going to haul our boxes 17 floors up through the bedroom window... Wait. What? Immediately I envisioned a scene from a Wile E. Coyote/Road Runner cartoon: a giant pulley,a dangling, nearly threadbare rope, a baby grand piano being hauled up 17 floors and then falling back down the 17 floors onto someone's head. Thankfully, it didn't happen that way. I was kind of concerned they were going to ride to the top with a cherry picker or window washer type mechanism -- which seemed rather dangerous -- but instead the movers used something that can be described as a sort of box escalator? First the movers removed the sliding glass doors in the bedroom (they can do that?). Then they TAPED the escalator/ladder thing to the railing. Once *secured* (gulp) the upstairs movers yelled down to the downstairs movers who started loading up (and I mean loaded to capacity) a platform with boxes. Finally, the downstairs movers pressed a button and in about 30 seconds a platform of our (unsecured) crap flew up into the sky. Once at window level, the upstairs movers unloaded the platform by leaning over the railing and pulling off the boxes and parcels with a hooked stick. It was actually an extremely efficient process: one grabbed the boxes using the stick, another accepted the box and called out the moving number, I checked off the number, the box was handed to another guy to put on a dolly where it was carried to the correct room. Once the box arrived in the room the Head Mover removed the sticker and placed it in a row so that we could double check. All together, including time to assess and set up the windows and box escalator, coffee and donut break, meeting with a customs agent (surprise! I had no idea he was coming and Sly was away getting coffee at the time so we just stared at each other while he showed me his badge for what seemed like forever), another meeting with a housing inspector, a super long lunch break, unpacking of boxes, setting up what furniture we could find the hardware for, triple checking all inventory/numbers and searching for boxes without numbers, and removal of all boxes and paper -- took about five hours. Pretty painless as far as moves go. When we were prepping for our move over three months ago, we spent a lot of time going through our things -- mostly furniture, clothes, and various home goods. What we didn't really get to, however, was our kitchen stuff, which, no kidding, comprised at least 1/2 of our total moving shipment. I love that we brought our mini fridge (why?) but not a microwave. And all the stupid tupperware. This was my chance to FINALLY just have ONE SET OF MATCHING TUPPERWARE. Nope. All of that, in all its unmatched glory, came with us. I will never be free of the curse of the Tupperware. On the other hand, for the first time in my entire life I have the sweetest walk-in closet of my dreams -- It's not Kardashian level but it's the kind with built in shelves and drawers and split racks for hanging shirts and pants. The irony of this is that both of us got rid of so much clothes that we actually don't need a closet this big.** I'm not complaining though, I am gonna enjoy this closet while I can. So far, we have only found a few broken items -- a wine glass, a piece of pottery, and some end tables. Not bad considering the journey our crap had to make, overseas and up the side of a building. **Shoes excluded. In our previous homes I have had my "shoe collection" scattered across multiple closets so in my head I tricked myself into believing I didn't have *that* many shoes. In our current apartment we have dedicated shoe closets near the entry way. For the first time ever I can see all my shoes in one location and... Holy crap. I have more shoes than God. I am not quite sure just yet if this pleases or disgusts me.
We finally moved into our apartment!
After about an hour orientation with our real estate agent, we learned how to use all the various remotes and screens and buttons (toilet included) that control our house. Next we picked up our kitties, Max crying the entire way over, and brought them home. They are still getting used to everything: the city noises, the creaks and cracks and bells and dings that make up apartment life, the sunny patios that peer down onto the traffic below, the pigeon that came by to rest on the windowsill (17 floors up!), and having so much more space to run around. We spent the weekend walking around our (cute but not very trendy) neighborhood and just hanging out with the kitties. At home, the boys never left our sides, especially Max. I would give Max "tours" of the house calling him to follow me from room to room. He was so curious about his new surroundings but didn't want to be in a room without one of us present. It feels like our bodies and brains are finally be allowed to breathe a deep sigh as everything is processed -- the move, our new environment, being in another country, etc. It is such a HUGE relief to be together under the same roof. This past winter the kitties enjoyed an indoor garden when we had to bring all our potted plants indoors because of the weather. Max ate an heirloom rose that had been transplanted from my Grandma's garden, to my Aunt's, and then to mine. So this Spring I told the kitties that I would get them an organic garden of their own.
Even though I grew up with a house full of animals, I didn't know until somewhat recently that many foods and plants were toxic to cats. I knew the obvious ones, like lilies, but I had no idea there was such a long list. We ended up planting them a pot of cat grass on one deck, and a cat-friendly herb garden on the other -- mint, parsley, basil, lavender, catnip and mini roses (rosa species). We don't let them out on the herb garden balcony often because they love catnip a bit too much (and really this is the only plant other than the grass that they are drawn to), but they do enjoy a bite of grass from the plant on the other deck from time to time. Especially Max who would probably be a vegetarian if we would let him. Nevermind that we still have our Christmas tree up or that we still have a bunch of boxes in our donate pile that require sifting through. We figured that with enough wine and food that these things would be overlooked.
It’s been over a year since we moved into our house and it was time to finally have some friends over for dinner. As usual, Sly did all the prepping and cooking while I offered moral support in the form of “do you need anything to drink?” Once our friends arrived we tapped into the wine, ate tons of cheese + crackers, more wine, and then onto the main course: Sly’s homemade spicy cioppino chock-full of all kinds of fresh seafood. We retired to the living room post-dinner to rest up a bit before tackling the crockpot apple cobbler (known as “apple crisp, even though there’s no crisp) and some dessert liquor. After a whirlwind of eating and drinking I started to feel a bit hot and light-headed (aka drank too much) so I went upstairs and maybe took a little nap while sitting on the cool tile floors of our master bathroom. Then I shook it off, rallied, and returned to the living room for more wine and convo. That's the mark of real friendship: when you act like a weirdo and nobody says a word. |
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