Nesting

Things are heating up, as we endeavor to make Thomasina (our new house) a home.

She got a fresh coat of paint, turning her (in just one sunny Saturday) from a frousy, fussy stripe-wearing matron into a witty attention-grabbing sophisticate. Or, at least I like to think so. Judge for yourself:

And now there's also furniture, finally purchased after a full-month of measuring and comparison shopping. The furniture is assembled and fits Thomasina's new look. We seem to be going for a slightly bohemian look but with the organic symmetry of Arts and Crafts style. A place where perhaps Christina Rossetti might have felt at home, except in this case with television and multiple bathrooms.

And now Saturday we usher in the remainder of our dusty and confused belongings. They're not exactly being as thoughtfully packed as I hoped, and are instead being dragged out unprotected by tissue paper or bubble wrap, heaped together in laundry bins and trash bags, a confusion of things we forgot we even owned. The impending move apparently freaked our DVD player so much it simply quit working, choosing death over the chaos of a new home. The TV is threatening to follow suit. However it happens, we're moving as much as we can on Saturday.

It has been nice living with less at the house. There are a few things I'm learning we can do without...quite easily. For instance, since we don't yet have a TV at the new house, we've now gone without it for about 2 weeks. Actually, I do miss that a little. Especially watching movies. But we don't really need it. Same with the Internet and our land-line phone. I only have maybe 1/4 of my clothes and shoes at the house, and turns out that's actually about all I need. It gets boring after a while, but that's it.

On the flip side, we already managed to bring all our books to the house...and while unpacking them yesterday I discovered that Thomasina hasn't really felt like a home until that moment. Could we do without our books? Of course. But what, really, is a home without them? I unpacked those books with a contented sigh, just as I would after a feast of comfort food.

And one of the strangest aspects of all this is the ambiguity with which I've been viewing the home we're leaving. For so long all I could focus on is getting out of that little apartment, away from the rude neigbors, the sound of other peoples' stereos and arguments, the smell of other peoples' dinners, the space that never could contain all we needed and wanted to do with our lives. But now that I'm packing it all up I feel a real sense of loss. I miss always being so close to Dave. In the apartment, physically we could never be further than a room away; now, an entire floor can separate us. I remember not just the bad times we've had while in the apartment, but the many, many good times...reading Rebecca on the couch, glancing out the window while the snow falls quietly over the trees and electrical wires of the alley. How our little space shone at Christmas because our decorations filled it to the brim. They won't make much of a dent at the new house. I even kind of miss the noises and smells and the buzzing of lives going on just outside our walls. I suppose it's because we were caretakers for the building. I knew the place like most tenants wouldn't, and feel a sense of responsibility connected to it. While it was a hard place in which to live, it also served as a cradle for our goals and dreams. I owe it my thanks, and it deserves the dignity of a proper good-bye. After removing the last of our belongings and cleaning it for the last time, I plan to spend a private moment there before turning over the keys. I hope it's refinished and polished to a gleam...and eventually filled with another newlywed couple excited about their future.