4 things in 4 days

It has now been 4 days that I have called this lovely city home. To mark the occasion, here are 4 tidbits I’ve learned…

1. You really, really don’t want to wear those sandals. Trust me on this. It doesn’t matter how hot it is, your feet will be a toxic waste pit at the end of the day. Keep those babies covered.

2. A billion totes on top of everything is the solution to not giving away all of your possessions. Just most of them. Wardrobe? Put a tote on it. Kitchen cupboard? Put a tote on it. Couch? Put a tote under it. Just so many totes.

3. If you find yourself arguing with your significant other and you don’t feel like storming down 6 flights of stairs (again) go into the bathroom, lock the door, and sit in the cold shower. A shower also makes me infinitely more huggable for the “let’s not fight hug” that I tend to go for.

4. As long as Selemon’s golf clubs are sitting in our closet I feel like I can win any fight about who is taking up more space. So really, I sort of love those golf clubs, like we’re in on something together.

I’m going to go organize some totes now…

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Airport

Boston is actually quite small. It became a city in 1630 when teeny tiny people walked or rode around. (Despite how old the green line may appear, it did not in fact exist when the city was created)

I love imaging how the chunk of land bustling with visiting tourists, homeless wanderers, and stoned teenagers that we now call  Boston Commons was once an animal pasture and public execution spot (these were the Puritans, after all, and they loved public shame). Which is a long, roundabout way of saying, yes, its old and, yes, its small. And this means that the airport, which sits smack dab on the edge of the harbor sends airplanes up up and over the middle of the city all day long.

My office is located on the 21st floor of a building, allowing for sweeping views of Boston and that harbor. It was a brilliant stroke of luck to land such a spot. But even on those days when the the sun is so bright and the ocean is sparkling and people are milling around thousands of feet below, my eyes always wander over to that airport with its planes carrying people in and out.

When I know I will soon be leaving the city, whether flying or driving, it serves as a constant reminder of that departure. And those days when I don’t have an airline itinerary sitting in my inbox? Those planes unsettle me. All these people coming and going and here you are – just here. sitting. maybe stuck? and most likely a bit lonely.

For a homebody, I sure do have an awful itch that flares up at any hint of stagnation.

And I think maybe it will finally calm down. You see, I’ll soon have a home with Selemon, who in the midst of all this moving and shuffling over the years suddenly and quite resolutely became home to me.

(Now, I will raise my hand right here and admit that if I had stumbled upon that sentiment coming from anywhere but my very own mind…most likely on some cross-stitched pillow or obnoxious pinterest board, amiright? I would have heaved with annoyance. But that’s just how things became, and that’s the truth.)

One day, my mind, quite effortlessly and without consulting me first, seemed to have shifted the whole concept of home from a physical place to this one person.

It happened like this- a Sunday night sitting on a bus traveling that gorgeous but sort of lonely stretch between New Hampshire and Massachusetts. I was passing the time in my favorite way, by taking advantage of the high perch a coach bus provides by pressing my forehead against the cool window and staring down at all the people nestled individually into their cars below. (For the record, my initial reaction toward people luxuriously traveling in cars is always a pang of jealousy- the severity of which correlates very reliably to how compact and quiet the random person in the seat next to me is)

Soon the envy fades and I sit there considering their Dunkin Donut coffee cups and notebooks sprawled on the passenger seats. I create stories in my mind of who these people are, wondering if they were going home or leaving home and suddenly, that night  I realized this. That for me, home had become nothing more than that settled feeling that traveled along with the person I loved. The person who so completely loved me back.  And the whole thing suddenly made so much sense.

And finally – and here’s the best part- that person and that physical space called home will be, for the very first time, the very same thing.  And I’m quite overwhelmed by how good I think that will feel. I imagine my soul will be more rested than it has in a long time.

So this all means that maybe, finally, the next time I find myself perched high in the sky watching other lives come and go my eyes will take in a bit more of the harbor and less of that tarmac. And I’m really looking forward to that.

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I’ve been awful

…ly busy? 

 

No but really, I attempted multiple times to upload pictures from the 4th of July.  It didn’t work and then I just gave up. And you all deserve better. My sincerest apologies. I’ll give you the verbal summary instead. 

 

Selemon and I traveled (separately from our respective cities, of course) to Minneapolis to spend 5 days with our nearest and dearest. What followed was a trip that involved the most adorable nephews and cousins, a bit of country music (until Selemon staged a coup), Selemon winning father in law approval through giant-fish-catching, fireworks that sprinkled ash on my head, some kayaking, a bit of green jello salad (love you, Minnesota), and the discovery (through camping) that Selemon is sort of afraid of deer attacking in the night, but more importantly, is a wonderful, try-anything husband. 

 

It was really fantastic. 

 

And now I find myself at my kitchen table in Boston preparing to spend a night packing up some more possessions. You see, on Saturday at 8 AM I will be in Harvard Square picking up a rental car that has a one-way journey to New York City on its schedule. Which means I have a long night of pack, pack, packing before my last few nights are spent with goodbyes and sweeping views of Boston. 

 

I really couldn’t be more excited. As much as Boston has been lovely, its also been filled with a lot of really tough self discovery and hard truths and I’m quite frankly ready to see it in my rear view mirror. Onward to New York City we go! 

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New York’s Newest Residents

Finally “home” is the same place for both of us. And that feels really good.

Enjoy some pictures from move-in weekendImage

Boxes everywhere. We were finally able to unload so many lovely wedding gifts and Selemon demonstrated his domestic skills

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Dish-washing view ain’t bad

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I’m excited

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I had been in Times Square before, but it really is strange to walk out of a dark theatre at night into an even brighter outside

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I love our apartment building’s hallways. It makes the 6 floor climb enjoyable. (ask me again in a few months)

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An early morning walk through our gorgeous neighbor, Washington Square Park

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If you go early enough, it’s just you and some homeless folks at the park

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A little piece of Wisconsin in Manhattan

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Domestic life

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Midnight movies at 17 vs 27

Wet_Hot_4

source: MyDamnChannel

I love little movie theatres and delightfully kitschy parody movies, so when I walked past Coolidge Corner theater and saw Wet Hot American Summer listed on the marquee my heart skipped a beat. I immediately recruited Jess to accompany me and gushed about the perfection of Paul Rudd, Amy Poehler, and Bradley Cooper in 1981-appropriate short shorts at a summer camp. This movie is the classic summer celebration, and as a former camp counselor I can’t resist. It also happened to be three days before my 27th birthday, providing the perfect excuse to do something different.

So, with Jess on board I went to buy a ticket and… the only showing was at 11:59 PM. Frantically searching for a more reasonable time, it dawned on me…daaaaaamn, this was a midnight movie. Uuuuuuuuuugh. Then: Karma. Why Karma you ask?

Fargo, ND has a teeny-tiny art deco theatre nestled on our one “downtown” street. As restless high schoolers the “midnight movie” provided the perfect excuse for an extended curfew. The best part? You didn’t even have to go to the movie! (sorry, Mom and Dad) The first time we “went” to a movie, we bought the ticket just in case our parents decided to verify our location with the ticket stub. They didn’t and we realized we could save that one ticket stub for all future showings and hope they wouldn’t scrutinize it closely enough to realize the listed date was about three months ago.

Naturally we used these extra two hours to drink in a field as North Dakotan teens are known to do, or something similarly enlightening.

In high school these midnight movies were my curfew-busting savior. Now, as someone on the cusp of 27 I was cursing at the idea of breaking my self imposed curfew. Oh how things change. Thanks for the pre-birthday reality check, life. 

I complained to Jess, she told me I absolutely had to go, and go we did. It turned out to be wonderful with loud laughs and (most likely not sober) audience interaction the way only a midnight showing can provide.

I couldn’t have asked for a better way to spend my birthday weekend.

For those of you unfamiliar with this cinematic delight, here is the trailer, and of course, I recommend a midnight showing, regardless of your age.

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