Moving Diaries: Choose Your Words Carefully

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Blair and I spent the afternoon packing the library and front room. We were pulling photo albums and stray pictures out of a cabinet, deciding what stays and what goes. 

"Is this your mom?" Blair asked, handing me a photo of a 10-year-old blonde girl with a bow in her hair that had been laquered within an inch of its life to a piece of wood (woodshop project, 7th grade). 

"Yes," I said. 

"And what about this little fella here?" said Blair, handing me a picture of a chubby baby in a blue sweater sitting on a couch. "Is this your dad?"

"That's me, you igit," I said. 

Things took an ugly turn from there. 

Dena

Moving Diaries: Quid Pro Quo

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Blair and I have started going through the house with a ruthless eye toward packing. This morning we went through our bookshelves. I love you, Amy Tan, but sorry, Drowning With Fish was NOT a good book and didn't make the cut. Same for you, This Was America, which we've never read. (And for the record, neither of us is willing to claim responsibility for bringing you into the home in the first place.) The Last Tycoon by F. Scott Fitzgerald just made it through, but barely. And the editing continues. 

We're getting ready to go through our offices where I tend to be brutal, but Blair has threatened retaliation in the kitchen if I'm too heavy-handed. I don't care what he says, a day will come again when he'll thank me for holding on to the bread maker... even though I no longer eat bread. 

Stay tuned for Stage 2: Breaking Things To Avoid Dealing With Packing Them.

Cheers,

Dena

The Moving Diaries: Mirrors, Letting Go & The Big Picture

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I think it's safe to finally, unequivocally announce that Blair and I are moving to Greensboro. I've been hesitant to announce it, almost like a new pregnancy. You just want to make sure everything takes before accepting the well wishes of family and friends. But all evidence points toward a move. We have bought a house. We have our beloved home up for sale. We spend our nights bickering over what pieces of furniture will make the transition and which will be left behind. So yes, it appears the move 25 miles south is a done deal. 

For a brief, magical week, everything fell into place.

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Dena As Swedish Chef

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Driving in to look at homes today, Blair and I discussed what's essential and what's not. 

"You know," I said. "I need to get over this fetish I have for huge, gourmet kitchens. It's not like I'm that great a cook."

"You're a passionate cook," said Blair.

"Define passionate," I challenged.

"Messy," said Blair. "Remember the Swedish Chef from the muppets? Your style of cooking bears more then a passing resemblance to his."

"Rude!" I said, laughing. 

Rude, yes. But sadly, true. Enjoy.