Of rain and pears and cardamom and bolognese

The morning after finding peace with all the infernal rain earlier this week, I received a call from the foreman of the crew refinishing our old house's floors. The torrential deluge and attendant wind had forced their way in, leaving standing water on some of the newly sanded and sealed oak planks. 

Fantastic. Just marvelous. File that one under #itsalwayssomething

But OK. We have a good team over there, and the other floors are fine and look great. It's just stressful and annoying but it's fixable. I managed to bury my angst in two new, inexpensive kitchen utensil holders from Crate & Barrel. The simple thrill of wooden spoons in one and ladles in whisks in the other was uplifting. And I needed the freed-up drawer space, so these pretties are a win all around. 

It's lovely to feel settled in to my new kitchen. Today I cleaned the windows until they sparkled, and it really does make all the difference. Jack's best buddy is spending the night tonight (Ol is staying over at one of his closest pal's homes), and I wanted to make a nice dinner for the four of us to enjoy. 

Pasta is always popular with kids but I wanted to push the limits a bit so chose a chickpea bolognese recipe by a foodie acquaintance of mine. It's been on my 'to try' list for a while now, was easy to pull together, and gives you a whole lot of veggies in each serving. 

The boys were definitely suspicious about it not being your standard bolognese, but they were troopers and ate enough to warrant ice cream.

They should have opted for a slice of this lovely cardamom and pear cake I made. Tom and I each had two slices. It's not too sweet and isn't flashy at all. Just solid and comforting and yummy. I love cakes made with sour cream.

cardamom pear cake

And now this guy.

Perfect way to end a week. 

Rain, rain, go away?

Oh, this blasted rain. It's been coming down for two days now, in fits and starts, dustings and drenchings. Everything is gray, wet and sloshy. People scurry with covered heads and umbrellas; you can see February fatigue in their hunched shoulders and set brow. I found tonight's lightning an infinitely welcome event because its searing light beat a path across the grim, monotonous skyscape. Finally; something to illumine that dense shroud.

I do not yet know this house in rain. It's funny really, how I still feel somewhat like a visitor. I forgot about that element of moving: the lack of familiarity one has in a new place. As if you've gone on vacation but with everything you own.

Since Friday, I've spent a great deal of time cleaning. In the scrubbing and polishing of space inhabited just two weeks ago by strangers, I've gleaned some sense of how they might have lived here. These cabinet fronts are the most worn; surely they were those used most frequently. This drawer still has the maker's stamp clearly etched inside; was it ever even used? Where is the dust most concentrated? Where has it started to adhere? What areas appear to have been most treasured?

These little clues of others' lives are inconsequential really, but as I work to make this house ours, I notice and find them interesting. 

In a way it makes me sad that we're covering our tracks, so to speak, at our old house right now. The kids and I went by on Tuesday to check the samples of floor stain options the refinishing crew had left for us. Already, the home looked less like ours than it had just six days prior. No more worn carpet leading upstairs to our cozy rooms, no more uneven hue showing where we walked and played and ran most often.

Next week the painters will head in, to spackle away the holes and dings we left behind, evidence of the countless pictures hung via tape and nail, of the wear and tear rambunctious little boys leave in their wake, of who knows what that would give others small hints at how we might have lived.

Nine years sanded and stained and painted over. How dearly and tightly we hold on to things, until one day, we don't, and the debris of lives lived ends up on greasy paper towels and bundles of ripped out old shoe molding waiting for the garbagemen to carry it all away.

I was so snappy tonight. Tired and peevish and achy and short. I didn't like my attitude, but the traffic and errands and boxes and questions, homework and whining and why the hell won't the water just boil already?! I cursed the rain as I listened to the unfamiliar song it played on our house, and just when I thought I'd burst, Tom got home and finished bedtime (kind of), and I cooked the clams and made a salad.

The rain slowed and sated from a good meal, I considered that even though I tire of mud and slosh, browngrayugliness and February, rain is cleansing and perhaps this storm is the final bit of our goodbye and hello limbo week.

Perhaps instead of erasing our happy years in our old home, we're wiping its slate clean for the family who lives there next, offering them a blank canvas on which to paint their own experience. I think that's what I'm doing here, too.

Diary of a move, 8: IN and a Top Ten!

In nearly five years, this past break from blogging is by far my longest in Em-i-lis tenure. A move will do that to you. But we are in, and we are thrilled. Bruised, scratched, chapped and tired, but totally thrilled. Drowning in boxes, devoid of knives, a washing machine on endless loop, and no iPad chargers to be found, but thrilled.

At present, I'm sitting in my new family room. It has one lone couch in it, and my feet are propped on a box-cum-ottoman. I've scavenged an end table and lamp, and a friend brought us a gorgeous "new home" bottle of wine, a glass of which I'm enjoying to the utmost (thank you, Lori).  

I couldn't be happier, except if my lips weren't so chapped. A small price.

10 great aspects of this move:

1. It went smoothly, and our moving crew was amazing. No, we hadn't packed enough and so made a half-dozen trips back to our old house over the weekend. Yes, I am so grateful we could do so. Bottom line, the move was a good, nothing-broke one. Thank you to my friends who hosted the boys for Friday night sleepovers. 

2. We had a house full of natural light, and we have a new house full of natural light. What is better than being able to see the moon from your kitchen windows? The sunset from your family room? The warm wash of the sun's rays as you eat a quiet lunch? I love natural light cascading all around me, and our new house has even more than did our old one.

3. Out with the old... We didn't ace this sector, but the amount of stuff we gave away, sold, recycled, and tossed before relocating was epic. Boy did that purge feel good. Liberating. Fresh. Lightening. As I unpack and move in, I continue to let things go, and it's great.

4. Our new neighbors and neighborhood are positively dreamy. We moved on Friday, and by Saturday I knew several new people. Since, Bobbi has brought me an organic chicken and fresh greens and carrots from a local market. John helped us look for Nutmeg when we thought he'd gotten out (but was actually hiding inside our couch) and later shared his binoculars with the boys and me after walking us over to see a screech owl our neighbor Pete (the self-identified "resident birder") had located on the next street. 

This kind of community is amazing and just what we hoped for. Tonight's roast chicken and carrots and salad were sublime. The owl was so darling I almost couldn't stand it. Jack said on our walk home from seeing said owl, "We're walking in the middle of the street. This is just like Misse's neighborhood! I love it!" Me too! It's slow, steady, people have lived here for ages, and we are so happy to be here. And, screech owls!

5. My perfect kitchen table (and chairs) are even better than I imagined. I love them.

6. Nutmeg was a basketcase on Friday but has settled in so well. I'm relieved, because the caterwauling was intense.

7. The kids have room. We have room. We are one block from a fabulous park, and just forty feet from our front door is a lovely roundabout with a path across it.  

8. Billions was a somewhat-trashy but engaging show and still is. I like the cast. Damian Lewis' mouth is very small, but it works for him. It helps him seem super-intense. This is an aside but I watched both before and after the move. 

9. I have slept like a baby since we moved. A very happy baby. That's a good sign. It was a good decision. Many good decisions all in one. That feels wonderful. 

10. February is almost over!