"Why does it feel like it's taking us so long to get settled?" J asked on Saturday. "We moved in here three weeks ago!" I looked around the disheveled apartment and at the boxes strewn in haphazard groups across the living and dining rooms - office stuff, photos and artwork, empty boxes for recycling, the miscellaneous stuff that never has a place to go. Even with the major pieces of furniture in place and so much already unpacked it still didn't seem anywhere near settled. But I realized that while we had technically moved in on July 1st, the moving company didn't deliver our things until July 16th. So even though it had been three weeks since the move, what we were looking at was a mere five days of unpacking. All things considered, we had made plenty of progress. The next night J put together his brand new charcoal grill while I sorted through the remaining mess in the main rooms and put up a few pictures. Bit by bit, the knick-knacks and binder clips and books found their new homes in drawers and baskets and shelves; the hallway came alive with pictures of our family; and Clara continued in her search to find the best places to curl up. By the time we climbed into our new bed with the new sheets and the new-to-us furniture we found used online, we finally, finally, felt at home. So what, exactly, makes it our home? We are extremely blessed to have so much as a roof over our heads, and were beyond lucky to have window-mounted air conditioners ready for us to use in our new space. We have a bed, a couch, some tables, some chairs (some the worse for wear after the move). We have our kitchen utensils and dishes and pots and pans and have designated places for most of them to go. But these are not what make it our home. Home is where our cat feels equally comfortable curling up on a chair, sprawling like a hungover college student in the middle of the room, or chasing hair ties until they are lost under the couch. It is especially our home when Clara finds the most inconvenient place to take a nap and then meows at us with what I can only describe as catitude when we inevitably trip over her, or when she steals my hair ties after losing too many of her own. Home is where everything has its place and J still doesn't know where it is, making me the reigning champion of our favorite game, "Honey, where is the _______?" Meanwhile, J is the reigning champion of "Reach that thing without climbing on the counter." I never win that one. Home is where we can comfortably flop - onto the couch, onto the bed, into a chair. We are creatures of comfort, J and I, and we both love a good comfy cushion, preferably with a hand-made blanket to go with. Home is where there are instruments. So. Many. Instruments. So far my collection includes a cello, a ukulele, two guitars, an alto saxophone, a violin, and definitely a few recorders somewhere. Someday, our home will have a piano. Home is where artwork and photographs hang on the walls, bringing color and warmth to our lives. The wedding pictures and the family portraits, the celebratory Cubs memorabilia for J (okay, and for me, too), the one-of-a-kind paintings from friends both amateur and professional, and the not-so-one-of-a-kind canvases that just look pretty. They are not the stories themselves, but the cover art to the many volumes we've already collected. We look forward to collecting more, filling both our walls and our memories. On our last days in our old apartment, after the movers had come and gone with astonishing efficiency, J and I surveyed a space that hadn't been so empty since the day we moved in five years prior. We looked at its naked walls and bare floors and thought somehow it looked smaller than when it was our home. How could it be that 400 square feet felt smaller when it was empty than when it was filled with the accoutrements of life? Such perception surely defies the laws of physics, and the history of so many stubbed toes should have been a simple reality-check. But it was true: the empty space indeed felt tiny because, without the artwork and instruments and pillows and hiding places, it was no longer a home. Instead of feeling cramped, the things in our home expanded the space itself. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to chase Clara and get my hair tie back. I still haven't unpacked all of my own. . .
1 Comment
Amy Healey
7/23/2019 11:04:41 am
So glad you decided to keep writing . Moving is a process, but pictures on the wall is a big step.
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AuthorNashira is a music teacher and proud Small-Town Jew who, after surthriving six years in Brooklyn for her husband's surgical residency, is finally back in Wisconsin where she belongs! At least until the end of the two-year surgical fellowship, that is. It's a wild ride, and she's ready to tell you all about it! Archives
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