Monday, June 23, 2008


So yesterday we said farewell to our apartment. Got our deposit back. Said nice things to our nice landlord and drove away.

Mostly I was ecstatic. We'd finished the cleaning! No more having that burden on my shoulders and no more carloads of all those things you never have ready for the movers to take... carloads of junk you must then unload and unpack into your new house.

But still. There was just something about those nearly six months we lived inside that tiny place. You've heard of the movie, The Enchanted Cottage? Well, it was a kinda-sorta 2008 version of that. We'd try to explain to people what we loved about that noisy, dark-paneled apartment, but well, always we failed to convey our emotions.

I loved that place. I loved my morning routine... get up early, get Tom off to work, watch Style Network and drink my pretend coffee, straighten the house, then get dressed and made-up, grab my Mary Englebreit canvas bag and take off on foot for old-fashioned destinations. The deli down the block. The 1800's dining car made into a coffee shop. The convenience store for yogurt, peanuts and whatever little things we were out of. Or if in a mood to venture farther, I'd head uptown to the supermarket and plaza or perhaps Salvation Army or Burger King for coffee.

I did a whole lot of walking those six months, in all sorts of temperatures and weather. In my long black wool coat and gloves and hat or just my t-shirt and black slacks.

It's strange. I felt more of a sad twinge at leaving the apartment than I did our house of 15 years after we sold it. But most likely that's because I did have all those years at the house and a huge plethora of experiences and I was so very ready to leave it behind for new adventures ahead.

And I did have new adventures there in that one-bedroom apartment. Lived a whole other way (sorta) and watched the trains outside the kitchen window with a smile for their travelers inside... walked through neighborhoods where I grew used to seeing patrol cars, ambulances and empty, sagging houses. Strolled often down a street once noted in Guinness for the most bars, a street where people still live above the few shops left.

Maybe it was the newness-to-me I appreciated most. The chance to be someone or something else. I'm not sure. And again, it's not all explainable.

But you know? This whole mini-farm experience will have tons of newness, too--in spades! And I can walk to a different town, a mini-one, though the closest part is one mile away and the library is nearly a mile and a quarter. But all that walking these earlier months has prepared me, I like to think. And all that newness has prepared me, also, for accepting and appreciating all the changes and adventures I'll find here... to welcome each and be afraid of none.

3 comments:

Judy said...

May your new place overflow with Grace!

Kristi in the Western Reserve said...

This is such happy news, Debra. And I wonder if you have a bike? I'm picturing you with a bike with baskets to hold things when you go "downtown". Your lines lie in pleasant places...........What an interesting journey you are being led upon.

Charity Grace said...

I know exactly what you mean. We rented a charming 100 year old house for 8 months last year, and as much as I love my new house, I miss the old one too!