When Spencer bought his home two years ago this month, we began moving him piece by piece — bag by bag — until the rented home he shared with roommates morphed into his brand-new condo filled with all his belongings.
Even in the moment those hot June days, I was already hit with a wave of nostalgia. What’s the term for missing something that hasn’t even happened yet? I knew the place would never be that empty again. And in my still-sort-of-a-new-girlfriend-but-hopeful state, I couldn’t shake the feeling that his home would someday become our home.
As we inch closer and closer to that happening, I’m the one moving in shoe by shoe (literally) these days. The early evenings when we’d collapse on the living room floor are long gone, but last week still found us huddled around the open windows watching the end of a dissipating summer storm.
That was our entertainment in those early days: without a couch or TV or cable (eh, still no cable), we’d talk over cold sodas in newly-set-up camp chairs near the windows after all the work was done.
In the midst of wedding planning, moving and arranging a thousand other big and small upheavals, I needed to remember those simple, hopeful days.
That sunset was truly beautiful.
Another successful family birthday party! My grandmother never fails to pull off a really fun bash. We celebrated my uncle’s big day, which is actually Tuesday . . . but who can get together during the work week? Needless to say, the food was delicious. I ate way too much but can hardly contain myself with “party food” all spread out before me. As my mother always says, “It tastes so good because you never make it for yourself!” And this, apparently, is true.
