Claiming Our Space

We went through the purchase of our new home half sleepwalking. Were we really doing this? I couldn’t conceive of how our belongings would fit into this smaller space. In truth, the actual living space was about the size of the main level of our old home, but it was as if the downstairs walkout of our old home had disappeared. POOF!  Of course, that was where we stored all the things we didn’t know what to do with. 

We had purchased our new condo from the original owners, and much was as it had been when it was built seventeen years earlier. The place had open space and a great view, but not everything was to our taste. I knew that if we just moved in without changing things we didn’t care for, we would never change them. And it would take much longer to feel like ours. And so, we began to seek bids to redo the bathrooms. It had never truly occurred to me to rip out tile floors and tubs. My concept of remodeling hadn’t extended beyond a coat of paint. We were astonished at the bids that returned and continued to seek out new ones hoping there was some simpler and less costly solution we were overlooking. Ultimately, we did find the right person to complete the work at a more reasonable cost with us playing a more active role in the purchasing. 

We dutifully went off to the tile store to select our materials.That part of the journey was fun but tinged with uncertainty. We visited showrooms and big box stores for shower equipment, closet doors and tile. There were multiple intersecting decisions to make. Were we making the right choices? What looked great in the store’s lighting, didn’t always work as well in ours, so we had a few attempts before we arrived at the best combination of elements. Then we went through a similar process in replacing carpeting and selecting paint.  Ten samples of paint patches coated our walls as we considered what colors would work best in a room with so much light that paint colors changed dramatically throughout the day. We each could veto a choice and we had to both agree to move forward. Fortunately what mattered to one, mattered less to the other, so we defaulted to whomever felt more strongly. 

The incremental nature of the decisions made it difficult to picture the final result, but we began to trust our judgment as each of our changes proved pleasing. It was beginning to feel like ours. My worries about space had resulted in us taking out a tub and replacing it with a large closet which proved to be an excellent decision. I was also pleasantly surprised to discover that with ten-foot ceilings there was lots of storage space if I had a step stool nearby. Thus I found a home for the china and crystal that I couldn't give away. They harkened back to a time in my thirties when I took cooking classes and threw dinner parties. I carefully put each piece away, contemplating if I might ever resume such activities.

Each new purchase involved much searching and debate. We purchased a new bedroom set and couch and ferried our old couches to our artist studios, where we had to find room for them. The convenient thing about a studio building is that what doesn’t fit in our studios may be an inviting addition to another artist's studio, not to mention the free table where items that are left may end up in studios or repurposed in artwork. 

 Our condo had a round living room which meant that the lengthy low bookcase that once held glass and ceramic art objects had nowhere to go. Instead, it took up residence in my studio along with all our art books. My smaller paintings sat atop it. It looked as if it had been designed for that space. 

And I moved furniture out of the studio as well. When my mother passed away, I got the two mid-century modern chairs that had graced her living room since I was a child. I had housed them in my studio and talked of someday having them refinished and reupholstered. That day had come. They moved out of the studio to make room for other furniture and into our new condo. It is the first home my parents are not around to see, but I feel their presence through those chairs and other artifacts that summon their presence. I know my late mother, a nature lover, who always called us to the window to see a bird or a sunset, would have loved facing the park.

 

Most of our family now resides out of state, but one grandson is in a neighboring state and was the beneficiary of furniture and artwork. In an early visit his girlfriend admired a wood carving that I had gotten on a trip to Mexico. “Would you like it,” I asked, as I handed it to her. “It’s yours!” It was the first of many belongings that we passed on to them, pleased to have some treasures begin a new life with family. My niece, our first overnight guest in our new space, also left with artwork. Are you sensing a theme? We have a lot of artwork.

I soon learned that two people bring two different approaches to an impending move, each gravitating to action, but in different ways. Panicked by the mere thought of moving, I quickly began to sort through clothing, papers and books, thinning out belongings. My husband was not at that stage yet, annoyed as he tripped over my growing pile of bags for Goodwill. He envisioned a simple and orderly move. His theory was that we would move the items that we wanted to the new place and simply get rid of what was left. I argued, that while that was nice in theory, it ignored the fact that there is a sorting process that must occur and that entails getting rid of things gradually. It is an incremental process, not simply a toggle switch between keep or don’t keep. And neither of us had yet contemplated the difficulty in getting rid of things without adding to landfills. To give my husband his due, he was in his comfort zone, busy painting the condo walls while I sorted. 

While the bathrooms were remodeled, we were limited in what we could move in. Carpeting then had to be laid, and I had to wait until the painting was done. After those projects were completed, I began a daily trek each day to our new home, bringing over boxes to gradually establish our lives in this new space.

One morning shortly after the remodeling was completed, we woke up in our old home and my husband turned to me and said, “I think we should move in today.” I looked around me taking mental note of my surroundings as I wondered if this was the last time I would sleep in that bed. And it was. We moved in that day. What surprised me was how natural it felt. My husband remarked that it felt as if we were on vacation in a high-end hotel. It did a bit, but it also felt comfortable, like it was ours. We had begun to claim it as our own.

Stay tuned for Creating a Home