Thursday, September 27, 2012

The Worst Part of Moving is Moving

Where was I? Oh yeah, in a sea of boxes.

Other than not being able to find the regular toothpaste yet (all I could find was a travel size of Vanilla Mint, yuck) we are settling into our new peaceful apartment just fine.

To be honest, it's so cozy and I like it so much that I'm happy to hang out in the new digs for a while. Is it wrong to hope we don't find a house for a few months? Because, you know, moving is horrible.

Under normal circumstances people's bizarro habits are tolerable... Oh, Ray abandoned another penny on the floor. No biggie, I'll just pick it up.

But under moving/packing circumstances… Oh LOOK. Ray abandoned another penny on the floor. No biggie, I'm just going to KILL him.

Tensions run high.

Side note - When we moved Ray out of his condo we collected these two bags of change from jars, containers, the floor, the closet, drawers, etc etc.

There was almost $250 in them.

So I'm happy to have the move behind us and the dread of it gone. Even the kitties are slapping each other less now that more and more boxes are being cleared away. (Is it wrong to laugh when Cassius, unprovoked, slaps Cassady right across the whiskers?)

Ray diligently checks on the kitties' emotional state and pets them when they're cuddled up to encourage them to be pals again.

He's also apparently matching his clothes to the furniture. Which is another interesting thing since the move. 

Sunday, September 16, 2012

Here's To You, Vacation 2012

Before we left for Cape Cod, Ray and I debated if we even had time for a vacation.

Saying things have been hectic is an understatement. Work was crazy for both of us, we were still deciding on an interim apartment, plus house hunting, packing up our old apartment and, oh yeah, I got called for jury duty while we was supposed to be in Boston.

Fortunately, we weren't two drinks into a nice, four-hour lunch in Boston when we finally exhaled and forgot all about our lives in Cincinnati. The next five days were filled with great friends, good food and relaxing with cocktails.

Turns out, I much prefer beach time, riding on boats and spontaneous visits to historic landmarks with my friends than having to again think about packing, moving and jury duty.

To put it more succinctly, not being on vacation is no bueno.

Look how great we look relaxed and wind swept.

But we will always have Wahlbugers and Plymouth Rock.

This is the rock. I thought it would be bigger.                            

This is the thing the rock is housed in.

And we will always have drag queen karaoke and Provincetown.


Vacation 2012, you were awesome.

Monday, September 10, 2012

The Sweetest, Funniest, Teariest Wedding of the Summer

Last Saturday I married Missy and Josh in an intimate, outdoor ceremony at Rowe Woods. They said their vows on a small pier with just a few family and friends surrounding them.

Ray had given me two directives: Do not cry and do not drop the rings.

I didn't drop the rings.

But when I saw Missy come around the tree line on her dad's arm, and I watched as she and Josh teared up upon seeing each other for the first time on their wedding day, I couldn't stop the lump in my throat from turning into all out tears.

Afterward I told Ray it was allergies.

I was wiping the allergies out of my eyes.

Missy and Josh had super bad allergies too.

Josh said his was sweat. Allergies, sweat... definitely not our faults.

Beforehand I had practiced reading the ceremony many times, and each time I'd get choked up on the same part. I thought for sure I'd crack when I read it, which is why Ray told me I wasn't allowed to cry.

It turned out that not a single word I said brought a tear to my eye, but Missy and Josh both did. 

Their tender reactions to each other and the vows they wrote were so sincere and heartfelt that it was impossible not to cry. 

But there was a lot of sweet laughter too. And sometimes there was laughing and crying all at the same time. 

At the end of the ceremony I had written: "It is my honor to present for the first time Josh and Missy as husband and wife."

Truly it was an honor. But the real privilege was being there to witness the sweetest day of their lives. That was the best part.

Tuesday, September 04, 2012

There's No Place Like Home

It's always a little melancholy to move, isn't it?

Even when you're ready to move on. Even when the place is too small to fit into your big plans anymore.

But still, a place becomes your home. You love it, in your own way, even when you kind of hate it.

When we listed Ray's condo I didn't think it would sell anytime soon. I figured we had at least a few more grand months in it before we got frustrated of it not selling. By then we'd be too relieved to miss it.

It was on the market for 10 days before a deal was forged. Instead of reveling in our final months and weekends there, we spent them packing.

For two years we had the best of both worlds. A short walk to Hyde Park Square from my house, with Graeter's and the Echo and all the grass and crickets we wanted. On weekends we had his downtown condo, with new bars and restaurants and OTR right in our backyard.

From his place Ray could walk to work and not have to worry about parking downtown. It was great, until he started spending every night with me. Then suddenly having two places didn't seem all that great anymore.

Somehow we outgrew two places.

Even though we were grateful it sold so quickly, we packed feeling sad it was gone so fast and reminiscing about our time there.

We had our first kiss in his windowsill. On Sundays he'd cook us nice dinners, to ease us back into the workweek.

We hung Charlie Harper prints in the bedroom. 

And we spent the entire winter putting together a puzzle.

And drank coffee and read the paper on his rooftop when it warmed up again.

He lived there for six years. In a lot of ways, it was like saying goodbye to an old friend.

Before we locked the door the final time, Ray left the new owner a bottle of wine and a note saying he hopes she loves the place as much as he did. 

I felt like leaving his condo a note: It's not you, it's us.