A new day.

Today is a very good day.

It's my three-year wedding anniversary. It's the day my favorite person and I jet off to one of our favorite cities and spend a long weekend being no one but us. It's also the day that I confess a very big thing to you, because it's finally become more tiring keeping it quiet than letting it all hang out.

Here's my baggage, thrown open for the world to see: I've been trying to get pregnant for two years.

Exhale.

Two Junes ago, T and I threw caution to the wind and decided to just see what happens. Of course, nothing did. A long journey began then instead, one much more complicated than we ever expected. All the same, the June of my memories is a month of freewheeling optimism, a month of earnest hope, a month of giddiness. It's almost June again, and so much has changed. Our world is decidedly more measured in its optimism now, our imaginations a little more contained, our hearts a little more tender. But there is hope, always.

There's also been a lot of writing over here, in my quiet moments. Some of it is sad, some of it funny, and some of it just explanatory, captured so I don't forget the details. It's been good for me. When I started writing, the only audience I had in mind was someone besides you guys. The person writing wasn't the me you all know. She's a little more wry, a little more bitter, a little more beaten up. She has something big in common with the me of Freckled Citizen, though: they both hate whining more than anything.

I think it's the fear of coming across as a whiner that's kept me quiet here for so long. With everything I have in my life, who am I to complain about the one thing I'm missing? My mantra that keeps my inner whiner in check is "I am lucky." And I am; I know I am.

I've learned so much about myself in the last two years, so much about my husband, so much about who we are as a couple. I've never been prouder of us. I don't know when we'll overcome infertility, or if we'll overcome infertility, but I know that at the end of the day, I'm still one of the luckiest girls alive. I still wouldn't change a thing.

So if you'll indulge me, I'd like to share some of what I've written here from time to time - The Infertility Diaries, if you will. And whether or not you've ever set foot inside a fertility clinic, I have stories that might interest or amuse you. (The one where I inject myself with hormones at a wedding reception is worth the wait, trust me.) But what I'm offering isn't really entertainment or even for you: it's catharsis, and it's for me. 

I'm spending the next few days in New Orleans, where I'll be in my happy place of food, drink, music, and cheer. One of my favorite things about New Orleans has always been the way it wears itself from the inside out, guts splayed open right alongside its picture-perfect facades. It's the perfect city for me to start this new journey, this one where I unzip my insides and wear them openly. Decorum just isn't working for me anymore.

And so it's May 24, and it's a good day. Three years after the fact, and three years from now, too. No matter what.

Two-year report (and a chandelier)

We had a friends over for dinner this weekend, and it was a night of great food and greater laughs underneath our new chandelier. It has just the right amount of rustic appeal (read: burlap) to make me happy, and couldn't be any cozier with dinner. It was a great night.

Yay dining room! Now just imagine it with crown moulding...
(nope, the projects never end)

This weekend was special for another reason, too: it marked two years since we moved to Washington D.C. Time flies, folks. It seems like not long ago at all that we arrived here during a freak snowstorm and then the movers from hell turned us into campers for three weeks. Buying our house a year and change after that? Feels like yesterday. But here we are, two years later. DC residents. Homeowners. Adults.

One thing is clear: DC has become home. Here's why:

• Personal. I love living in a city alongside so many smart, engaged people. I love the friends I've made in DC, all of whom the District is lucky to call their own. Does DC have its fair share of idiots? You bet. (Do some hold elected office, too? No comment.) But DC's large percentage of citizens committed to public service, doing top-notch research, building campaigns for people or for issues, and trying their best to make the District or their country great... it's energizing. Ideas and passion are currency in DC, and that's exactly what I most wanted from a place I'd call home (not to mention necessary for a place where so many associations, organizations, and advocacy groups are based). I love the history in DC, especially the way that history juxtaposes with current development. My favorite places are ones where past and present brush against one another in interesting ways; this is DC in a nutshell. I'm eager to start digging into more of my Leslie Knope-style interests on a personal level, too... why not attend public meetings for fun as well as for work, right?


• Geographical. T and I live basically in between our families. Does it get more perfect than that? For two folks who've wandered all over the country the last ten years, living within driving (or train-ing) distance of our hometowns is huge for us. Since moving here, we've been able to spend more time with our families than ever before, which has been so special after going without that for so long. It's also fun living in a place that's a pretty good draw for scheduled or impromptu visits from loved ones. Being back on the East Coast just feels right; it's who I am. Those New Mexico sunsets will never leave my heart, but at its core, it's the waves of the Atlantic (DC is driving distance to my beloved Outer Banks!) that matter most to me. From an urban form perspective, DC works for me, too. Walkable neighborhoods, a wealth of transit options, cultural amenities, businesses and residences jumbled together in dynamic ways... these are not just talking points, but components that I need to feel great about calling a place home. DC has them, and my ruined heels from old, uneven cobblestone sidewalks can attest to that.


• Professional. It's a misnomer that everyone in DC works for the federal government - most do not. Neither T nor I do, although our work interfaces with government in important (and very different) ways. I maintain a strong separation between the personal and the professional on this blog, and that can be difficult for me, because sometimes I just want to chat about it online. (Some days I'd pay big money to be able to Tweet/respond to media/correct false statements/interject in work-related online conversations/columns/blog posts.) This is a biggie, though: I'm content with my professional workload for the first time in years. It's crucial for my brain and sense of self that I feel like I'm contributing to something bigger and making a place better. The project I work on is going to change how people live and move around DC, and that's humbling. Being part of a team that's doing its best to help make DC a better place to live matters to me quite a lot.

So that's the two-year report card. Life is good. I wonder what I'll say in another two years. I wonder if DC will ever get the vote. I wonder what's next.

The Requisite Moving Post

Here's why I haven't written yet: moving sucks. We all know it. So why come here and whine about how terrible it was and complain about something that was not only my choice, but the thing I practically begged of Capitol Hill home sellers for months?

Not gonna do it. Or rather, wasn't.

But see, as time ticks by and I ignore Bloglandia for another day without glowingly posting about culinary creations out of my new kitchen or perfectly dressed windows or newly organized closets, I feel increasingly lame. I love this house, and I couldn't be happier that we're here. That I know. But getting here? Awful. I think we know who deserves the blame on this one. 

I'm the brilliant girl who did the following:

• Thought the lead-up time to the move should be spent doing house renovations instead of packing
• Kept a long-planned OBX weekend on the calendar even though we didn't have time for it
• Told parents, in-laws, relatives, and friends that we didn't need help moving
• Thought hiring movers to do only the "big things" was a good idea
• Thought "the little things" that would remain were, in fact, little
• Believed we could do said "little things" with our relatively little vehicle

So yeah.

We worked our butts off in the house for ten days, painting and sanding and stripping and the like, and didn't pack a thing, meaning we were sore and tired before moving even began. The day the movers came, not a box had been packed. I was so unprepared I had them wait before disconnecting the Internet so that I could finish a work project. Once they got going, the movers only broke one piece of furniture, which we were actually pretty cheery about, given how horrific our last experience with movers was. We moved into the house that night with our furniture, and you know... the house seemed so great with just furniture in it, minus our pesky stuff. Have I mentioned we have a lot of stuff?

Friday we packed and moved all day long, fourteen hours straight. T rented a U-Haul intervention-style (thank God), and even with it we missed a concert and any chance at having a normal weekend. We were limping and bleeding. Really. By Saturday, we were existing solely on caffeine and willpower, and broke at different moments. My breakdown moment came in the closet (don't they always?), surrounded by clothes of three different sizes and facing a pair of pants that were giving me a particularly condescending look. That's when I announced that Saturday, April 23 was the worst day of my life. Take that, stupid pants I can't wear anymore. You win.

And then I felt guilty, and looked at the guy putting up with me through all of this, battling an explosion of my old graduate school papers, or shoveling dirt from my planters into plastic bins, or wrangling gift wrap, or some other ridiculousness of my own design.

"Okay, this isn't the worst day of my life because you are with me."

(Hug.)

(Pause.)

"But it's still a really shitty day."

"I mean really shitty."

We pulled away from our apartment for the last time at 1 in the morning. We had a plan that things would go in their rightful places as they came out of the thankgoodnesswehaditohmygodhewasrightU-Haul, rather than just anywhere. That plan had been thrown out long ago.

Contractor bags filled with clothes still on hangers... thrown. Suitcases of books so heavy they barely rolled... shoved. Random-ass shit that I don't know why in the world I still keep: basement. And so on.

By 3:00 a.m. Sunday, we were reduced to two lost souls on a dark streetcorner, covered in bruises and scrapes and whispering lifting and turning strategies, with an audience of stray neighborhood cats. It started to rain. But finally, we were done.

Three days later, to say that this house is "taking shape" would be vastly exaggerating the homemaking progress going on inside. Instead, this house is beginning to consider a process of thinking about taking shape. The truth is, we need some time to recover. Or at least one day to do nothing but sleep. Or a massage therapist to fix our broken bodies. Or a contractor to fix up everything we want fixed, simply by reading our minds. Those glowing blog posts about kitchens, windows, and closets... you're going to be waiting a while. So you know.

Moral of the story: don't try this at home, kids. Accept help. Know you're not Superwoman. Be okay with that. Pack up your too-small pants first, on a happy day. Or for pete's sake, finally throw them away, why don't you?

And that's all I have to say about that.

The only happy thing to ever come out of Moving Day... big love from me to the awesome person who identifies this brilliance:

Empty boxes (for now)

You might think the fact that we've lived in DC for almost three months would preclude us from being able to just now remove four freshly unpacked large moving boxes from our place. You'd be wrong. Our apartment might be small, but it apparently contains a black hole of forgotten items (also known as the bedroom closet). But finally, they're out of here. And just like that, I own skirts again!

Last night was quite the burst of productivity - in addition to the closet project, we also finally decorated three different walls. But somehow we still have so much to do around here - life keeps getting in the way a bit. We are impatiently waiting for our terrible moving experience payout and a tax refund delayed by fraud, after all. And so the mismatched furniture and bedroom wall covered in paint samples and things that "will be" but aren't yet are going to have to keep waiting. I'm fine with that... usually.

There's also another reason I'm reticent to find the perfect pieces for certain spots: we don't want to live here forever. An infectious case of house fever is sweeping 'round our modern urban rental. On Sunday we walked around our neighborhood for hours, popping into open houses and oohing and aahing at various features... and then staving off heart attacks at the prices. But oh, the details!

After our walking tour, a funny thing happened. We drove over to another neighborhood to stroll around and stumble upon some dinner inspiration, and I felt it: that's where we are supposed to live. I'm not going to write about this magic neighborhood for fear of jinxing myself, but there are so many things that got me: patios bustling with eaters and drinkers, quiet tree-lined streets just off the main drag, families and dogs alongside singles and seniors, markets and crafts and things I love. It all clicked for me. So much so that I was immediately beaming, giddy with excitement about finding our new 'hood, inspiring our waitress to comment on our happy vibe, and basically bouncing out of my shoes. And I didn't take photos. That's how you know it was the real deal for me. With this 'hood, we'd move from "super trendy area experiencing prohibitively expensive housing bubble" to "steadily prohibitively expensive area." In other words, we've gotta save our hearts out - but hopefully get a bit more for our money in the long run if we can make it there.

So a goal neighborhood, then. And a year+ timeline to figure out how to get there. No small deal, right? But somehow, in the weird way my head works, knowing where I want to be but not knowing how we'll make it happen feels better than being in a place that isn't 100% right for the long-term and not knowing where we're going next.

That mismatched chair in the living room with a blanket thrown over it, then? Fine by me. For now.

OIY: Order it Yourself

There were supposed to be DIY moving announcements. They were to be made out of our moving boxes: postcard-sized cutouts of cardboard with clever sayings stamped on and some great-looking twine holding the package together. Kind of like this.

But there was also supposed to be furniture a week after we got here instead of three weeks later. And none of it was supposed to arrive broken. And record-breaking snowstorms weren't really in the picture, either. So when those moving boxes of ours finally got here, I didn't want to hang onto them a second longer than I had to for unnecessary crafting. Except for those boxes I still can't get around to unpacking, of course - I really like hanging onto those, apparently:

 So no, there are not DIY moving announcements. Instead, there is Tiny Prints to the rescue, and an adorable little moving announcement that all I had to do was order. "I" to "we," of course.

Sometimes, life needs a shortcut or two. I'm okay with that. Lots of work catchup to do this week after spending five days in NC, and then I have *got* to get my office in shape, wouldn't you say?

Screwed by the screw

There may or may not be quite a bit of angst on my part regarding the amount of projects littering our apartment and my mental To Do list. Our place is certainly livable right now, but there are boxes and random items everywhere. To complicate matters, much of our ability to nest was stymied by the moving company from hell taking it upon themselves to break furniture that was supposed to hold nicely unpacked items. And so, we've been stuck.

Progress: T passed a big certification exam for his new job yesterday, despite cramming for only two weeks while most folks take months to prepare. This is obviously fantastic news on the career front for him, but it's also fantastic news on the home front for me, because I've been struggling to put our place together largely by myself for the past two weeks while he studied. And so in lieu of the celebratory dinner for his big career gold star yesterday, I whisked him off to Ikea and made him buy us the makings of new bookcases and storage solutions for all our stuff. Such a reward for his big accomplishment, right? The aftermath:

Scene: This morning, T getting ready for work

T: "We can start knocking off projects as soon as I get home."
M: "Okay. I promise I won't try to finish the bathroom cabinet by myself today."
T: "Good."

See... now that I'm working from home, I'm finding it difficult to strike a good balance between the work I get paid to do and the projects screaming for my attention all around me, all day long. T knows I struggle with this, coming in after work and seeing 15 fewer boxes in the apartment and me not exactly behind my desk and on the clock. I think the balance will be easier for me to strike once things are a tad more manageable around here. I hope so, anyway. And so this morning, remembering my promise to avoid the bathroom cabinet, I looked instead to the deceptively simple flat Ikea box that held the cube shelf that will be home to my cookbooks.

My thought process: "So simple to construct... I can knock this right out then get straight to work... for my next break I can put all my cookbooks inside... maybe I'll find inspiration before I go the grocery store later... it'll be so great to get this out of the way... I'd be crazy not to do it..." Despite that condescending illustration in the instructions, of course:

But here I am an hour later, with arms all achy and body all scratched from try to wrestle the final pesky screw into place, and I still haven't gotten to the work I get paid to do. Or checked anything off my list. And sure, why not waste a little more time and write up this story? Wait, what, it is 11 a.m.?! And through all this, that screw is just mocking me.

Fine, Part #104323, FINE. I cannot conquer you alone. I should've waited for help. 

(sulk)

At least it's over?

At the moment I'm curled up in bed, listening to NPR, checking in on my work e-mail, sipping coffee, listening to the wind howl outside, and blogging. Why, you ask? BECAUSE I CAN.

Oh, how I've missed this bed.

The movers came yesterday, three weeks after they picked up our stuff and two weeks after they said they'd arrive. We made it work to the best of our abilities for those three weeks, but ...

Oh how I've missed this bed.

We are not done with this company. Besides owing us a refund for how horrible their service was over the three weeks we waited, they also took it upon themselves to do the following:

• Smash some of our super-nice patio furniture
• Smash the side of our great-looking living room bookcase
• Tear off the hardware of our coffee table trunk
• Scratch the visible corner of our wooden bed frame
• Scratch and mar with white paint (?!) our dining table
• Okay, scratch pretty much all wooden furniture
• Do something weird to the bottom of our couch
• Break a lamp
• Irreparably dent a stainless steel trashcan
• Etc.

It takes a true commitment to be this awful, don't you think? We're submitting claims forms and taking pictures and hoping for the best. So I'm just going to hang out here in bed for a while and try getting over it all.

Moving on soon from this stage of transitional whine, I promise.

Color me a little less crazy

To call a place a home, I really need a red wall somewhere. And so instead of wallowing in our move-related misery, we decided to channel our angst into some good old-fashioned wall-painting. I now have my red wall. Two, actually! And I have a yummy olive green wall. And a sage green bathroom. And a silvery-gray office. And blue walls to come! I'm an unabashed color freak, I know. Take a look at our progress... from bare white walls and depression to something a little more me (please excuse the dark photos... doing the best I can over here with a now half-broken camera as well!):

Hello kitchen! It's there somewhere underneath the paint-related sprawl. But my new rug really does tie the room together, wouldn't you say, Lebowski?

 

I love this color. This is the little nook where our dining table (a bar table, really) and a bookcase will go.

The whole effect, as seen from our patio WHICH FINALLY HAS NO SNOW!

 

Wheeee! More red! We can't reach the top of it without the step ladder that's in the moving truck (the ceilings are ten feet-ish in here), so this is it for now. And we picked up this tv stand at Ikea because our old tv stand is too long for this space. We're not sure we'll be in this apartment longer than a year, so getting an investment piece to fit this funny space or mounting this huge boy tv on the wall both seem like a silly idea. So, a piece of furniture we can ignore instead. Works for now!

Here's the guest room/office, which is a pretty silvery gray. There's no overhead light in this room, and as our only lamp inexplicably broke, we're having trouble finishing this room during our nighttime painting sessions. But I'm definitely liking its direction. The opposite wall will be a pretty cornflower blue lined with bookcases, and that top section you see will be a deep navy blue. My new desk is more practical than lovely (it's an Ikea Expedit), but since I'm working from home now, a strong organizational system will be really critical for me. I don't think the desk will look nearly as industrial once it's filled with my work things and topped with crazy wedding cans topped with fabric pomanders. I'm really looking forward to having a bunch of our wedding stuff in here. It all makes me so happy to look at, and I think it'll be perfect for an energizing work space. Bonus: the adjoining bathroom will feature a shower curtain made from some of our wedding table fabric!

Here's our master bath in a pretty sage green. The real star, though? This shower head we installed in our awesomely large shower. Seriously, folks, it's the best $60 at Bed Bath and Beyond you'll ever spend.

C'mon, furniture... we are waiting for you!
(current ETA Wednesday, Feb 24)

The transitional lifestyle

Hello, reporting live from 18-20 days without our stuff, thanks to the most horrible moving company of all time! What moving company, you ask? Oh, not the cheapest we considered - the one with the best rating! The moving company that will be properly reamed once my belongings are in my possession again! At least four more nights to go, maybe six. Can we make it? Here's a little snapshot into our days:

Oh, hello morning! Oh my god, why I am in so much pain? Right, because my back is on the floor again. Because if we don't wake up every two hours to reinflate this air mattress, we end up this way. Pain. Ow. Hurts. I haven't slept in a real bed in so long. Well damn, cat, try not to look so triumphant about the fact that you have a bed and we don't. I can see you gloating through your slumber!

Okay, breakfast time! Maybe eggs this morning? Toast? Crap, I just remembered how much of a pain it is to make breakfast here. The one pan I brought is stainless, which is a bear with eggs, and to toast bread I have to broil it in the oven and take it out the exact second it's ready or the fire alarms go off. Again. Hey, Fanny, don't give me that look - at least you have a toy! I don't even have a can opener!

Ugh, I think working from home makes this place seem even barer. It's driving me crazy in here! Must. Get. Out. Maybe go out for lunch? Oh wait, of the three pairs of shoes I packed, only one is snow-appropriate, and I'm so sick of wearing those boots that only match half of the tiny portion of clothes I brought with me that I'll die if I have to slip them on again. I'll just have a slice of cold pizza and enjoy the lovely kittens instead. What the... Fine, cat, I can see that you're also dreaming of escape from this empty existence. Tough life! At least you can run around in here!

Afternoon, this means T is home to study for his big certification test! We're so cozy and cute, both using the same old card table from my parents as a desk, papers surrounding us on the floor. This is awesome. This is what it's all about. Although, I am kind of sick of working... and my butt is totally sore from the uncomfortable chair. Maybe I'll go finish painting the bathroom instead. It's the one little area of space I can control in this crazy empty place. Only, crap, no step ladder! But conveniently, I have a 6'3 man around to finish the upper trim. "T! Can you come in here for a minute?" We're definitely not getting any work done this afternoon... Kittens! Make it okay! Tell us we won't get fired! Oh, I'm sorry Switters, what was that? You HOPE we get fired? Because we should be punished for putting you through this hell? Hmph.

Fun! Dinner out to avoid the reality of our living space! Let me just get dolled up... Oh god. The same clothes again. I swear I'm never wearing these pants again. At least I can make the rest of me look great. Or... not. My skin is awful. Where are my favorite masks and scrubs? No hair products, even. A shower with only trial-sized bottles in it. Grrrrrrrr. Fanny, really? If we leave for dinner instead of taking you out of this hellhole you're going to inflict lead poisoning on yourself? You're not kidding around this time, you say?

Dinner was great, feeling happy. Can't wait to go home and curl up in front of the Olympics with a glass of wine. Shit. The Situation. I forgot about it. To turn our "bed" into a "couch" we place it horizontally against the wall and use the pillows as back support. So sick of it. And we have to drink wine out of plastic cups. And then reinflate in two hours. Dammit, Fanny! Put down the pencil! I promise it'll be over soon! Life will return to normal in less than a week!

(We hope.)

Reengaging

An important part of moving to DC for me is to regain some of my old sense of self: the me that was super-engaged in politics big and small, issues far and wide, and worked to make the world a bit of a better place. It's not that I didn't care while living in Dallas; caring is part of my DNA, and you might recall that a rather important national election took place while I was there. Regardless, the atmosphere in Dallas and the opportunities to engage there were not fulfilling for the girl who had her pick of elections and causes in Boston and Albuquerque before it.

This is not as much of an indictment of Texas as it sounds. Some of my favorite women are from Texas: Molly Ivins, Ann Richards, Barbara Jordan, and my dear friend Marjorie. There's a backbone to these women that I admire like heck, a steely liveliness that very much reminds me of the committed people I knew and loved in New Mexico. But to say that this strain of Texas-style activism wasn't running through my life in Dallas is fair (it's no secret that Austin is much more my kinda town anyway). Much of this disconnect with Dallas was because from the moment I moved there, we had an eye on moving further east, and were never quite sure how long we'd stick around. My lack of engagement in Dallas does say something about Dallas, but it also speaks to my hesitance to grow roots where I ultimately didn't want them. I put myself - my favorite parts of myself, really - in a tough position.

But now, in Washington, DC, a city we moved to with no plans for a next step, a place we might even like to stay forever... a big part of me is rejoicing in the level of engagement that it promises. Tonight, a week after getting here through the storm to end all storms, I attended an event that reminded me so much of Me Before The Big D. Right down the street from our apartment at Busboys and Poets, a really wonderful tribute to the late Howard Zinn took place (it'll be broadcast on C-Span soon for those of you interested). I sat there before women like Amy Goodman and Marian Wright Edelman feeling absolutely at home... and homesick at all that I've missed. It was a much-needed turning point for me.

I love the feeling I have tonight: not just waiting for my new life to begin (which is the mindset I've been stuck in for three years), but making plans to create that life for myself. Ever since I left home for college, my big moves have all been for other people. I stayed in Boston for love. I moved to New Mexico for love. I moved to Dallas for love. But I - we - moved to DC for me. It's the first time I can say that, and I promise to make the most of it.

I forgot how humbling empowerment can feel.

On barbecue

My brother sent me this video today, and it's too good not to share. It's basically this book set to song, and it makes me grin.

I'm reminded of two Thanksgivings ago, when we were here in DC celebrating with T's sister and fantasizing about being able to live here, in this city right in between our families. The capstone for me - beyond knowing that the fam is just a five-hour drive away - was biting into a real eastern North Carolina barbecue sandwich at Eastern Market, served with collards. That weekend, there was no doubt we had to figure out how to get ourselves here. And now here we are, having finally stumbled upon the plan that made it happen. I now live in a city with eastern NC barbecue, folks - this is huge.

Maybe this weekend I'll find myself some homestyle barbecue and celebrate being back East. Both my sisters-in-law are here this weekend (including A all the way from Europe!), so we're sure to get into some kind of trouble.

To finding where you belong and then getting there (even if it takes longer than you might have wished), and to whatever style of barbecue suits you best... Happy weekend, everyone!

The failed minimalist cooks

I'm not cut out for a minimalist kitchen. I love having a tool for every purpose, a new vessel for every stage of a dish. I regularly fill an entire dishwasher before we've even eaten dinner. The bare essentials that I brought to DC with me - for what was supposed to be a mere three days until the moving truck got here - stopped being enough for me right about the time the second snowstorm hit.

I have one pot and one pan. One knife. Two plates, two bowls, two saucers. Two plastic cups. One travel coffee mug. A set of flatware for us each. I managed to sneak in a Microplane and a garlic press, but oh, the things I didn't realize I'd covet... 

See, staging meals around the single pot and pan turns out to be the most difficult aspect for me of living so sparely.There's no simmering a sauce separately from the food, or roasting one dish while I'm sauteeing another, unless I plan on doing single-dish meals alone. Which perhaps might have been the smartest choice. My way, I end up washing and washing and washing everything for reuse. [Looks at dried-up hands and shudders.]

I was craving brussels sprouts, and thought the roasted greens would go nicely with a spicy andouille and garbanzo bean soup. I began the brussels first, caramelizing the onions, then transferring the onions to one of our plates while I roasted the sprouts in the same All Clad skillet. After the sprouts were done, I mixed the caramelized onions into the dish, along with some walnuts (which I toasted on the lid of my skillet - told you I'm getting inventive over here!) and some freshly grated parm. Fairly manageable in a single pan, and really delicious.

But the soup I'd been craving? You'd think soups would be my go-to, one-pot meal, as well they should be. This soup is easy to prepare, simple enough that I didn't need to buy many ingredients, and flavorful enough that I could avoid buying spices I already own in that moving truck.

I lined up my cans of garbanzos and had my fresh ingredients all ready to go. And then it hit me: no can opener. No can opener! We tried knives, a wine bottle opener, anything we had on hand. No go. And so a choice presented itself: cry over one of my favorite winter soups not coming to fruition, or rethink. With the winds howling outside and icy snow slamming against the windows, running out to the store again wasn't an option.

I'd purchased enough groceries for a few meals, carefully planned based on minimal ingredients and tools/vessels required. I threw my original meal plans out the window, laid out all my fresh ingredients, and decided to make a go of it. Here's what I came up with:

Andouille Vegetable Soup

It's a mess of everything fresh I had on hand: andouille chicken sausage (some mean person bought all the pork at Whole Foods before I got there), kale, red bell pepper, potatoes, basil, shallots, garlic, chicken broth, dark beer, and a little salt and pepper.

So no can opener. No original soup. But on weeks like this one - which I know we will *always* remember with fondess due to its absolute craziness, but I'm still allowed to be OVER IT, k? - I felt pretty good about this mishmash in a bowl. And it was yummy enough that it made me forget all about that original plan for a while.

(Until I started fantasizing about my wine glasses.)

Snowbound

I don't really have any new material. I'm working from home in an apartment whose entire furniture collection consists of an air mattress, a card table, and two metal folding chairs, so saying there's a lack of inspiration here is an understatement. Snowmageddon 2 that I referenced yesterday? It's here, alright. The sounds of the wind outside are absolutely frightening. It's as if I've moved to a frozen tundra peppered with national monuments. Insanity.

Some friendly tidbits from the local weather folks:

• "We are living through some of the most extreme winter weather we'll ever experience in the metro region this morning."
• "DO NOT ATTEMPT TO DRIVE THIS MORNING AND EARLY AFTERNOON. LIFE THREATENING BLIZZARD CONDITIONS HAVE DEVELOPED RAPIDLY ACROSS THE BALTIMORE-WASHINGTON REGION THIS MORNING."
• "There are hazardous walking conditions throughout the region. It is recommended that you stay indoors unless absolutely necessary."
• "YOU CAN QUICKLY BECOME DISORIENTED IN WIND-DRIVEN SNOW AND COLD." (okay, I added the hypen there, because I'm a hyphen-Nazi like that.)

You get the idea. And I dare not call the moving company and ask when our stuff is getting here now. Since I can offer nothing else, here are a few photos of my whiteout view from the home office:

 

  

  

  

 

Far from settled, but here

We made it! While moving out was as full of headaches as it always is ("wait, we forgot to pack up this drawer!" as the movers pull away from the building...), we did it. We piled into the car with some shell-shocked kittens, a big boy tv, a small bag of clothes each, an air mattress, the barest of kitchen items, and off we went...

Day 1 (Night 1, really) we drove from Dallas to eastern Mississippi, then crashed in a totally sketchy motel. On Day 2 we made it to my parents in NC, full of laughter at Dan Brown's writing (really, Dan? the lame villain you've written actually hand-crafted that piece of vellum he's using for this ritual from a living lamb?) and ready for a reprieve from road food. Given that Snowmageddon hit DC over the weekend, we were wavering on whether we'd make the trip or delay it a day, but woke up on Sunday and decided to give it a go. The roads were actually great until about 30 minutes outside of the city, and even then it wasn't dangerous, just really slow.

Here's what we found when we arrived in our new apartment Sunday night:

That's our patio with 2 feet of snow on it. Hmmmm.....

I drove T to his first day of work the next morning and felt like quite the winter weather badass doing so. Some of the roads are clearer than others. The best have one clear lane open for traffic in each direction. The worst look kind of like the street across from our apartment (which just yesterday was still full of snow-covered cars):

Turns out we're supposed to get dumped on again tonight. At first they called for just a few inches - no biggie, really, when there are snowpiles taller than people at every intersection. But then the weather gods said 10 inches. And then the local NPR newscaster came on with, "I'm really sorry to have to report to you all that we're upping the snow prediction by another eight inches." So here I am, writing in the first few minutes of the official "winter storm warning" window, and the City is officially expecting 10-20" snow tonight. On top of the 2-3 feet already here.

But never fear! I have a fridge full of food and can cook to my heart's content all throughout the storm... ummm, no I can't. We didn't have room for many kitchen items in the car, so I'm surviving on the barest of essentials here. Without my collection of special ingredients, the pots and pans to cook them in, and the tools to transform them, we'll be eating Plain Jane for a while longer. I only hope Snowmageddon 2 doesn't delay the moving trucks. Not being able to make the perfect snowed-in soup is killing me. Also, I'd kind of like to wear a different pair of pants.

And by the way, what in the world are we going to do with our patio furniture when it gets here?

It's happening

Right now movers are putting all gazillion pounds of our belongings onto a truck. I'm sitting at work drowing in deadlines. We didn't sleep very much last night. Okay, we haven't really slept this entire week. We're bruised and sore and have tape gun scratches and a permanent case of the dust sneezes and are a tad unsure how all of this stuff is going to fit into our very nice but much smaller DC apartment. The cats are locked in the bathroom, and they are pissed. Did I mention I'm at work, drowning in deadlines with the worst timing in the history of bad deadlines? But we asked for this, and it's still pretty awesome.

Tonight the Champagne Thursday girls are meeting me out for a fun farewell dinner, and while I already warned them that I accidentally packed up all my nice dinner clothes and thus will be wearing a thin cotton dress and hippie boots with dark undereye circles instead of appropriately festive attire, I did not warn them that I'm running on fumes and will be loaded after just one sip of bubbly. Which, now that I think about it, will make for a more entertaining evening...

Tonight we will sleep on an air mattress, and tomorrow after work we leave in the car, packed to the gills with mammals, electronics, and provisions for the week. Friday night: Jackson, MS. Saturday night: Raleigh with the fam. We decided Dan Brown was appropriately brainless suspense for the drive, so the audiobook of his latest thriller set in DC is on tap. We'll leave on Sunday after breakfast, and will be in our new city that afternoon. Oh, and there's a "near-blizzard event" going on there this weekend, by the way. Just for added excitement. With any luck, we can cruise into DC on Sunday afternoon and admire a landscape of calm white snow and still air, collapse on the air mattress in our new place, crack open some beers, and listen to the Superbowl (go Saints!) on the radio, old-school style. And then we wait for our stuff to arrive (it'll take days), and toast a new beginning. Cheers to that.

Freya Art

Things I'll Miss: The Restaurants

Most everyone knows that Dallas is a shopping town, but what not everyone outside of the Big D knows is that it's a fantastic restaurant town, too. Since the thought of shopping at Northpark every weekend makes me want to stab my eyes out, getting to know Dallas' dining scene was an obvious leisure activity to explore, food being my second love and all. DC is getting lots of press lately about its burgeoning foodie status, which is fantastic, because I aim to explore every cranny of it. But for now, a shoutout to some of my favorite spots in the Big D:

• Abacus. As close as we live to this restaurant, our bank accounts are so very thankful we didn't go there more often. Simply tremendous food, every single time.
• Bolsa. One of those "if only we'd had more time" places. Bolsa is new-ish and I have a feeling that fantastic things are only going to get more fantastic down there. Fresh, local, seasonal, and superb... with a crowd that always makes me wonder A) where did all these cool people come from?, and B) maybe we should've lived in Oak Cliff.
• Fearing's. Between the insane people-watching at the Rattlesnake Bar (how many hours have I invested in jaw-dropped wonderment over there at the crowd? too many to count.), and the excellent food at Fearing's, you can't go wrong here.
• Hattie's. Oh, Hattie's, you will forever occupy a corner of my heart. And it will be filled with your savory cloud of blue cheese cheesecake, shrimp and grits, pulled pork, and food that makes my heart sing.
• Hibiscus. Hibiscus is so routinely delicious that I can't believe it doesn't make more people's favorites list. I've never had a bite of anything I didn't love there - or a sip, for that matter. Outstanding food that never, ever disappoints.
• La Duni. One of our favorite 'hood hangouts for casual dining. From brunch to dinner to late-night dessert, just easy tastiness.
• Lonesome Dove. So sure, this place is in Fort Worth, but what a meal. I'll say it again: blue corn lobster hushpuppies and mouth-watering meat. Vegetarians beware.
• Nobu. Nope, not a local restaurant, but there's not one in DC, so I'm counting it here. Between two birthday celebrations at Nobu and a dozen dinners behind the sushi counter eating at the direction of the chef, I credit my love of sushi to them. I could eat their jalapeno yellowtail sashimi until my jaw fell off.
• Perry's. Okay fine, now called "Place at Perry's" due to a lawsuit by another Perry's. But this place will always be Perry's to us, and is our "Cheers," in a way. T's been hanging out there for a decade now and knows everyone. On my first visit, our now-favorite waiter remarked to T that he could tell I was going to be a big deal. How can you not love that sort of foresight? I'll miss Perry's handsomeness, its comfort, and how much like home it feels.
• Stephan Pyles. I first got to know Stephan Pyles through a six-course tasting menu over a work dinner, and there was no looking back for me. I adore his flavor combinations and inventiveness. I also regret that there won't be more time to get to know his Samar, which is new and a big hit with me.
• Tei Tei. Mmmm.... high-end neighborhood sushi that requires an hour-long wait in the tiny bar even if you have reservations. I mean, it must be great to go through that, right?
• Tillman's. It's what I love about Bishop Arts. When we're there I crave Hattie's first, then Bolsa, but when we're at Tillman's it reminds me every time of why it's the best third choice I could imagine. And also, the decor is ridiculous.
• Toulouse. This little French bistro downstairs from us feeds us twice a month. In fact, if you called right now and asked about the couple who always orders two chop salads with chicken, one with no tomatoes, to go, they'd know exactly who you were talking about. We've loved having them so close. A delicious cheese plate just a call away (their truffle pecorino is to die for) is a really, really good thing.
• Victor Tango & The Porch. I put these together because we think of them the same way: easy food that's quick and not too expensive and fun at the same time. I'll miss the crab and shrimp salad at The Porch (and still mourn their original tangerine gin rickey, now off the menu), and over at VT's I am forever indebted to their Pepper Smash and tuna nachos.

Things I'll Miss: Central Market

I never thought I'd fall in love with a supermarket. I'm so small-scale, so know-your-food, so hit-as-many-small-markets-as-you-need-to, but... Central Market is complete foodie heaven, and I don't think I'll ever be so happy buying food all in one location again.

CM carries low-end, high-end, hard-to-find, rare, fresh, local, far-flung, made-there-that-morning, anything you could possibly need. Central Market has eight locations, all in Texas, and I am going to miss it like crazy.

No more absolute confidence that one-stop-shopping will produce every rare ingredient I need for my exotic recipe. No more gorgeous flowers by the armful at the same place I get local produce and fancy cheese and bulk grains/spices and cases upon cases of sustainable meat and seafood and a ridiculous selection of beer and wine. No more. No more?!?!

CM, make your way up to the mid-Atlantic! Please?

Things I'll Miss: The View

So we all know by now that Dallas isn't really the city for me, but that's not to say there aren't things here I'll miss when we leave for DC. Here's just one of them: the view from our front patio.

We'll have a view in DC, too (yay!), but the drama of the Texas sky isn't something that can be replicated on the east coast. And although my city slicker sky views here pale in comparison to the vistas in New Mexico I knew before them, they're still pretty amazing. From our front patio over the last two and a half years, I've captured the Dallas skyline in some everyday moments, as well as a few dramatic ones. See for yourself:

August 2007

This was taken just as we moved in to show our place to my family, but I like it because it's so classic August in Dallas. Looking at it you can almost feel the heat and haze in the air.

December 2007

Our nighttime sunset view. So many drinks on this patio watching the city twinkle in front of us.

June 2009

Summer storm coming in over Dallas

August 2009

Pre-storm... so spooky/beautiful

October 2009

Incredibly dramatic before those clouds opened up

Great excitement leads to great eloquence

Two dozen times over the course of the weekend in DC:

"Umm... I don't know if you've heard, but we're moving here."

and the always-eloquent:

"Holy crap, this is happening!"

(which is also the sentiment expressed in this photo, one of my favorites:)

So yeah. I don't know if you've heard, but holycrapthisishappening. We're leaving right after work on Friday, February 5. Which is in nine days. Nine days to try to sell my car (pipe dreams, I'm afraid), to pack up all our belongings (so. many. belongings.), to say our goodbyes (just for now until fun reunions, never fear!), and to get all the details in order. Nine days!

Ages ago, when we both still lived in Albuquerque and were deeply rooted in the "how in the world are we going to make this work?" phase, we imagined that if we didn't have it in us to go the long-distance relationship route, we might one day both end up in DC at the same time, and if so we could pick up where we left off. It was a city that attracted both of us, indepedent of one another, so it wasn't absolutely crazy to trust in the universe that way. And we lead charmed lives, after all, it could happen. But instead we forged ahead and slogged through the plane fares, and now here we are, moving to DC together. Full circle and all that.

There's something really special about waiting to do this now, though. Have I mentioned that one of my sisters-in-law lives in DC, too? She's just a little bit awesome:

Speaking of awesome... On Sunday night we saw Thievery Corporation, who sold out a five-night run at the 9:30 Club, where the two of us are going to be spending quite a bit of time soon. Seeing live music is our favorite activity. Made it into the vows, even.

So the show is awesome, and it's ridiculously crowded and we're sweating our asses off but not particularly caring, and through the music we grinned at each other multiple times and said, you guessed it:

"I don't know if you've heard, but this is our local music place now."

and then

"Holy crap, this is happening!"

Friday I'm in Love (abridged facial hair edition!)

I'm a wee bit distracted this week, as you might have gathered. We'll be in DC this weekend finding an apartment. You know, just that place we will live for the next year of our lives. Starting really, really soon. EEK! We return to Dallas Monday night, at which time we are presumably calm and collected and ready to pack up 5,000 pounds of belongings (the mover's estimate... seriously) and get our acts together.  

So on that note, I only have two picks for you this week. But I'm not apologizing, because they're thematic, okay? I get a tad bit more credit this way, even if I'm missing one.

T's unemployment beard

I haven't yet entered the bittersweet stage of saying goodbye to our current zip code (even though MM has, and she is a darling for it), but I'll get there once my head clears. In the meantime, the only truly bittersweet goodbye I've really fully developed is for T's out-of-work facial hair. There's certainly lots to be said for smooth skin and dress pants and great shirts and the like - and they're coming with his new job, which of course I'm incredibly thankful for - but I've so enjoyed my scruffy House Husband this winter. This is a man who still fairly consistenly jokes that he's too clean cut for me (my previous partners were, let's say, a tad hairier than my preppy Nutmeg Stater), so you know I'm hanging on to my beard memories while they're fresh.

The true highlight of this week, though, which also involves fabulous facial hair?


"Crazy Heart"

This film is brilliant and beautiful, and absolutely my favorite thing I've seen this year. Jeff Bridges is tremendous. Just incredible. I mean, he was and is and always will be The Dude, but he is without question Bad Blake, too. The songs he performs in this film are so downright gorgeous and bare that I simply can't hear them enough; they've been on constant replay in our place ever since we saw the film. Seriously, go see this. Just do it. And while I'm at it, Jeff Bridges' website? Kind of unfairly cool.