The First Thanksgiving

We made it to New Orleans!

On Monday night Grammy, Parker, me, the dog and two cats headed to the Newark airport. We flew during one of the biggest holiday travel weeks of the year. We flew in the midst of controversial, heightened TSA screening procedures.  Grammy has two replacement hips that always require her to be patted down because she sets off the metal detectors. TSA procedures require taking  cats out of their carriers to go through the scanner and one of our cats is an 18lb gray tabby who was not at all pleased to be in the airport. By the time I made it to our gate dragging kid, Grammy and pets I was ready for a nap (or a drink!)

We arrived in New Orleans after 10pm, retrieved the bags and made it to our new home late on Monday night. Everyone was utterly exhausted but also incredibly excited.  Construction dust and tools were everywhere. All the clothes were still in boxes as was all the bedding. But we managed to create some pallets on the floor and get a decent night's sleep...until 6AM when a dozen contractors showed up to continue work on the house. We are installing a new bathroom so that James and I will have some privacy. We are building a wall and door on Grammy's space, so that she will have some privacy. We are rebuilding the rotten side porch so that we can have some outdoor family space. And we are painting, freshening, and generally spiffying up James' historic little home. Much of the work was already done, but there is still enough work to be done to create huge clouds of dust and displace us from every room in the house.

Tuesday and Wednesday were crazy dances of family, pets and workmen. We were determined to unpack and the contractors were determined to make progress on the renovations. Parker was insistent that her dolls and bears be freed from their boxes, but her room was the main staging area for cutting tile.  It was nuts and not necessarily in a "good family fun" kind of way. It was just nuts.

 Let me be really clear, I am not a patient person.  Because I actively cultivate a calm, rational demeanor in my public appearances, those who know me only from television and radio sometimes mistakenly believe that I am patient. But those who are my intimate friends and family know all about my short fuse and my last nerve.  Travel, moving, construction and an impending holiday had exposed the tender, raw ends of every nerve in my body and I was snapping at everyone in my path.

Finally, on Thursday morning the saws and hammers fell silent. Parker's boxes were unpacked and her smiling stuffed animals greeted me first thing. Grammy had also unpacked her room and slept in her own bed. The kitchen was peaceful: every dish, pot, pan, cup and fork had found a place. James woke up first thing Thanksgiving morning and filled the house with the scent of  New Orleans chicory coffee. I felt my shoulders relax for the first time all week. I took a deep breath. I looked around and felt very grateful for this journey we are on together.

The first Thanksgiving in New Orleans was truly perfect (if a little dusty).  We had 75 degree weather that allowed Grammy to get out in the garden. James made gumbo. I baked a turkey and all the traditional sides. The four of us sat in the kitchen and shared our first holiday meal. I looked across the table at my eternally patient husband whose life had just been invaded by three women, three pets and a truckload of traditional furnishings. I felt grateful beyond speaking. In my mind I just kept saying "thank you, thank you, thank you."

We are here. We have shared our first holiday meal. We are a family.

Leaving a Mark

In just a few more days we will make the final move to New Orleans.  I will continue to commute to Princeton to teach, but Grammy, the kid, the pets, and I will soon officially call ourselves residents of New Orleans.

Over the past two months we have told everyone in our Princeton lives about the move: neighbors,  teachers, coworkers, friends, students, fellow church members. We even hosted a little farewell party during our last weekend in the New Jersey house.  Everyone has wished us well and a few people have expressed regret about losing Grammy and me in the community. But everyone, I repeat EVERYONE, who knows my kid has all but fallen prostrate on the ground, gripped her ankles, and begged me to let her stay. Over the next three days this 8 year old is the guest of honor at five different "last play dates" and farewell parties in her honor.  Parents of her classmates are offering to let her come spend the summer with them. Her dance teacher nearly wept on Thursday night. Her gymnastics teacher behaved as though I was committing a capital crime by taking my own child with me to a new city. And her classroom teacher, well she poured out such expressions of distress about my kid leaving the school that I worried she might try to hide Parker in the crafts closet on the last day.

In just a few short years this little girl has truly left her mark on Princeton, New Jersey.

When we first came to Princeton she was just a pre-schooler and we were both still filtering through the rubble of our lives that was left in the wake of my difficult divorce from her father.  I worried about her all the time. I worried that because of her father's absence and my distractions as a single, working mother that she would have a hard time developing self-confidence and trusting others enough to make friends. I worried that as one of the few African American children in her class she would not develop a good social network. I worried that teachers, parents, and other kids might judge her harshly for being black and from a single-parent, relatively moderate income household. While I was chewing my nails with worry, this kid was apparently out conquering the world, forming friendships, winning over authority figures, and developing a distinctive identity in our town.

The impending move has made my daughter's accomplishments during these last five years highly visible to me. I am incredibly proud of the girl she has become. And I am very clear that she is this girl not as a residual of my (or even Grammy's) parenting, but as an accomplishment that belongs to her. It is her resilience, her courage, her talent, her joyous embrace of life that has earned her such loving camaraderie and respect.

Just over a week ago I walked through our beloved NJ home one last time before handing over the keys to the realtor.  Stripped of the familiar furniture, the decorative art work, the life giving plants and pets, the house seemed sterile and alien, almost as though we had never lived there at all. Then I walked into the kitchen and looked up at the back splash tile over the stove. There was the tile that Parker designed and made at a local crafts store  more than four years. When we were completing the kitchen we had this tile incorporated as the focal point behind the stove. Like Parker, it is an original. When I handed over the keys to the new owners I realized that we were gone, but Parker had indeed left her mark.

I have no doubt that she will do the same in New Orleans.

Whoa! I am married...really really married

I have not written for nearly a week. And what a week it has been.

One week ago today I closed on the final sale of the New Jersey house. It was a wonderful but also bittersweet day, and it is the subject of my next entry. But I had very little time to feel wistful about the old house, because there was so much work to do getting us into our new home.  Remember, that my mom, the kid, the dog, the cats and I are all living at the extended stay hotel in Princeton. (By the way the free breakfast and on-site workout facility are enough to make me want to stay permanently.)  But while we are all in NJ for another week or so, the movers had packed our stuff and started heading down to New Orleans.

On Saturday I left the family in the hotel and went to meet James and the moving truck in New Orleans.  Next week the family will relocate, but I wanted to go in advance to get things settled a bit before the family arrives.

A few things to know about the New Orleans house.  It is a beautiful, historic, shotgun style home. It has soaring ceilings and wide plank wood floors throughout. On the first day James took me to his home, I loved it despite the fact that it had no doors, broken window panes, unfinished walls and floors and was covered in at least a foot of dust.  James bought this house in a blighted condition more than five years ago. In those years he lovingly restored this home on his own even in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina and the additional damage it caused. This home is truly his. It is his great project, his beloved bachelor pad, his triumphant personal space.  So when James offered to make this our family home- complete with kid, Grammy, and pets -I knew he was truly committed to making a life with me.

Over the past several weeks as Grammy and I have purged the NJ home to get ready for the downsize. And in New Orleans, James has been purging his place of its distinctive bachelor flair. To clear a room for Grammy, he has stored all of his equipment from years of a successful college DJ business. He used Craig's List to sell dozens of crates of records. When I arrived this weekend a couple guys were hauling out the bench and weights that once figured prominently in the bedroom that will now be occupied by my daughter.  He got rid of tons of clothes and made room in the closet for my wardrobe.  Honestly, it took my breath away to see the ease and graciousness with which James made room for me and for our new family.

And then...the moving truck arrived.

I thought I had purged a lot. I felt like I had given away a ton. But when that moving truck pulled up in front of the house I realized just how much I'd held onto and just how completely I'd underestimated the effects of a 1000 square foot downsizing effort. More needed to go. We started making decisions on the spot.  Within hours James managed to harness Craig's List magic to sell end tables, a washer/dryer combination and some shelves even while the movers were still bringing in boxes. Then we called family to pick up some toys that my daughter willingly donated by phone. We kept the items we really needed (beds for everyone) or that I really love (my favorite rugs and lamps).

By the end of the day I was exhausted. All my nails were broken. My feet ached.  Finally, I sat down on the couch in a room I've always thought of as "James' living room."

There, in that room, were my favorite framed prints, by mother's beloved house plants, my daughter's painted rocking chair.  It was, honestly, a little weird. James and I have very different styles. He is European, clean-line, contemporary. I am homey, traditional, ornate.  Each room of the house is now a wild, eclectic mash-up of these styles.  It works...sort of...yes, I think it works. As I sat there cocking my head to one side, considering every corner, the placement of every chair, the brown boxes stacked to the ceiling, it occurred to me that I am married....really, really, married.

My husband made room in his heart, in his life, and in his home. Together we are making a brand new family out of all the pieces and parts of our separate lives.  I looked around that room and it felt like love. Tremendous, overwhelming, inexpressible, crazy, mix-matched love. It did not look easy. It did not look settled. But it looked right.

At the top of this blog I have posted my favorite picture from our wedding. It was a moment I did not know had occurred until I saw the photos. Apparently just as the minister announced that James and I are husband and wife, my daughter leapt with spontaneous joy.  This picture captures that moment.  Honestly, when I looked around my new home on Saturday I felt my inner self jumping with that same joy.

I headed back to Princeton on Monday morning thinking, what an adventure we have begun!

Things fall apart

I have been pretty self-satisfied in my first few posts. I am happily downsizing, sharing my stuff with charities, learning I can live in a smaller space, yada yada yada. But let's be honest, this is not easy and some things have started to fray at the edges a bit.

The hotel room is totally overheated so I keep thinking it is much warmer outside than it really is. The other day I sent my kid to school in a sweatshirt and then it snowed and sleeted. Whoops.

Everything is in strange places so my mom accidently picked up the wrong prescription medicine bottle and downed two pills that she was *not* supposed to take. That meant a hurried trip to the pharmacy, but luckily no stomach pumping required. Whoops.

Parker needed to do her math homework, but apparently I had mistakenly allowed the movers to pack her "HomeLinks" workbook. It is now on a truck to New Orleans. Had to write an explanatory note to her teacher. Whoops.

I have been determined to prove that my creative writing will not be deterred by cramped living quarters. I spent more than two hours on a column last night. I was writing in a web editor instead of a document program. Lost internet connection and somehow deleted the entire piece.  Had to start again from scratch.  Screamed, cried, and missed dinner while hunched over my laptop. Whoops.

Woke up, got dressed, went to bedside table, could not find wedding ring. ANYWHERE. Crawled around on the floor. Shook cat upside down. Finally found ring, in box, in a dark corner under the bed.  Whoops.

I am stepping back and giving myself permission to recognize that even though change is good, it is not always easy. Sometimes things fall apart. And that is ok too. Ashe.

It's Done!

Just got a call from my real estate agent. The NJ house has officially closed. Farewell lovely home! Hello new adventure.

New Homes for My Stuff

Ok folks. I am basically at fifteen on a ten point stress-o-meter today.  No matter how systematically one approaches the process of moving, it always takes a million more steps than originally thought. Today I was running up and down the road getting my TV boxes mailed back to the cable company, getting the house cleaned for final walk through this afternoon, dragging all the trash to the curb for a final pick up, making sure the storage unit was returned, and oh yeah, finding a million tiny things in the corners of closets and behind doors that had been left behind by the movers. ARGGH!

I know life is going to get simpler soon, but the process of downsizing is exhausting.

Still, the best part is watching so much of my "stuff" find new homes where I know it will be better loved and put to better use. I decided to pause in the midst of this madness and share a little about how we shared our stuff as we got ready for the move.

Those business suits that are too big or too small
Donate them to Dress for Success to help women survivors get back on their feet.

That wedding dress that your daughter is NOT going to want to wear in 20 years. 
Donate it to Brides against Breast Cancer so that your joyous day will help another bride and help fight cancer.

The furniture you are holding onto that no longer fits your style, your house, or your life
Donate it to your local Habitat for Humanity where it can help new residents to start fresh with the chairs, couches, and tables that make a house feel like a home. In most places Habitat will come pick it up for you. They even carried my things out of the basement up some pretty steep stairs! Whew.

Toys that no one has played with for two years or the toaster over you never use.
Donate household items to Goodwill Industries where they will make a huge difference in the lives of so many people associated with this great organization.

All the unopened cans of soup, boxes of pasta, and pounds of sugar on your pantry shelves.
Donate them to your local food shelter. Ours went to Trenton Crisis Ministry here in New Jersey.

A ton of old clothes and the moving van coming the next day.
No one solves this better than the Vietnam Veterans of America. They come right out to your house, pick up the clothes, and put them to service for the soldiers and families who have served our country.

These are just a few of the places where I found new homes for my stuff. I'd love to hear in the comments section if you have other suggestions. This is the time of year when people often seek opportunities to give and I would be thrilled to point people in the direction of worthy causes. As we approach the holidays I hope you too might be willing to share your stuff, making your own life simpler and the lives of others richer.

See just writing about this has made my stress return to a much more normal level.

The room I'll miss the most

The truck is here. I'm sitting in the kitchen -on the last unpacked chair in the house- as the stunningly efficient movers load everything we own into the van. It is happening almost too quickly. I want to spend more time saying goodbye to this house.

This house has represented adulthood to me.  I was alone at the closing table on the day I bought it: no spouse, no parent, not even a friend. Doing such a big thing all alone felt empowering and exhilarating.  I remember rushing over from my attorney's office and laying in the middle of the bare wood floor in the living room. It was my house!

As I have been walking through the empty rooms this morning I have been working to actively recall, remember, and store my favorite moments and best feelings.  I will never forget all the bedtimes stories, all the dress up fashion shows, and the frequent reminders to "stop jumping on the bed" in my daughter's room. In my office, I remember nascent ideas shepherded to full expression. In my living room, I still feel the heat radiating from many cold-winter-night family fires in the fireplace.  On my back patio, I can still hear my daughter and her cousins shrieking will delight as they run through the sprinkler. And the kitchen, oh the kitchen. We lived in this room: breakfast every morning, homework in the afternoons, dinners most evenings, turkeys roasted on the holidays, cookies baked on the weekends. We threw great parties in here. We welcomed our friends and neighbors. We played music and cards. This room was the heart of our home and I helped design every square inch of it. I picked the cabinets, chose the tile, and approved the layout. But the kitchen is not the room I will miss the most.

There is one room I will miss more than any other. More than the intimate living room, the cozy reading nook, the welcoming kitchen, the romantic bedroom, or the efficient office I will miss my basement.  No room in my home captured my imagination more fully than my basement.  I understand this sounds nutty, but every single time I went to my basement I felt like as if I had arrived.

On the finished side my basement sported my grad-school futon, a television, and a stationary bike. My daughter's toys were all around and her play kitchen and table were set up in the corner. It was the kind of room where furniture that was still beloved but no longer beautiful found a home. It felt ramshackle, friendly. It was the very definition of a "family room." It was the unfinished side of the basement I liked best. I was thrilled every time I went to do laundry in my front loading, stainless steel, washer and dryer. I loved seeing my holiday decorations stacked in neat plastic bins and my tools arrayed on the built-in shelves.  I kept an extra fridge in the basement for holiday leftovers and big platters when I entertained. I loved the big plastic table where I folded clothes and wrapped Christmas presents. I loved that my house was not built on a slab, but was rooted deep in the earth, held up by a solid foundation, supported by something so big, and spacious, and real.

My basement was the symbol of my independence. It was also the place where I could collect stuff. Stuff went in the basement because there was room for it there. The dark corners were filled with all sorts of boxes, bags, doo-dads and thinga-ma-jigs that I didn't need or use. Collecting stuff in the basement was easier than making the choice to throw them out. Easier even than donating them. My basement stuff helped me feel protected from a sense of want or deprivation. As long as I had my stuff everything would be ok.

The stuff was a false security blanket. In fact every time I thought about moving it was the basement that kept me from feeling I truly could do so. All that stuff seemed too overwhelming to sort and too scary to discard. I felt vulnerable and naked when I even considered shrinking my stuff down to only the things that I truly needed and absolutely loved.

That is why we tackled the basement first when I finally worked up the nerve to put the house on the market. Grammy and I rolled up our sleeves and took a couple of weeks to donate the old clothes, throw away the unneeded papers, find charities to take the old furniture, and friends who wanted the old toys. Mom learned how to safely dispose of the old paint. Parker willingly gave up the play kitchen she'd outgrown.  We were merciless in our choices. We reduced, donated, and trashed everything that needed to go. But I am taking that washer and dryer with me!

Today I bid farewell to my basement and hopefully to the impulse to make myself feel safe by stacking up stuff. I am moving to a city that lies below sea level. In New Orleans homes are far more likely to be jacked up on stilts or rest on pilings than to sport deep, subterranean basements. I am giving up my stuffed-filled basement and my stuff-filled life.  Moving is about making room. But still...silly as it seems, I think I will miss my basement most of all.

Deep Breath, this might be enough

We are three days into Phase 1 of this downsizing process. Grammy, the kid, me, and the pets are all staying at a local extended stay hotel. This rather abrupt transition is occasioned by the miraculous, if inconvenient, speed with which we sold our house. It is bad karma to complain about the inconvenience of a real estate miracle occurring during the worst economic downturn since the Great Depression. So rather than wait for more suitable timing, I jumped at the offer and informed my family that we were moving out of our  four bedroom, three bath home, with a huge backyard into a little 2-bedroom hotel suite near the main highway.

I'll admit that I have been terrified about this part of the move. For years I have prided myself on my ability to provide a certain standard of living for my mom and my daughter.  I've even been proud of the quality of life I provide my pets. Not, that we live lavishly. In fact, our home, car and travel are pretty modest compared with many in an area as affluent as Princeton. I certainly did not qualify as a cast member of The Real Housewives! But even as a sole breadwinner I rarely said "no" to my family. If my daughter outgrew her bike, I bought a new one, even if it wasn't near her birthday or Christmas. If my mom wanted to plant a new hedge of laurel bushes in the yard, I just called the nursery and had them deliver the plants she wanted. If we were heading out of town, I scheduled for a posh pet care service that walked the dogs, fed the cats, and even spent the night at our house to keep all the fur faces company. If a friend called in need of a couple hundred dollars, I dropped it in the mail without a second thought. 

Having grown up with a single mom who often had to say no because she was unemployed or under-employed I took great pride in rarely having to deny myself or my loved ones these life-easing comforts. This kind of consumption made me feel like a successful adult, even if it came at the cost of growing debt and shrinking savings. So I panicked when I realized we would all have to move into a hotel for a few weeks. The house has sold but we can't move to New Orleans yet. I still have campus responsibilities; Grammy still has community committee assignments; and Parker needs to get through a few more weeks of school before a mid-year transition. We had no house, but needed to stay in town. 

So on Thursday I packed our bags, loaded the pets into their carriers, and drove us to the hotel. I expected Parker to be crestfallen by the tiny space. I bit my lower lip thinking about Grammy's response to the the tiny efficiency kitchen. I felt that I failed my family. 

I opened the door to our suite, Parker screamed, "oh my gosh, I love it! Does that couch turn into a bed? Yeeesssss! That means I have a TV in my bedroom, ha!" Grammy said, "wow, look the kitchen has a full size fridge. No problem, I'm going make great meals here."  Even my spoiled pets seem to love the place. Check the picture at the top of this post, where my kitty, Halo, has taken to walking along the loft area like a feline acrobat. 

As I write this post Grammy and Parker are playing Go Fish on the little two-seater couch. No one seems to notice that all of our "stuff" is sitting in boxes back at the house, waiting to be loaded onto a moving van tomorrow. No one seems angry with me for providing less than stellar views or perfectly appointed rooms. A little snuggle on a little couch on a Sunday afternoon seems to be enough. 

Deep breath. 

The decision to downsize

I moved to Princeton, New Jersey five years ago. I accepted a tenured position at Princeton University and bought a little cape cod within walking distance of campus. The house is in a tree-lined neighborhood filled with school children just four blocks from an award winning public school.  It has a huge backyard and was already outfitted with the swing set just perfect for my daughter. The place is basically a locational jackpot.  

Although it was in a great neighborhood, the house was cramped and dark. I was moving from a huge, light-filled condo in Chicago and I was a little disappointed by the house's interior; so as soon as I moved in I started a major renovation project. It was such a great success that my house was even featured in the local paper. Having earned tenure at an Ivy League university and perfectly designed my new home I figured I would be staying put for the next thirty years. 

But life, of course, is what happens when we are making other plans. 

When I moved to Princeton I was a divorced, single mom.  It didn't take me long to realize that parenting, teaching, writing and speaking was too much for me to carry alone.  I asked my mother if she would consider retiring and moving in with my daughter and me. I could not offer her a separate house or a mother-in-law suite, but we did have an extra bedroom. She accepted, moved in and became my daughter's main care provider. My mom (Grammy) is also a talented gardener and she immediately got to work on the large yard. 

Having my mother's help was heavenly, but the pressures of being the sole breadwinner were still quite present for me. As a tenured college professor at a top university I earn a very decent income and have unbelievable job security. But the cost of living in Princeton is extraordinarily high. The renovations took most of my savings. Between the mortgage, insurance, and sky-high property taxes I was losing ground every month. I was still paying student loans, coping with consumer debt from my failed marriage, and carrying the financial weight of the household. My life was filled with wonderful opportunities and accomplishments, but it felt as though it were built on shifting sand. 

To close the gap I took additional jobs writing and lecturing. Admittedly these are amazing second jobs, made possible by my education and position. They are certainly not the kind of drudgery that so many other Americans face when they take a second job. But they are very time consuming. I found myself traveling for lectures as many as ten days out of every month.  These were days that were not spent home with my daughter (or in the house I just renovated!)  These were days that ate into my time on campus and were stolen from my academic writing schedule.  I was beginning to feel a little unbalanced. 

My health suffered. I put on more than 30 pounds. I had major surgery. And while my kid loved her school and my mom loved the yard, I discovered that Princeton University was a very poor fit for my scholarly interests and style. I have many great colleagues but could not  find a niche that fed my intellectual spirit. I spent much of my time on campus alone in my office. I was feeling even more unbalanced. 

As a result of the Obama campaign in 2008 my public writing, media appearances, and lectures expanded. In the past two years I have managed an absolutely frenetic pace of public life, academic writing, teaching, parenting, political and community work. But I was slipping off a financial and emotional cliff even as my public star shone more brightly. No matter how many hours I worked I just couldn't close the gap on debt, taxes, mortgage and daily expenses.  Every hour I worked on one project seemed to come at the expense of another. I'd have weeks of great blogs or columns but not work on the book manuscript for months. I'd deliver a terrific lecture but I'd miss the school play. I would talk to 20 students during office hours, but not be left with a moment to prep for my class the next day.  I was beginning to feel very unbalanced. 

Into the midst of all this came love. Just as I thought I might go under, the most extraordinary love I have even known showed up.  James provided me with humor, perspective, attention, and joyous acceptance of my whole self.  But like every other cascading blessing in this amazing life I was leading, I kept feeling like love was just one more responsibility to balance.  We lived more than 1000 miles apart and our relationship meant more hours in airports and an expanded budget for airline tickets for both of us.  I was happy, but the sense of imbalance had become undeniable. 

And so, with one gigantic leap of faith I decided to change the story. In late September I put my New Jersey house on the market. Despite the brutal housing market, I had an offer within a week. I won't make a profit from the sale, but I have freed myself from a brutal mortgage and obscene property taxes.  Feeling freer than ever, I married James in early October. With characteristic kindness and generosity, he offered for me, Grammy, my kid, the dog, and the two cats to join him in his modest home in New Orleans. We readily accepted. 

Over the next year we will be downsizing our stuff, our house and our budget.  Our goal is to live with less stuff so that we can live more balance. It is an adventure in downsizing. This blog is where I will chronicle the experience. I hope you will be here to share.