December 24, 2013, Washington, DC: We moved about ten days ago. For weeks, it seemed, carpets were rolled up, boxes piled sky high, and rooms smelled like cardboard. That’s largely the reason we’re staying put this Christmas. There’s been so much in flux, a few too many loose ends to keep track of during the craze of the holiday season.
But it’s worth a few moments during this hectic time to recognize that my 27th home was good to me. It’s the place we moved into the week our first niece was born, and the place where dad and I pushed the living room furniture aside to choreograph a father-daughter wedding dance. It’s a place that was full of lovable imperfections, marked by days spent carefully building a fire in the back right corner of the fireplace so as not to smoke out the entire apartment, and cooking with no hood above the stove, and bathing in the smallest shower known to man. It’s an apartment where I enjoyed my morning coffee in a stream of perfect sunlight back by the kitchen, and the only place we’ll likely ever have an octagonal living room. It’s the home from which we could hear musicians performing above the Metro and see straight into the game shop and library windows at night. Home #27 was also the place where I began this blog and became heavily invested in exploring the meaning of the living spaces and surroundings that shape our everyday lives. And it’s the place I fell in love with Capitol Hill and came to truly understand the value of a great location.
Which is why we didn’t go far. Home #28 is just a few blocks away and we couldn’t be happier about staying put in the neighborhood.
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