Richer Still

 We love to eat, and a burning question at our house every day is what to have for dinner. Recently, we picked up a lone turkey leg with thigh, and I made a soup with it for tonight. The broth is watery now, but I've left it simmering on the back burner so it'll be richer by the time we have dinner. Reduction is often on my mind, following our move. 

Our daughter, Leah, helped a lot with our downsizing. A born project manager, she divided our tasks into three stages to minimize predictable chaos. During our Townhouse Adventure's first stage, we went from a houseful to a handful, packing only the stuff we knew we would want to move. We carefully measured furniture, rugs, and spaces for a non-stop week. On moving day, we had a good idea of where things would go in the townhouse, and things fell into place. The title, Storage (aka Saving for a Future of Possibility), defined the second week. What to keep, what to let go? Our task was to preserve sentimental, high-value, and reusable items that we would set aside for who knows when. Stuff like my grandmother's crystal, sterling flatware, china, and other such treasures got carefully wrapped into labeled boxes. After methodically moving through the first two weeks, the third phase, Letting Go, would be easy. But, no.

We thought we'd scoured the place, but at this point, stuff started coming out of the woodwork from closets, drawers, corners, attics, basements, porches - the house had morphed into a moving monster. Lightbulbs, random change-filled cache pots, food items, mops, odd books, papers, keys, clothes, you name it, and we had to deal with all of it. No matter the planning, the devil shows up eventually. Sell this, stash that, trash the other thing. Willy-nilly, the value of anything became exaggerated or fizzled. I shudder when I'm missing something, wondering where we tossed it. 

The past six weeks are aptly titled 'dust Settling Time', but it doesn't capture the experience. I've unearthed forgotten treasures from our larger house's closets, cabinets, and drawers. Discovering these things is like reuniting with old friends. I use a salt shaker my daughter-in-law gifted me years ago every day. A basket I'd made in my thirties, tucked away in an obscure corner for years, now proudly hangs on our new kitchen wall. Side tables that were once overshadowed by couches are now essential. Rugs that had played bit parts in dusky halls now take center stage on our narrow townhouse floors.

We might have chopped our old life into pieces by moving, but now that we've settled in, we like the new flavors.

No one would ever say we are antisocial, but we did enjoy the privacy of living on a corner in Falls Church. On Capitol Hill, we'd barely arrived when neighbors asked whether or not we played Poker. People walk often here, and we enjoy the easy way folks will stop for a little chat. Because of our next-door neighbor's friendliness, we are heading to our second Bingo at the American Legion Hall today. After decades of hiding out, we’re outside waving and eager to play. 

Another thing we like is the convenience of stores - no more big hauls for groceries or forgotten vegetables rotting in our fridge. Trader Joe's and Safeway are just a few blocks away. Eastern Market offers fresh fish, meats, and poultry. Last week, we put the seal of approval on freshly made raviolis, and yesterday, we found a killer cheddar from Quebec. 

Food lovers find food heaven and do so on foot. With fewer hours spent behind the wheel, we've embraced the satisfaction of self-transportation. We bought one of those grocery carts for hauling stuff home, and errands are less of a chore. Walking around the streets is fun. With all of the history, it’s easy in D. C. to enjoy a sense of place.  We've been in the area since 1971 and are now fully appreciating the grandeur of the architecture, green spaces, and monuments. If the shutdown ever ends, it will be nice to visit a museum! 

My daily constitution includes a walk around the Capitol, and as I climb that hallowed hill, I think about the effort of our move, my soup simmering on the back burner, and the way the fire of life enriches flavor.

. . .that hallowed hill