May, 2015

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Shotgun for sale

Tuesday, May 26th, 2015

As of tonight, my house is on the market. And given all I have accomplished in the last seven days, I feel like nothing less than a freaking superhero (I call dibs on the name Trixie Firecracker).

In addition to holding down my full-time job (three more days!), I have moved 30 boxes, a bookshelf, a cabinet, and a flat screen TV to my sister’s garage, completely de-cluttered and neutralized my house, found a potential new home in Minneapolis, number crunched while comparing estimates from five different lenders, made some emotional decisions and a few rational ones, had an honest conversation with someone I care about, sent a few of the longest emails I’ve ever written in my life, flown to Portland, been stuck with acupuncture needles in a friend’s living room, attended a wedding for some favorite folks, slept in my own bed, my sister’s bed, and a hide-a-bed, deep cleaned my house, vacuumed the cobwebs off the ceiling, weed wacked the backyard, laid mulch in a flowerbed, organized the basement, and somehow managed not to eat my feelings. (Except that pulled pork mac & cheese. But it could have been so much worse.)

According to my Fitbit, my resting heart rate is generally around 57. One day last week, it was consistently 81 all day long, even when I was just sitting at my computer – a physical manifestation of the state of my emotions. Things have been BANANAS.

Speaking of bananas, I don’t really buy them anymore. Sure, I like bananas – but I never want a whole one. And when you try to save the other half for later, the open end gets mushy.

But let me tell you, I’ve learned a lot about selling a house (it is my first time, after all). And one thing I know: when it comes to strangers traipsing through your house deciding whether they’re willing to pay you some percentage of a million dollars for it, YOU STOCK YOUR DAMN FRUIT BASKET.

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You also adorn the tables and nooks with fresh flowers.

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And God forbid anyone find anything in your home that tells them what sort of a person you are: all books, pictures, toiletries, toys, trinkets, and shrines to Tim Riggins must be packed up and stowed far, far away. The potential buyers have to get the idea that your home is warm and inviting, yet still be able to envision making the space their own. Not that anyone could argue with Riggins.

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I adore this little Shotgun house. I’ve only been here for two years, but in that time it’s felt more like “home” than anywhere else I’ve ever lived. I’ve taken good care of it, and put as much money as I could afford into improvements: new windows, new kitchen floors, and – get excited, buyers – brand new natural gas lines! This air is safe to breathe.

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My favorite things about my house are the skylights, the interior brick, the original hardwoods, the high ceilings, the gas stove, the claw foot tub, the insane water pressure, and the location – good grief, the location. Less than a mile to downtown, a half mile to REI, three blocks to the football stadium, two blocks to the Platte River bike trail, one block to Jefferson Park and a B-Cycle station, and around the corner from a little French restaurant.

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Plus, whoever gets to live here next will surely feel my spirit lurking – and there is no price tag for that.

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So come and get it, folks! This house is about to fly.

North

Tuesday, May 19th, 2015

If you know my sister Becca, you know she’s all about dogs. She always has been; her first word was “woof-woof.” In addition to running a dog rescue (whence came Foxy!), she has three dogs of her own – and they’re like her kids. So when she and my brother-in-law decided to go to Seattle, they called in only the best.

Annie the Dog Nanny.

Foxy and I moved into Becca and Michael’s house on Saturday night, and it’s been the Wild West ever since. I’m playing defense against a collective 200 pounds of canine. Things I will need to replace before they get home: Bulleit and a lot of chocolate chips.

In the midst of it all, I am wrapping up my job, selling my house, and looking for a new place to live – because I forgot to tell you:

I’m moving to Minnesota.

Two weeks ago, I gave my notice at work. I am leaving what has been a gift of a job for what is sure to be a challenging, soulful adventure of a next chapter: I’m moving to Minneapolis to work for my favorite public radio show, On Being with Krista Tippett.

For over eight years, this has been a blog mostly about my feelings – so don’t think I’m going to stop now.

What can I say about my 5 ½ years in Denver? They have been the toughest years of my life, minus 6th grade when all of the girls turned mean. Cancer brought me here, divorce made me stay. I watched my family disintegrate, and a few relationships of my own. I’ve said such horrible things to God, it’s a wonder he still loves me. I’ve lost hope, battled depression, and numbed the pain with all sorts of soul novocain.

Denver made me write this song. (And as always, forgive the guitar.)

[UPDATE: Song has been taken down. Maybe you’ll hear it again someday.]

But it’s not lost on me that the hardest years were spent in the most beautiful place. It’s like someone knew I would need the beauty.

I’ve walked thousands and thousands of miles. I’ve climbed mountains – I’m up to 35 14ers, with 19 to go. I spent 11 days on a solo backpacking trip, digging deeper than I knew I could dig. I’ve learned to own my finances, my career, a dog, and a house. If Seattle is where I became Annie and Nashville is where I became a woman (gross, sorry for saying that), Denver is where I became an adult – a reluctant transition, but true nonetheless. I’ve made a handful of incredible girlfriends, the kind that make it hard to leave. I’ve been to counseling – gracious, have I been to counseling. I’ve stopped blaming my parents for everything that’s wrong in my life.

As it turns out, I am sad to leave Denver – but not as excited as I am for a new adventure.

I will miss my perfect tiny house and my friends and the weather and the mountains. But I know that there’s something for me in Minnesota – lakes and forests and people and meaningful work. And mosquitos. And snow. But I’m choosing to believe that richness awaits. I can’t wait to tell you about it. I can’t wait to learn it for myself. I might even start going to church again.

Until then, I am frantically wrapping up my time with LÄRABAR/General Mills. Yesterday I wrote a “manual” for how to do my job. So far it’s 17 pages long. I’m getting my ducks in a row to sell my house, and looking for another in Minneapolis (tell me, is 40% of my income too much to spend on a mortgage?).

And I’m dog-sitting for my sister. Maybe these dogs will come visit me in Minnesota.

My roots are up, and I’m headed north. There is so much to be nervous about, and so much to be grateful for. Thanks for sticking with me, no matter the gap between posts, no matter the city in which I live.

See you soon, Minneapolis!

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