November was a demanding month.
We moved. I started a new job. We went back to California for over a week, driving the ten-plus hours each way. And we finally re-opened that giant box of stuff we shipped up here back in August.
That giant box proved to be a big lesson. If you want to truly know what of your worldly possessions you could happily do without, simply pack everything away somewhere you can't see it or touch it for about 12 weeks. Upon reunion, I think you'd be surprised how many items you didn't even know you had, let alone missed. I sure was.
We were far less ruthless with our culling than we should have been. We continue to purge during the unpacking, but we still have quite a ways to go.
And so here we are, home again at long last, in the dark Northern Pacific month of December with frozen rain outside and little piles of things cluttering the rooms. (And still very much without that elusive animal, the affordable non-hideous couch.) Don't expect an apartment tour anytime soon - or at all, for that matter. This place is far from photogenic, complete with terrible paint colors and carpet among other sins. But it has its major benefits, including being in a wonderfully walkable neighborhood and near two beautiful parks. And that huge balcony. When spring arrives I am going to drown that balcony in living green things, edible and otherwise.
It's a work in progress, as all things are. We've had a bunch of homes together over the years, and they all arrive at a semblance of order eventually no matter how chaotic things are at first. Five short years ago, we drove a U-Haul across the state line to our very first apartment together; one with the number 7 on the door. So many things have changed, but so many have stayed the same.