I hate stairs. High ceilings in the first floor apartment mean more stairs to get to the second floor, where we live. Eighteen to be exact. And stairs are one of the reasons we’re selling our old house. I have to keep reminding myself this is merely a transition. It’s only temporary until our house sells and we have decided where we want to live.
It’s good to hire people to help you move, especially if there are stairs involved. It was a pleasure watching professionals load and unload the truck. And carry heavy things up stairs.
We have too much stuff. Whatever we sold, donated, put in storage or tossed out in the last year, wasn’t nearly enough. While I want to be comfortable and have things around me that please me, the thrifty side of me doesn’t want to pay for a big house just to store my crap. I feel another wave of whittling coming on.
This apartment, while lovely—high ceilings, new carpet, walk-in closets, pool, gym, hot tub–is roughly one-third the size of my old house. See #3.
Kitchen cabinets ought to be wide enough to fit a frying pan or Dutch oven. Bathroom drawers should accommodate more than a toothbrush. A pantry is a must. Oh, and a linen closet.
I’m glad I sleep with my tech support guy who can install and troubleshoot all technology.
My brain can only handle so much problem-solving and creativity at a time. And right now, that part of my brain is occupied with trying to play a giant game of Tetris as I organize too many necessities into too-few cabinets and drawers. My novel is on the back burner for the time being.
I recognize these are first-world problems and I am grateful that at this stage in our life, we have the luxury of options. I’m especially grateful that we have this time living a one minute walk away from our daughter and her family.
Wife, mother, grandmother, reader, writer, kindness warrior. Retired teacher. Former columnist for the Nevada Appeal. Member of Lone Mountain Writers and High Sierra Writers. Author of US, NOW AND THEN.
View all posts by Lorie Smith Schaefer