When you decide to live somewhere for just 5 years it affects how you approach both selecting and furnishing your living space. On the one hand, hey, it's only 5 years. I can cope with just about anything as long as I feel safe. On the other hand, why not create a space unlike any I have had in the past? If it doesn't work, no big deal, it's not permanent.
In my case the selection process was a bit more challenging because the rental market in inner Portland is tight; the vacancy rate is less than 1.5%. This meant I had to jump quickly when I found anything of interest. God bless Craig's List. I used their search filters, google map and photos to quickly eliminate places outside my area of interest (within 1-2 miles of my daughter's house) and could drive by anything that looked promising before making contact with landlords. But pressure was on to move quickly - to find a place in my 10-day trip up here last July. My minimal requirements? 2 bedrooms, 1 bath, living room, eat-in kitchen, and an outdoor space that was useful. Then add the next layer of wants - I crave nooks and crannies. My favorite architectural style is Craftsman - you know, the built-in bookshelves, cabinets, fireplace, wood windows, etc. Thankfully Portland is full of such houses - chock full.
The duplex where I now live was the only place I actually looked at (drove by maybe 5 others, peered through vacant windows of another 3) but knew, after stepping into this living room, that I was home. It is very small. Although the landlady says it has 1100 square feet I really doubt it. The living room is tiny but has the requisite built-in bookcase and fireplace. The kitchen is an odd shape but Gary's grandmother's small enamel table fits perfectly under a bank of windows. It also has lots of cupboards. My bedroom is adequate as is the bathroom. The upstairs attic space captured my heart - windows, a built-in bookcase and a dormer. What more could one ask? Hardwood floors throughout.
Although my landlady put me through a wringer (the major problem being lack of rental history - it had been almost 40 years!) I was able to fly back to Pacific Grove in mid-July with floor plans in hand to start the packing process. I can't believe what I accomplished in 3 weeks - I handled and packed every single thing I owned - including the contents of my garage and 2 small attics. Everything. Of course, as you can guess, I frequently found myself staring at something wondering WHY HAVE I SAVED THIS???? Many car loads ended up at Goodwill or the Last Change Mercantile at the local dumps. I returned treasures loaned by a beloved sister, set aside things that belonged to Stephanie, gave my son in Oakland just about anything he was willing to take, tucked about 10 cartons into a cousin's garage in Marin, and then shoe-horned into an attic crawl space any small furniture and boxes of things I couldn't bring but wanted to save. Today, when I can't find something, I find myself wondering where it is. Is it with a family member? Goodwill? Oakland? Marin? Or in the locked attic crawl space in Pacific Grove? It will be interesting to unpack that attic when I return. What did I store there? I made so many decisions in such a short time that I can't quite remember what made the cut. And will I still want that stuff after being without it for 5 years? And, perhaps, more interesting, how are the renters dealing with that locked door? I must admit, it would drive me crazy to have a locked space staring at me. Have they broken in? If so, I bet they were disappointed. In my memory a phalanx of boxes of books is staring back at them.
What came with me? Anything that supported inclusion in a Grandmother House - that's how I view this space. After the moving van left, I had much fun unpacking and distributing my things among the rooms and I can most definitely state that every space now screams Grandmother. The living room has baskets that hold all the train stuff from Lee's childhood - the tracks, the engines and cars, the blocks to make tunnels and towns and mountains. There is enough room on the floor for Wesley to set up tracks that weave across the rug and around furniture legs.
Built-in shelves hold his toys and books.
In the kitchen - one small cabinet has the baking stuff that is safe to play with. We use the measuring cups in water play as well as when cooking.
He has another drawer that stores his plastic dishes as well as play dough and chalk. Note our two aprons hanging from hooks on the refrigerator: His is the orange one.
Another cabinet has pots and pans that are safe for him to use when he "cooks" with me - he frequently takes the contents out and leaves them strewn all over the floor. I step over them, quite content.
My favorite part is the long wall going down to my bedroom - I took all the art that I thought he would appreciate and hung it at his level. We talk about some of the art, but no big deal. I just hope exposure will make an impact.
My bedroom book case has a climbing pull toy that my own children used. He is almost able to do it by himself.
The bathroom has a basket for his rubber duckies. We use them at bath time when he spends the night. On occasion he helps them jump into the water when we wash dishes in the kitchen. He thinks the ducks enjoy these auxiliary swims.
Upstairs is all his - as described in an earlier entry - where we spend time each afternoon. Right now he likes to make "charts" (a reference to his potty training chart at home, I suspect). I pull out the plastic bin of colored paper, stickers, deckle scissors and we go to town. His charts now decorate walls around my house.
In back is a covered play area with a cement floor that shows the remains of much chalk play. He can ride his learner-bike on the driveway. He likes to work in the garden with me. We have planted bulbs, cleaned up existing plants and revel in the signs of spring appearing in the yard. Right now we are watching the unfolding blossoms on a neighbor's rhododendron bush.
Given all the above, you would assume I am in heaven. And I am - most of the time. Here's the fly in the ointment. My lovely duplex-mates, a young couple, moved out last month. They were charming, helpful and quiet. We fed each others animals when one of us was on vacation, collected mail, shared garbage duty and I never heard them. Never. That has now changed. The new neighbors, although absolutely lovely, can be quite noisy at times. It is understandable - there are 4 of them living in what I consider a small space for just me. 2 Moms and 2 young boys - ages 3 and 5. To be completely fair, the noise level is not extraordinary, given the ages of the boys and their space limitations, but that doesn't make it easier to deal with. Although they are out of the house much of the time, when they are home there are moments when I wonder if I am going to survive. The walls seem to shake.
But oh dear, even the thought of moving . . . . can I really do it again? So soon? Get out the packing boxes? Go buy some more tape? I love my street, my neighborhood, my unit - just not the noise coming from next door. I suspect I was naive to think I could adjust to duplex living after 40 years in a detached house.
But move? Again? You know what I really need to do? I need to channel Scarlett O'Hara. Yes, that's it. I'll think about it tomorrow. Fiddle-dee-dee. Can't deal with it right now. However, to be safe, I just added Craig's List to my bookmark bar. Oh dear.
In my case the selection process was a bit more challenging because the rental market in inner Portland is tight; the vacancy rate is less than 1.5%. This meant I had to jump quickly when I found anything of interest. God bless Craig's List. I used their search filters, google map and photos to quickly eliminate places outside my area of interest (within 1-2 miles of my daughter's house) and could drive by anything that looked promising before making contact with landlords. But pressure was on to move quickly - to find a place in my 10-day trip up here last July. My minimal requirements? 2 bedrooms, 1 bath, living room, eat-in kitchen, and an outdoor space that was useful. Then add the next layer of wants - I crave nooks and crannies. My favorite architectural style is Craftsman - you know, the built-in bookshelves, cabinets, fireplace, wood windows, etc. Thankfully Portland is full of such houses - chock full.
The duplex where I now live was the only place I actually looked at (drove by maybe 5 others, peered through vacant windows of another 3) but knew, after stepping into this living room, that I was home. It is very small. Although the landlady says it has 1100 square feet I really doubt it. The living room is tiny but has the requisite built-in bookcase and fireplace. The kitchen is an odd shape but Gary's grandmother's small enamel table fits perfectly under a bank of windows. It also has lots of cupboards. My bedroom is adequate as is the bathroom. The upstairs attic space captured my heart - windows, a built-in bookcase and a dormer. What more could one ask? Hardwood floors throughout.
My unit is on the right.
Although my landlady put me through a wringer (the major problem being lack of rental history - it had been almost 40 years!) I was able to fly back to Pacific Grove in mid-July with floor plans in hand to start the packing process. I can't believe what I accomplished in 3 weeks - I handled and packed every single thing I owned - including the contents of my garage and 2 small attics. Everything. Of course, as you can guess, I frequently found myself staring at something wondering WHY HAVE I SAVED THIS???? Many car loads ended up at Goodwill or the Last Change Mercantile at the local dumps. I returned treasures loaned by a beloved sister, set aside things that belonged to Stephanie, gave my son in Oakland just about anything he was willing to take, tucked about 10 cartons into a cousin's garage in Marin, and then shoe-horned into an attic crawl space any small furniture and boxes of things I couldn't bring but wanted to save. Today, when I can't find something, I find myself wondering where it is. Is it with a family member? Goodwill? Oakland? Marin? Or in the locked attic crawl space in Pacific Grove? It will be interesting to unpack that attic when I return. What did I store there? I made so many decisions in such a short time that I can't quite remember what made the cut. And will I still want that stuff after being without it for 5 years? And, perhaps, more interesting, how are the renters dealing with that locked door? I must admit, it would drive me crazy to have a locked space staring at me. Have they broken in? If so, I bet they were disappointed. In my memory a phalanx of boxes of books is staring back at them.
What came with me? Anything that supported inclusion in a Grandmother House - that's how I view this space. After the moving van left, I had much fun unpacking and distributing my things among the rooms and I can most definitely state that every space now screams Grandmother. The living room has baskets that hold all the train stuff from Lee's childhood - the tracks, the engines and cars, the blocks to make tunnels and towns and mountains. There is enough room on the floor for Wesley to set up tracks that weave across the rug and around furniture legs.
Built-in shelves hold his toys and books.
In the kitchen - one small cabinet has the baking stuff that is safe to play with. We use the measuring cups in water play as well as when cooking.
He has another drawer that stores his plastic dishes as well as play dough and chalk. Note our two aprons hanging from hooks on the refrigerator: His is the orange one.
Another cabinet has pots and pans that are safe for him to use when he "cooks" with me - he frequently takes the contents out and leaves them strewn all over the floor. I step over them, quite content.
My favorite part is the long wall going down to my bedroom - I took all the art that I thought he would appreciate and hung it at his level. We talk about some of the art, but no big deal. I just hope exposure will make an impact.
His favorite? The turquoise dog painting. He often pats it as he runs by.
My bedroom book case has a climbing pull toy that my own children used. He is almost able to do it by himself.
The bathroom has a basket for his rubber duckies. We use them at bath time when he spends the night. On occasion he helps them jump into the water when we wash dishes in the kitchen. He thinks the ducks enjoy these auxiliary swims.
Upstairs is all his - as described in an earlier entry - where we spend time each afternoon. Right now he likes to make "charts" (a reference to his potty training chart at home, I suspect). I pull out the plastic bin of colored paper, stickers, deckle scissors and we go to town. His charts now decorate walls around my house.
In back is a covered play area with a cement floor that shows the remains of much chalk play. He can ride his learner-bike on the driveway. He likes to work in the garden with me. We have planted bulbs, cleaned up existing plants and revel in the signs of spring appearing in the yard. Right now we are watching the unfolding blossoms on a neighbor's rhododendron bush.
Given all the above, you would assume I am in heaven. And I am - most of the time. Here's the fly in the ointment. My lovely duplex-mates, a young couple, moved out last month. They were charming, helpful and quiet. We fed each others animals when one of us was on vacation, collected mail, shared garbage duty and I never heard them. Never. That has now changed. The new neighbors, although absolutely lovely, can be quite noisy at times. It is understandable - there are 4 of them living in what I consider a small space for just me. 2 Moms and 2 young boys - ages 3 and 5. To be completely fair, the noise level is not extraordinary, given the ages of the boys and their space limitations, but that doesn't make it easier to deal with. Although they are out of the house much of the time, when they are home there are moments when I wonder if I am going to survive. The walls seem to shake.
But oh dear, even the thought of moving . . . . can I really do it again? So soon? Get out the packing boxes? Go buy some more tape? I love my street, my neighborhood, my unit - just not the noise coming from next door. I suspect I was naive to think I could adjust to duplex living after 40 years in a detached house.
But move? Again? You know what I really need to do? I need to channel Scarlett O'Hara. Yes, that's it. I'll think about it tomorrow. Fiddle-dee-dee. Can't deal with it right now. However, to be safe, I just added Craig's List to my bookmark bar. Oh dear.
Oh dear, indeed! Can't wait to hear what you decide.
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