Tag: New Jersey

Cozy Posts · Health & Lifestyle

January Postcard

Beth DeFries2 Comments

Dear friends,

Someday it will stop being cold, but for right now, it’s January in New Jersey and that day is likely a ways off. Sigh.

I’m still going strong on not buying unnecessary things this month, despite a few temptations, but am taking it day by day, with every day successful, so far. I am not spending on wardrobe items, coffee shops, housewares, or decor this month. I have what I need and am beyond grateful for it.

The ongoing fires in southern California remind me that true need is much more basic than what many of us deem necessary in today’s world. Family, friends, health, shelter, clothing, food, water, clean air, safety, and enough money to sustain these needs. Everything else is extra. I feel like it’s easy to forget that sometimes. It’s easy to take these things for granted through the constant buzz of consumer culture that we are bombarded with daily in the US.

I’ve been wandering a path of change over the past seven months and have learned that change takes patience and patience takes willpower. I challenge myself to exercise willpower every day in the challenges and changes I have made because they are good for me.

Exercise is tough in the winter compared to the warmer months. It takes extra willpower to get outside for a walk. It takes even more to stay outside as long as I should. Today was a weigh-in day and another loss. Being down 45 pounds since June is good enough motivation to bundle up and get a whole mess of steps in. It’s also much, much colder in winter though without my former layer of squish. I’ll put an extra sweater on and take the chill with gratitude.

It’s an Earl Grey day for tea and I’m sipping in my writing spot on the big, blue couch. A maelstrom rages in the dishwasher and the dryer’s humming in the laundry room – my domestic soundtrack for the afternoon.

I took two books out of the library last week and haven’t started either, despite being sure that I will enjoy both. Maeve Binchy and Judy Blume sit beneath the lamp on the wooden bench that my dad made whispering, “Write. Read.” It’s probably rude to ignore your idols, so, sorry ladies; I will aim to do some of both today.

Bit of a ramble today, but if you are reading this, I hope you are cozy and warm. If today’s a tough day, I hope something has yet to happen that makes you smile. If it’s a good day, then-yes! Go you! 🙂 As always, thanks for reading.

Love,

Beth

Cozy Posts · Poetry

Comfort on the Homefront

Beth DeFries1 Comment

A cozy, quiet evening,

swallowed early by the dark;

there’s bluegrass in the speakers

and a distant twilight bark.

Arrivals sail across the sky,

bound for Jamaica, Queens.

There’s comfort on the homefront;

it felt right to set the scene:

pumpkins by the TV,

cards upon the shelf,

socks with knitted patterns,

and a mug to warm myself.

Dinner’s fast approaching

and there’s pinot noir to share.

There’s comfort on the homefront

and I thought I’d bring you there.

Health & Lifestyle · Healthy Habits · Mental Health

How to be Happy

Beth DeFriesLeave a comment

While organizing my digital files, I stumbled across a document titled How to be Happy. The memory of creating that document rushed back to me and gave my heart a less than gentle squeeze.

Once again, I was seated at our Ikea table in our Williamsburg apartment, trying to grasp any sort of hold on joy. I was working in a job that made me unhappy, living in a city that was someone else’s dream home, and had lost pretty much all touch with my creativity.

The list I wrote called out the dreams, the have nots, the wants. Some items were simple such as move to an apartment with laundry access. Some were more difficult like find a new job in a creative or educational field, live by the water, or get back into writing. I’d wandered off the marked trail and was lost amid a dense forest of skyscrapers, high rises, brownstones, and warehouses- all my breadcrumbs scattered at my feet, awaiting someone to find and rescue me.

There’s a line from Trampled by Turtles’ Widower’s Heart that resonates with me every time I hear it, “New York was a rough place that treated me well.” Sometimes it makes me feel a little guilty for having wanted to leave.

I did a lot of growing up in New York. It was a haven from Baltimore throughout college and it was home afterwards. It facilitated me meeting a group of friends that I can’t imagine my future without. Though grimy, tough, and loud, New York was good to me and I will always love it deeply. It’s not home anymore, however, and I’ve got to admit I prefer it that way.

Live by the water.

We were deep into searching for a new apartment in Brooklyn in January 2020 when a home that we’d been eyeing just for fun dropped in price on Zillow. We scheduled a viewing, rented a car from JFK, and took a drive out to New Jersey just to see it. The pictures hadn’t done the view justice, an observation since echoed by every new visitor we’ve ever had.

We went for drinks at a local brewery to think the idea over knowing it would be crazy if we bought the first place we ever looked at after having looked exclusively at apartments for rent in New York. We were renters. Renters didn’t have to deal with home repairs. Renters didn’t have to pay property taxes. Renters lived in tiny apartments in Brooklyn hoping to be able to afford a miniscule view of the East River.

The idea of buying seemed more sensical as we talked and sipped, but often harkened back to but it would be crazy… right?

It all came down to happiness. While New York was good to me and Mike would never feel the need to live anywhere else, he knew, more than I did, that I’d be much happier living by the water and, as is often the case, he was right.

I am a person who puts myself last in most situations. Why? Because I don’t like putting other people in a place where they have to experience discomfort. I’d rather be the uncomfortable one. It’s fucked up, yes, but it’s true and I’m working on it. Sometimes it takes someone else looking in to notice the effect of constant self-pressure. Sometimes it takes someone else to open their mouth and say it’s ok; we can leave New York. Sometimes it takes someone who loves you a whole lot to make you feel worthy of the change you know is necessary.

So we did something crazy. We bought the first and only home we’d thought about purchasing and moved to New Jersey. We escaped living through the pandemic in New York and instead lived in a place with fresh air and quiet outside the door. I like to think that that wasn’t a terrible consolation for Mike.

My love for New Jersey has very deep roots. There was something about coming home that was instantly calming- something about the water and the moonrise and the trees. I started to write again even though I didn’t feel confident in it. Confidence comes from practice. Confidence comes from having the courage to try.

I thought I’d make a new list to stumble across sometime in the future, perhaps a more general one in case you happen to stumble across it too.

How to be Happy:

  1. Be kind to your body. You’ve only got one.
  2. Prioritize sleep.
  3. Take difficult responsibilities one day or one step or one micro-step at a time.
  4. Move your body every day in a way that works for you.
  5. Commit to exercising good bodily and dental hygiene practices.
  6. Don’t overspend on finances, time, and energy.
  7. End each day with a positive thought or reflection. If you can’t think of one, look up positive affirmations online to jog your memory.
  8. Don’t bury your emotions. Listen to them. Voice them. Address them. You feel them for a reason.
  9. Forgive yourself for your mistakes. You are human. Erring is inevitable, but you are capable of learning and improving.
  10. Know that change is possible, no matter how difficult.
  11. Keep empty space on your calendar. It’s ok to say no to social engagements.
  12. Take a break from screens. Read, go for a walk, listen to music, work on a puzzle, make a new recipe, whatever puts a smile on your face and keeps your brain occupied.
  13. Stop comparing yourself to others. Your uniqueness is amazing and beautiful. Anyone who says otherwise doesn’t deserve an ounce of your attention.
  14. Don’t expect the worst of people. Chances are you are harder on yourself than anyone else would dare to be.
  15. Know that someone, somewhere loves you exactly as you are (likely lots of someones in lots of somewheres).

I hope this post helps you if you are feeling lost in the forest like I was. Your happiness is a worthy cause and it is possible. Breathe. Allow yourself to feel everything, even the difficult things. Give yourself a break. Scatter your breadcrumbs at your feet. You are capable of your own rescue.

Travel

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

Beth DeFriesLeave a comment

Today has been written off as a travel recovery day. We got home from the airport around 2:30AM due to a delay on our flight home from the sunshine state, but we were happy to have gotten home by then at all. The flight at the neighboring gate to ours in Tampa was canceled after 3+ hours of delays which resulted in one of the disappointed LaGuardia-bound passengers going full Hulk in the terminal, such that he had to be escorted out by eight police officers. We felt lucky in comparison to only be delayed two hours and not to have to spend the night in some airport hotel by the Bay in return-limbo.

Once we deplaned in Newark, the trek from our gate to our car felt long. We were racing against an unknown grace-period beyond the length of our pre-paid parking. We rolled our carry-ons along the waxed tile floors of the shiny new-ish terminal, down an escalator, up an escalator, down an escalator again. We slugged along the acid-washed, blue passage connecting Terminal A to the Airtrain station, passing a man who had lost all care for his luggage and was scraping his bags along the passage wall. We transferred on the Airtrain and finally arrived at our unreliable little car that decided to be reliable this morning, the little angel. We were pleasantly surprised to still be within the parking grace-period when driving through the exit toll of the garage and that put a smile on our faces.

We decided that, despite being dead tired, a stop at Wawa seemed necessary on the way home. Mike expertly navigated the confusing start to our journey as I pointed out all the ways we would have taken a wrong turn and ended up somewhere in Elizabeth if I were navigating.

We enjoyed the empty highways characteristic of the early morning hours when most of New Jersey’s dwellers are nestled in their beds. The hour offered quiet, cool relief compared with the Florida heat and Wawa was a bright, quick respite. We stocked up on a few snacks and we were home soon enough.

Typically, I unpack everything as soon as we get home, but hunger and sleepiness delayed this process. We ate our “meal” in groggy, happy silence, brushed our teeth and fell asleep before we even realized it.

Today, my muscles and bones feel like they were replaced with wet sand and my hair could use a wash but that would certainly be overextending for the day. The grocery shopping is done, the bags are unpacked, and a load of laundry needs to be folded, but that can wait until tomorrow. I preferred to sit here and catch up with you, to move my fingers, and pretend the day was somewhat productive even though I may still be a little bit asleep. I will relish 2:00AM tomorrow from my dreams, tucked comfortably up in warm sheets and a quilt, unconscious to the stress and uncertainties of planes, trains, and automobiles.

Health & Lifestyle · Music · Reviews & Reflections

Standing on [the] Bleachers

Beth DeFriesLeave a comment

Good Morning. I’ve been hooked on an album for the past few days, filling the quiet with constant sound because it makes my brain feel good. It’s distracting in the best way and has had me dance writing in giant headphones for a few days now. If you’re feeling like you could use a little more head bobbing, leg bouncing, and shoulder dancing or just a healthy distraction in your week, join me in a listen.

I know it’s been a lot of posts lately. The reason for this is procrastination and overwhelm on my longer writing project. It’s getting there, but it can get there later for right now. I write here because if I don’t, I won’t write there. My type-A personality would have me organize my creative distractions in a spreadsheet and address them in a reasonable order, but that’s not how reality works and recently, I feel a little like a lamb searching for grass on a construction site. Huh– where did I get turned around? How long have I been gone from the pasture? This music is leading me back though. Isn’t “Dream of Mickey Mantle” great?

I went for a run along the beach trail the other day, going a little too fast because adrenaline allowed and it felt good to focus on the pleasant pain of blood pumping in my legs and behind my ears instead of other things. The wind was loud and sharp and the air was salty and fresh. I was exhausted after two miles, but the stretch after was soothing and necessary. Stairs will be tough for a day or so, but that’s part of the fun, no?

I watched Mike run his first half marathon in October my senior year of college. I was amazed that people run that much for fun and actually look happy doing it. After the race, he jokingly asked me if I wanted to do one sometime. I was like, “You’re joking, right?”

He was joking, and yet, the itch to do something BIG crawled onto my skin, seeped into my pores, and sank into my veins. Could I run 13.1 miles? Yeah; I could.

My times weren’t amazing, but I ran the North Jersey Half Marathon twice and felt good for ten miles both times and then felt like my legs would fall off for the last three, which is weird because you need legs to finish the race, and I was determined to finish. I remember a sign that one of the spectators held. She sat in a wheelchair and held up a poster board that said, “Pain is temporary. Pride is forever.” It is what got me through my first race. It is the mantra I used for my second. I think about that sign all of the time because to this day, it urges me to accomplish things that are tough.

A friend of mine recommended an incredible book by Glennon Doyle called Untamed. It is a memoir by a woman who did hard things because she realized she could do hard things and that she needed to. I know I can do hard things too. I need to do them. I know because I’ve done them before. No obstacle is too big, no distraction too consuming. If life were easy all the time, the good parts wouldn’t be so good.

What song are you on now?

To reduce less healthy distractions this week, I started listening to music while I write. Normally, I’m horrible at this type of multitasking, but for some reason, this album is fueling me and my fingers are flying. I did make the mistake of watching the music video for one of Bleachers’ newer songs, Tiny Moves, and it is incredible. Don’t watch it unless you have a nice chunk of time, because it is beautiful and you will want to watch it more than once. The video features Margaret Qualley who choreographed, starred, and co-directed the video and Bleachers front man, Jack Antonoff, her husband. I feel a weird connection to Qualley since usually, when people ask me, “You know who you remind me of?”, I could now just answer yes, since the answer is more often than not Andie MacDowell, Qualley’s mother. I shared the link for the video with my friends to whom dance was a huge part of life at some point – it never was for me; I haven’t the talent, but I always wished I could. I’ll happily settle for the talents that I can call mine though.

I got my first “real” haircut since December 2018 yesterday and honestly, it’s just fine. I never was one for salon small talk, so when the pandemic was like, try cutting your own hair, I was all for it. My self-hair cuts were fine too, not to mention free, so maybe the salon and I will do battle in another six months to see who gets to hold the scissors.

The independence of certain skills can be very freeing. Cutting my own hair and doing my own sewing alterations were difficult skills to learn, but they allow me to minimize interactions that I find tedious and that makes the pin pricks and temporarily looking like Samara from The Ring a little more worth it. Making a story outline was similarly difficult to figure out, but I know I picked up the other skills well enough so I have high hopes for what I’ve put together.

I just realized that my head has been bopping the entire time writing this. The music’s getting in my blood, the words are singing in my head. I’ll go for a run in a little bit and the wind in my ears will join the symphony and it will be a brain pounding and body pumping with healthy distraction. I will write words. I will read words. I will stretch mentally and physically, escaping into Gone Now, because it just feels good.

Have a weird day; have a fun day; have the best day you can. Get up, get dressed, brush your teeth. Do something little, because lots of little somethings lead to something big.

Love,

Beth

Cozy Posts · Nostalgic Posts

Good Bones

Beth DeFriesLeave a comment

The heart of the shore house beats with the influx of familiar faces after the renting geese who flocked here for a change of scenery migrate home. The stairs creak in welcome at the sound of our identifiable steps and the walls sigh with relief as we walk through the front door and exchange warm greetings amongst family. The smiles, raised glasses, wagging tails, and toddler hugs refuel our tired spirits and remind us that although we share this place with so many, it is ultimately ours and together, we are home.

The shore house, though never my primary residence, is the home that I remember best from my childhood. It is where I spent my summers with my Nana and my Aunt Arlene. It is where I learned to cook with way too much butter and salt which I’ve since learned to remediate. It is where I learned the manners of a lady and sometimes defied that lesson by channeling a hereditary instinct to be wild thanks to the generation before me (though it is now impossible to mislay the cup, napkin, knife, and fork in a table setting).

The shore house has seen me shattered, coming back to a gloom within its walls that seemed they’d never feel full again the day my Aunt Arlene lost her battle with pancreatic cancer. The shore house helped me to start the healing process in the days that followed. It is where I learned the benefits of solitude, self-reflection, and the great company and support that you can find on the pages of a book.

The shore house, along with my Nana and Aunt Arlene, is why I know my family so well, why my cousins are more like sisters to me and my sister, and why I feel a need to spend so much effort nurturing a building, these days, despite the fact that doing so can push me to my stress limits better than anything else can.

With the shore house, my Nana and her sister created a home for all of the family to feel is ours. Nurturing the space reciprocates a respect for the value that it adds and has added to our family’s shared experience. In our shared home, we strive for functionality and something that is easier to care for, for the benefit of our migrating guests, but we also make sure that there is an abundance of coziness for ourselves as well.

Coziness, to me, is a combination of functionality, minimalism, and personal identity. Sometimes coziness seems like something else entirely to other members of my family. We make it work, though I can’t fully say I understand how.

Conch shells, Bananagrams tiles, paintings of ships in storms, lighthouse figurines, and donation bags coexist.

Sisters, cousins, grandparents, parents, aunts, uncles, husbands, fiancées, Daisy (and Dixie), and friends coexist.

Someone always has to sleep in Room 6 and wake up with a head bruise or two, courtesy of the steeply sloped ceiling.

There are often more than twenty-five pairs of shoes by the front door. The TV volume always fuels debate for what is to be considered a reasonable volume, as my Nana used to say. It takes hours to settle on a movie to watch and then someone inevitably leaves the room just after we hit play.

At the shore house, we drink way too much whiskey, too much wine, and just enough beer. Cheese and See’s Candies are considered reasonable meals. We stay up too late talking and laughing on the porch. We wake up to Daisy sniffing at the bedroom door and come downstairs to the perfume of coffee, the sound of cartoons, and a chorus of good mornings in the living room with each new entrant.

There are porch people and couch people and beach people.

The showers are usually taken.

The showers are cold when it’s finally your turn.

The kitchen is stifling in the evening no matter what setting the ceiling fan is on.

Eggs, oatmeal, bacon, and Del Ponte’s treats nourish us in the mornings – and coffee, of course. “I could do another cup,” sings the chorus of porch people.

We smell like sunscreen and the ocean. We are fiercely competitive at Five Crowns and The Fishbowl Game. Our shoulders sparkle with dried, Atlantic salt. We find sand in unexpected places. We could write an encyclopedia of inside jokes at the end of each summer, but sometimes forget how they originated.

We welcome, we nurture, we work hard and together. We keep the dream going for another year and another year and another year, thinking it’s getting easier until something hard happens. And then we remind ourselves that despite occasional stress fractures, it’s possible to heal, and our house has good bones.

One Deep Blue
Cozy Posts

One Deep Blue

Beth DeFries3 Comments

Sitting on the balcony with a cold beer and and the expansive view of a white Atlantic, the muse returns. Escorted on the arm of a gentle breeze on this cool August evening, it seemed as good a time as any to pursue its inspiration.

The sun climbs down the hill behind us after a long day’s journey and the blue and gold sky fades to periwinkle, clouds towering like tidal waves above the horizon, preparing to swallow the shore. The street lamps on Sandy Hook ignite in a synchronized splash and pairs of headlights make their way homeward or adventure bound.

Summer is in full swing though the humid haze called in sick. We don’t miss it.

Nights like these, you can hear yourself think and even turn that off if you wanted to. I tune in to a symphony of birds, crickets, and the exhalation of car engines in the distance. Air conditioners take a well deserved rest and their lack of participation is welcome.

Our eyes adjust to the dimming dusk as the river mirrors the sky. Long Island twinkles animatedly in the distance and the JFK departures rise slow into ombré velvet, brushed just the right way.

I pull up a cozy throw of summer air under my laptop and nestle in with all the other nestling buildings, plants, and people. Together, we all fade from view into one deep blue.

No Hurries, No Worries
Cozy Posts

No Hurries, No Worries

Beth DeFriesLeave a comment

Fully breakfasted and armed with a steaming mug of chamomile and honey, I sit on our turquoise couch, which is turning more green than blue from soaking up the frequent eastern sunshine that streams through our living room windows. Outside those windows waits a perfectly clear fall day. The “Big Blue” suits its nickname this morning, sparkling dreamily up at me. Sailboats drift calmly in a gentle, southward wind and speed boats bounce excitedly on the surface of the water, trailing long, fluffy, white tails.

With only wisps of clouds on the distant horizon, sweeping glows of sunshine, and a cool, lazy breeze, today is simply beautiful and I feel lucky to be an audience to it, comp-ticketed for no reason other than that this is where we live.

We have only one errand to run today and the rest of the time is open and changeable as the Big Blue. Sometimes, having nothing much to do is exactly the right medicine for an overworked mind.

As an over-planner, these sorts of days can be confusing, sometimes even frustrating, to me. Sometimes, I’ll think, I should have planned something to do with all this time; what a waste. Sometimes, I chance upon these sorts of days after cancelled plans or changes in weather patterns and am bored, longing for an activity that I do not have to brainstorm and choose. This is not the case today and I’m excited to make the plan as we go, lagging behind the heels of the day as they race on ahead of us toward midnight. We are in no rush to catch up.

My usual wandering mind is calm and quiet this morning, patient and relaxed, just waiting to go with the flow of where the cool breeze takes us. I am grateful that my brain is not buzzing, as usual, with the need to tidy or plan, to start and complete work tasks, or to make decisions. This morning, it is just living in the moment and that is exactly what the rest of me needs.

I feel calm and rested for the first time in over a week, the anxiety drained out of me and replaced with pleasant, positive thoughts and soothing warm tea and honey to balm the wounds. Looking out at the ocean, twinkling reassuringly, I am reminded that I am in exactly the right place and that I want to go dip my toes in the Atlantic’s crisp, chilly shallows later on, just for a moment, before I chicken out and hide my feet in a blanket of cool sand.

Cozy Posts · Nostalgic Posts

The Gathering Place

Beth DeFries2 Comments

I sit on the porch of our family shore house listening to the morning symphony of foam flip flops shuffling along slate sidewalks to the boardwalk, the gentle rumbling of car engines in slow pursuit of good parking spaces, and the sweet-tuned gossip amongst the birds singing the breaking news of summer from the trees lining the street.

The breeze is cool and a cocktail of salty humidity clings to the furniture as the sun spotlights the modernized facelifts of our street’s once Victorian-style dollhouse homes.

I can usually see the ocean from this spot on the cozy wicker sofa, but the hedges around the porch have grown a little too accustomed to a casually untidy appearance which we can all pretty much relate to from living through a worldwide pandemic. I could use a trim as well but that can wait a while longer. These are those lazy, hazy, crazy days of… well you know, after all.

(The birds’ news reel plays on a loop).

I was too lazy to prepare the coffee this morning and didn’t want to wake anyone sleeping on the first floor with the bubbling gasps of the coffee pot. So instead, I gathered my laptop and headed out to the porch to sit in the breeze and be inspired by summer. Not too long after, I am joined by my cousin and her young son and demands for bubble time take priority. Wobbly iridescence floats heavily on the air and splash lands on the floorboards while the writing takes a rest.

Welcome distractions abound in this family-filled old house. These walls tell stories of use and love – of our own contained family history in this little shore town. The rooms are filled with laughter and conflicting TV volume preferences – with movie decision fatigue and lazy mornings sipping coffee. The scent memory of freshly baked Italian rolls and cinnamon sugar crumb cake permeate the dining room and waft up the stairs like a buttery apparition encouraging everyone to wake up in slow procession.

The memories of past experiences and loved ones long gone remain alive in this magical place, preserved like old time postcards in a frame. This house tells us stories and helps us write new ones. It makes us laugh till our bellies and our cheeks ache or even sometimes, till we pee “our” pants (IYKYK). It is where we have gathered for my whole life- where I got to know my family as a whole and I am so grateful for all that it gives us. We try our best to do right by it and keep the experiences going, even when it gets hard or we don’t have a clue what we are doing.

But now it is time to put away the laptop and enjoy the first day of summer – to bask in the salty breeze of the shore, with the only current task at hand of pondering when to head to the beach.

Home and Hindsight
Cozy Posts · Nostalgic Posts

Home and Hindsight

Beth DeFries1 Comment

Exactly one year has passed since we packed up the 15 foot U-Haul that Mike valiantly parked against the curb on Union Avenue outside of our Williamsburg apartment building.

The panic and uncertainty of the looming pandemic shook up the timeline of our move by a week. Fueled by a wild sense of urgency to escape the city and move into our very newly purchased home in New Jersey, we did not know if the growing tidal wave of NYC Covid-19 closures would come crashing down on the shores of Staten Island, barring our escape route if we waited any longer.

Though I had pared down my belongings over the course of the years, the sight of the hastily packed boxes and bags that consumed most of the living room and kitchen still presented a daunting challenge for our time frame.

Exactly one year has passed since adrenaline toughened our muscles and surged through our blood as we carefully and repetitively climbed down the wooden stairs of our apartment building, our arms full of boxes, bags, furniture, suitcases, laundry bags, and loose items – and then up again in what seemed like a Sisyphean effort.

We poured three hours of energy into a grueling operation to amputate the legs of our couch so it would fit through the doorway, the heads of the long screws that connected them to the wooden sofa frame stripped to ragged circles. We earned the rush of victory we experienced when they finally relented only to be gut-punched with a crushing sense of disbelief when faced with the realization that, at almost an inch too wide, the damn thing would not fit through the doorway.

Armed with determination, an incomprehensive tilt, the thought that the furniture movers had somehow gotten it into the apartment, and some aggressive shoves and pulls, we were finally able to get it fully through our doorway and down the steps to the first floor landing, sure to take some of the burgundy paint from the door frame with it, a battle wound tattooed into the turquoise chenille.

Once the U-Haul was mostly packed up, aside from our bed and the items we planned to put in Mike’s mom’s Honda in the morning, we parked the truck under the BQE for the remainder of the night and headed back up to our nearly empty apartment.

Beyond exhausted, covered in sweat, and starting to feel the aches, blisters, and bruises of persistent heavy lifting and screwdriver twisting, we ate plastic spoonfuls of peanut butter straight out of the jar for dinner and drank cups of tap water and Coca Cola. We leaned on the kitchen peninsula for the last time and sat on the cool, brick-colored, tile floor. Dirty and drained, we slept in our nearly empty, sweltering room for one final night, lulled to sleep by the gentle clang of steam pipes and the muted city sounds of early pandemic Brooklyn.

A year later, I sit on the couch with Mike, getting sleepy as I type this post, feeling very much at home in the place where we have spent at least part of every single day for the past year. I am considering grabbing a spoonful of peanut butter from the kitchen before I go to bed and am thankful that there is no U-Haul parked outside hungry to be packed full of all of our belongings.