Where Were We, Then?

Time. Flies.

It’s always amazing to us to look backwards through our lives, and see the changes that have taken place. In 2002, we were living in an old house in Santa Rosa. Our neighbors were Italians whose families had emigrated to the U.S. in time to start the city itself. Every year we competed to have the best tomatoes, and every year Charlie, our neighbor, refused to admit defeat. He swore we were doing something to the ground over there. Just to the left, out of range of the picture, is our great big compost bin. Yes, we were doing something all right. Coffee grounds and tea bags and peelings compost so nicely. We had a wonderful garden, seven years ago.

In 2005, we’d just gotten a film camera that we’d saved for a long time to get. We celebrated by dragging T’s mother, aunt, and little sibs to Golden Gate Park, and taking pictures at the San Fransisco Conservatory of Flowers. It was hot inside that gigantic greenhouse — humid — and the lens kept fogging. Still got some great shots. That was five years ago this week.

Two years ago this week, we desperately needed to go grocery shopping, and T. blogged about basic drop-biscuits. They’re something we don’t make very often, because biscuits — like English muffins — can be dangerous. They’re best if made from scratch, and they’re so good you could eat the whole batch. Biscuits are relatively unknown in the UK, and really, these look more like a savory scones, or UK flapjacks — we can’t decide.

This is a memorable picture for a number of reasons, not the least because we had just started blogging, and were cooking with random ingredients we had on hand because at that point we were just finishing the remodel of our beloved condo in Benicia. The marble counter was brand new, the new windows were double-paned, the floor underfoot was cool planks of bamboo. It was almost finished…

One year ago this week, we had moved on to Glasgow, and were blogging about tofu cheesecake. We’d been abroad for about six months, then, and really didn’t know which way was up, and were still stunned after our first winter in this place. I was just applying for the PhD, after realizing that I didn’t particularly care for the Philosophy department, and hoping that next year would work out better than the one I’d just gone through.

We were living in a rented flat, looking out to the south, over Glasgow. We still owned our condo in Benicia, but were renting it out, and tended to compare where we were with where we had left. Sometimes, home looked better, sometimes the adventure we were living made everything okay.

Which brings us to this year. We’ve been in Glasgow for a year and a half, as of this week, and have learned how the world works here, somewhat, anyway. We’re getting ready to move on to our third flat, after having had the first one be too small and too dark, the second one be managed poorly (and also too dark). The third one we’re hoping will be much better, as it’s full of light, closer still to the University, and has nobody else’s furniture in it. It may take us a bit to find just the right bed (Hi, Ikea!) but you can bet no one’s feet will hang off the end anymore. (That alone should make me about two inches taller.)

Our projects will now be confined solely to where we are, since as of today, we’re no longer renting out our beautiful condo in Benicia. As of today, we’re selling it. It’s hard to talk about — it’s not even 1200 square feet of space, but it was ours, and we scrimped and saved for it, and put a lot of love and attention into it, and left it behind, thinking we could leave that part of our lives in someone else’s hands, and come back to it later.

But, while we weren’t looking, the world changed. Our little house has slipped beyond our reach. So, we’re walking away from it. Given a choice between returning home and finding work in order to save a house we don’t live in, or staying here and letting the bank have it back so the PhD. can be finished… well, there’s only one choice that really makes sense. We know that others of you, affected by the economy, have had to do the same. We’ve all silently simply gotten on and done what we have to do. It’s hard, though. Good thing there’s still knitting, crafting, and baking. Two years from this week, or four years, we’ll still be us, doing the same things that make us happy, no matter where we are.

At times there’s a real comfort in just doing things with your hands. Here’s to simplifying our lives and hanging onto those things which matter.

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