Adventures in West Virginia

I was in Charles Town, West Virginia twice this week to conduct deed research for a few houses in Harper's Ferry. All of the deeds for Jefferson County are located in the clerk's office at the county courthouse. It's a pretty cool courthouse, and was the site for John Brown's trial in 1863. I liked that the interior hasn't changed a whole lot - the main hallway still has its old creaky floors and doors. It was refreshing to take a step out of D.C. for the day into an entirely different world. Lately, I feel as though you need special security clearance and 4 forms of identification just to get into a Starbucks within a 2-mile radius of the White House. Comparatively, the Jefferson County courthouse was pretty laid back.

Upon entering, I was greeted by an older gentleman who was sitting behind a plain wooden desk next to a simple metal detector. I left my purse on his desk while I walked through the detector and signed in on his clipboard. After I passed the metal test, he asked where I was going. I told him that I was headed to the Clerk's office to research deeds. He looked at me, smiled, and said "you don't have any knives do you?" I told him no and chuckled, and he asked if I was a lawyer. I said no, and explained how I'm a historian and my research didn't involve any legal transactions. He sounded interested, smiled again and said, "sure you don't have any knives?" I laughed, said "no," and he handed me my purse. I wanted to respond by telling him that I gave up knives for nunchuks, but decided to just smile all pretty-like and be on my way. I guess it worked, since he didn't bother to rummage through my belongings.

Two days later, I came back to do more research and the same security guard was at the desk. He gave me a big grin and said "ah my pretty little historian, back to do more research eh?" I got the OK to bypass the metal detector this time, but only after I assured him that I didn't bring any knives. Twice. I wonder if that is standard security protocol in West Virginia, certainly a knife-toter wouldn't lie twice. Right?

I continued my research on Wednesday by stopping by Harper's Ferry Town Hall. It's hard to tell from this photo, but the "Town Hall" building contains the US Post Office, Police Department, Town Hall (mayor's) office, and a liquor store. See the two white doors? The left one leads to the police department, and naturally, I thought the other would lead to the Town Hall office. I opened the door expecting to see the receptionist (who managed to say "blah blah blah" four different times when I called earlier in the day). Instead, I was greeted by the Olde Towne Hall Liquor store owner. I quickly excused myself and decided to stop in at the police department for directions. I was directed to go through the back of the building, make right, and then another right. The Town Hall entrance is in the waaaaay back corner of the building next to the trash dumpster. I walked up the creaky stairs that led me to an office space directly above the liquor store. It's good to know that Harper's Ferry has it's priorities straight with the liquor store located in a prime spot in Town Hall. Jesse said the town gained a few bonus points in his mind - even if the liquor is annoyingly named "Olde Towne."

As it turns out, the research trip to Town Hall was pretty disappointing. I found out that someone made the brilliant decision to chuck any building permits that pre-dated 1998. Almost 200 years of history right down the chute. Oh well, at least I got to put a face (and a healthy helping of gross wrinkly cleavage) to the "blah blah" lady's voice. On the bright side, though, at least my truncated research visit meant that I got to leave about 3 hours earlier than expected. I definitely could get used to getting out of work at 3pm every day!

Our Life in a Box - Artwork In Progress

Friday Date Night wasn't as successful as I had planned. It was fun, but not productive. After dinner and a couple bottles of hefeweizen, I decided that working on my Portland Love Quilt would be a lot more enjoyable than prepping myself for what might be the tightest squeeze ever. On Sunday afternoon I was feeling a little more ambitious and busted out the painters tape, laser level, box cutter, and lots of hope. I measured and taped the floor and Jesse helped out with the walls, since my arms are a lot shorter (as is my temper). We both took a few steps back and gazed at the creation that will be with us until the day we move - no kidding, the tape stays.

Three observations:
1) Eight feet is a lot taller than I imagined.
2) A 7'x7'x8' box is pretty darn small.
3) I kind of like the blue line. It brings order to the chaos.

In college, my professors were always asking us to "create space" with insane things like a bottle of glue, 5 pennies, and a cardboard shoe. While in concept, it seemed like a cool idea, but in reality, uh, pennies? And I have to build my own shoe? Come on. This is Architecture 101 right? Where are the bricks? The mortar? The t-squares? Long story short, I paid my dues and made it through enough studio semesters to get a solid foundation in the principles of design, but eventually dropped out of architecture school. Instead, I pursued more concrete studies that involved actual buildings.

Last night, I was telling my friend Jon about our blue tape box that morphs out of the corner and bleeds into the furniture. As a bit of background, Jon was also in my architecture program at Philadelphia Textile and actually became a real architect. I attribute his success to the fact that he was way more open to the studio critiques (which is just a nice word for esoteric bullshit) and loved things like drawing window details and memorizing electrical code. When I was describing my insane idea of fitting all of our stuff into a tiny wooden crate, Jon said that the box was like a new beginning and that we had essentially embarked on our own little installation art project. He also suggested that I check out Michael Landy, who shredded all of his belongings in 2001 (including his car) as a form of expression. Ha. Very funny, Jon.

Anyway, back to me, the brilliant installation artist. I don't need to go to a museum now because I create art in my own apartment. How very abstract and forward-thinking of me. I will definitely have to put on a beret and monochromatic garb for my next post on "creating space." You know, for authenticity. (Note to self: must quickly think of concept for my space creation. Must critique something...or nothing...which is it these days?)

It will be interesting to see how long we can stand the wait before we start boxing things up and shoving them in our perfect little blue box. It will also be interesting to see how many crates it really takes to get us out there!

Not-So-Guilty Pleasures

During the period between 4:30 and 5:30 at work, a time that I usually term the "death hour," I often stray from my usual activities of researching and writing to check out a few of my not-so-guilty pleasures. For a while, a local animal shelter website called Hart90 was on the top of the list. It features dogs (and cats, but I don't care much for cats) with their weight, color, personality profile, and usually a heart-melting photo to go along with their sad story. Jesse calls it my Doggie Porn, but I prefer to think of it as a free dating service for my future pet. I get to know the traits I want in a dog and Jesse gets the privilege of me sending him links to my favorites.

Billy Brown was (and still is) my favorite pound puppy at Hart90. He was dog and cat friendly, liked long walks in the park, needed love, and of course, desperately wanted to come home with moi. I would imagine having that grassy patch for him to romp around and would dream about mushing his puppy cheeks while rolling around in the dirt. When Mika came out with his song "Billy Brown" just after I found my dog love, I would remind Jesse how awesome it would be to have a secretly gay pooch. Instead of breaking out of our fence to chase rabbits and squirrels, he would run wild and hump other dude dogs. Ah dreams.

Anyway, it's been a while since I've checked Hart's website. Mostly because it became more of an abuse than a pleasure to see dog after dog adopted (and not by me)! Also, things have been kind of busy in D.C. and my focus has shifted from obsessing about a dog to obsessing over portable storage units.

For the past few months I have stalked our neighborhood looking for the various companies that will plop a moving storage crate along the streets of Adams Morgan. There are several companies, but only a few will move long distance. Now that we're starting to get serious about this moving stuff, I have started looking into how much it's going to actually cost. What I've found out is that most of the companies have a standard container size that is approximately 7'wide x 7'deep x 8'tall - give or take a foot here or there. I have 4 companies that have provided quotes and the difference in cost is pretty shocking - some companies are almost $1000 less than others. Now the question that lingers is: how many square feet of crap do we need to jam in a wooden box? My new found frugal self would like to say exactly 7'x7'x8' worth. The realist in me, however, is shaking her head and belting out a malevolent chuckle.

So, tonight, Jesse and I will be spending date night with a six-pack of Paulaner hefe-weizen, and a blue roll of painters tape to mark out a cube shape in the apartment. Date night will be choreographed with the new Delays album blasting in the background. Hopefully Jesse won't pummel me mid-frolic as I meticulously measure and tape.

Bacon, Babies, Bowers Oh My!

Saturday night we went over to the Schickers' apartment (Bret & Stephanie's) for an evening of playing cards. We've all been so busy lately that I think it's been nearly a month since we last met up for some fun. Their daughter Ava, the Schicklette, is nearly a year old and is probably the cutest thing ever. We showed up a little early to have some Ava time, since she usually conks out by 7:30.

Ava's a little leery of strangers these days, so when Jesse approached her upon our arrival, she burst into tears. I, on the other hand, was smarter and bribed her with Cheerios. I could see the love growing every time she shoved one in her mouth with those cute pudgy fingers. We were BFF's in no time. After she realized that Jesse was an OK guy, she let him hold her for a while. The whole time though, she treated him as if he was the dorky kid in middle school who just asked her for a slow dance. While polite enough to accept, she behaved like a total dead fish - looking around at everyone else in the room, and vowing to hate Led Zeppelin as long as she lives for their epic ballads.

Oh, and newsflash, apparently my BFF status with Ava was totally in my head. Yesterday afternoon I found a baby-sized hand mark on the back of my shirt. It's made out of (what I assume is) a teething biscuit and drool. Dude, Ava-cakes, you can't just wipe stuff on the back of your BFF's clothes and expect to get Cheerios next time.

Since the Schickers cooked shrimp scampi for dinner(very classy), we decided to bring along salad - Bacon Cup Salad (also very classy). I'm sad to say that I didn't invent the ingenious woven meat basket. I got the idea from Not Martha. Essentially, you make a bacon bowl/cup to hold your lettuce, tomatoes, etc. It's pretty easy, I just stuck them in the miserable oven at 400 degrees and baked for about 20 minutes. The end result was tasty and a huge hit with Bret, the tater-tot casserole king.

Of course you really can't fit very much salad inside, so we all went back for seconds and thirds after the bacon bowl was all gone. Once dinner was devoured, it was time to play cards! I think we and the Schickers have endured 3 or 4 whole years of card-playing mayhem. Happy Card Playing Anniversary to Us!

(Speaking of anniversaries, big 'ol shout out to Serena and her Little Lady. We send you a marriage toast with our bacon cups.)

Just like any relationship, card night comes with routine, ritual, and the natural up's and down's. We always play the same game, sit in the same order, divide into the same teams, and pass around a bowl of chips clockwise. Inevitably, the game goes on for one round too many and yelling ensuses. Saturday night was no exception. "Eight-bid-Erin" (my card-playing alter ego) astonished all of the participants, including her own partner, by outbidding Jesse without the joker or either bower - the three highest cards. Ballsy? Yes. Smart? Eh, not so much. Did she pull it off? Totally, it was a classic move.

At the end of the evening Bret and I always make up (I say I like him, despite his faults, and he forgives me for flipping him the bird). Then, Jesse and I walk home exhausted. Unfortunately for us, this will probably be one of the last few card games for a while. The Schickers are bound for Arkansas in just a month or two. We are going to miss our occasional weekend games. But mostly, though, we're just going to miss the Schickers...a lot.

Things I Will (and Will Not) Miss in D.C. #4: Our Neighborhood (Part 1)

Since I've been hating on D.C. lately, I thought it would be good to revisit some of the things that I really will miss when we leave. Last night Jesse and I took a pretty cool walk to a part of D.C. that we didn't even know existed. It's practically in our back yard, just right off of Massachusetts Avenue - a street we've walked up a dozen times or more. Usually, we never veer off the main road to see anything other than the variety of embassies and chanceries that line the way. This time wouldn't have been any different, except that I had other motives.

Lately, I've been conducting a series of mini scavenger hunts to seek out buildings that would potentially enhance the D.C. Modernism study that I'm trying to finish at work. I usually drag Jesse along, expounding the tenets of Modernism and building up how cutting edge the building was for its time, blah, blah, blah. Then (as it usually goes), we get to the intersection where the building's supposed to be, and nothing. I think he's starting to doubt my super sleuth skills (as am I). Last night we arrived at what I thought was the right address, and there was a big cleared lot with a brand new (albeit historic-looking) monstrous house plopped right on the corner. Something wasn't right, the house I'm looking for would never have been placed on a corner like that, but either way, it was a total strikeout.

The walk wasn't completely worthless though. It gave us a chance to find a spot in the city that has the largest houses I've ever seen, and has a totally different feel from the urban hustle and bustle found everywhere else. On our way back home, as we rounded the corner from Kalorama Street to Columbia Road, our apartment came into sight and Jesse said, "wow, I really love it here." It's true. We really love living in D.C., particularly in our apartment building, on our street, near so many things that we need.

Even though the houses we saw on our scavenger hunt adventure aren't technically in our neighborhood, I pretty much feel that if you can get there in a 20-minute walk or less, then it might as well be an honorary member. There are a lot of things we can access within a 20-minute walk from our apartment: our offices, 4 grocery stores, 68 Zipcars, Target, the best deli in the city, dozens of great bars and restaurants, abundant green space, 4 different Metro stops, hundreds of bus stops, need I continue? The convenience of it all is pretty great, but we love it for so many other reasons than convenience alone. This is the neighborhood where we went on our first date, and got our first apartment together. Everything about it has helped to define who we are now as adults on our own.

I'm ready for the next step and a new city, which has made it easy to highlight all of the annoying stuff about D.C. (believe me, there's a lot). But unlike our miserable stove, the city will have a special place in our memories. I want to make sure I capture as much of the good stuff as I can in the short time that we have left.