I had today off from work, and while I didn’t have the most productive day, I did get a couple of nagging tasks done. First off, I dealt with somewhere between six and eight months of mostly-unopened mail:
Longtime blog readers may recall that once upon a time, I started a quest to eradicate junk mail from my life, and while I’ve been fairly successful, it’s time to update a few of my subscription-killer options, because I’m starting to get catalogs again. I did find a couple of critically important things in the mail – like a $50 check, and my Springsteen tickets for next month – so it felt like a pretty successful undertaking.
I also cleaned out my desk and the junk drawer in my bedroom – neither of which I photographed before getting started – but still, it was quite satisfying to get everything wrangled.
I rewarded myself for getting these tedious projects done with a picnic at Yards Park with my friends. The weather was pleasant, the company enjoyable, the location lovely, and the wine plentiful. A wonderful evening!
Yesterday’s post about moving tips spawned a little conversation on Facebook this morning about the ill-fated move that inspired item number four, “If possible, move when the weather can be relied upon to be decent.” This, in turn, inspired me to share the house that was the subject of that move as today’s Wayback Wednesday post. It also serves as a nice counterpoint to my story a few weeks back about my apartment across from the crack park, because if that was the worst place I lived, this one was the best.
I moved here with my friend Heidi in the winter of 2003, when her sister (with whom she had been living) moved out of the area. I was living by myself – and had been for quite a while – but we were good enough friends that I decided to try having a roommate again. I think the most difficult part of the process was actually finding a place, since we both had very particular ideas about what we wanted. To this day, I occasionally pass some house or other in the neighborhood and think, “Heidi and I looked at that place.”
We ended up in this house, just a block away from what was then the rapidly improving Barracks Row Main Street area of Capitol Hill. (And is now the fully improved version of same.) It’s not far from where I live now, and I still pass by it often. It’s one of the older homes on the Hill, as it is wood frame and free-standing – neither of which were built after around 1810, if memory serves.* It was also fairly clear that what was the side door/porch when we lived there was once the front door, before the neighborhood was built up around it.
This house was far and away the biggest place I’ve lived other than my parents’ – probably because it’s also the only proper house (not an apartment) that I’ve rented. There were actually more bedrooms than people, a living room and a dining room, a laundry room, along with great outdoor space, including a giant – and fruit-bearing – apricot tree. It was great for entertaining, and we did plenty of it – several parties, a few cookouts, and a respectable amount of casual hanging out.
I feel fairly confident that, had Heidi not opted to move to Michigan in 2005 to go to grad school, I’d probably still live there. I could probably afford the rent on my own now, without a roommate, though I couldn’t back then – well, if it didn’t go up too much, that is. Heck, I wouldn’t mind buying the joint, but given its location, I’m quite sure that would be way beyond my nonprofit-girl means. Sigh.
* I learned this in a preservation class years ago, and while I may have the date wrong, at some point in DC, wood-frame houses became illegal, and party walls (that is, rowhouses) were required.