New Apartment, New Life

Filed under: Design, etc

Despite moving 39 times in 20 years, one woman admits that the process is a tough one, requiring patience and time to get your new home 'just right'.

I am moving into my forty-second apartment. My memoir No Place Like Home describes the 20-year period in which I lived -- and moved in and out of -- 39 apartments. And here we are, three apartments later. What makes this move particularly significant, however, is that it's the first time I'm not doing it alone. Somewhere in between 39 and 40 -- both in apartment chronology as well as my age -- I fell in love. And in the forty-first apartment, I got engaged. And then, before we could tie the knot, I got pregnant. (When you're 40, it's hard to prescribe an order to these things; they happen when they happen.) And so now, I am moving to the 42nd domicile to start a family. This is very new.

For over 20 years, I answered to no one. In decorating, as well as life choices. I moved in and out of places following my artistic muse; I furnished my home with thrift store treasures and hand-me-downs. But now, there is a man in my life. And a little money from my book. And while the man claims to not have opinions as to the color of our towels (I chose amethyst) or the kind of nightstands I buy (second-hand IKEA off of Craigslist. We plan to paint them blue); the fact is as a former graphic designer (turned writer) he actually has a great eye and a lot of opinions. And I can afford to buy a few things new. So we are doing it together.

The place was his first choice. I preferred another, roughly the same size, in the same neighborhood, but set on a hill. I liked the way the air smelled and the big, spacious outdoor area. My fiancé, Gordon, reasoned that as expat New Yorkers -- and me an expectant mother -- being able to walk to the local drugstore/coffee shop/pizzeria/etc. would be invaluable. He was right. We moved here on July 1 and promptly started "walking to town" (which means, the block and a half to Sunset Boulevard). And immediately, this became my favorite ritual.

Our new apartment is spacious and light. It has old world moldings and little antique knobs on the built-in cabinets. I love the tile floor in the kitchen and the antique built-in desk in the living room. This is some place I want to come home to. Gordon said, "It's the nicest place I've ever lived." And an extra perk -- a separate enclosed room, almost like a garage, in which the washer/dryer are housed. Gordon has taken this as his office -- we call it "The Studio". The dining room table I bought on Craigslist works beautifully as his desk, while the four chairs that accompanied it work beautifully with my (smaller) kitchen table from New York.

The rest of our stuff from New York -- a dresser that I've had since I was 22, an armoire (from the now-defunct Waldorf Hysteria on Avenue B), my mother's dishes (blue and white, service for 12!) and Gordon's grandmother's kidney-shaped coffee tables and "cut-glass lamp" -- arrived the day after we did. We spent Fourth of July weekend unpacking -- and sleeping on an air mattress.

And then I started to shop. A process that I am still engaged in -- I am admittedly obsessed with finding the right bathmat. Have I mentioned the IKEA Fourth of July sale? (Or, "Survival of the Fittest in Burbank"). Oh yes, there have been two trips to IKEA -- the sale and just after the sale to return and re-purchase -- three trips to Target (the amethyst towels, the ice trays, a blender) and I'm on my second Macy's run. I finally bought the Anthropologie duvet cover I've been cutting out of the catalog for months. And I'm doing the rest secondhand, scouring flea markets, thrift stores and Craigslist for book cases, nightstands (I think I found the right ones) and a TV/stereo table. It amazes me that even after writing a book chronicling the "moving in" process -- and claiming some level of expertise on getting settled -- I am still overwhelmed. I am still making peace with the process, how long it takes to find just the right things and to feel fully at peace. I forget my own history. I want things set up and comfortable immediately. I am forced to remember (and re-learn), it takes time.

But we have time. I've taken the summer off -- to re-dream and journal and settle into the house. And we have four months until the baby comes.

Speaking of the baby, the other really remarkable feature is that there is a second bedroom -- right now, it's my office, but in four months it will morph into "the baby's room". I unpacked books from my own childhood, saved by my late mother, who somehow knew I'd want them: The Story of Babar, The Real Mother Goose, The Giving Tree. They're all on my old yellow bookcase in the baby's room holding the space for what the room will ultimately become. Gordon is superstitious -- wishing to hold off buying gear for as long as possible, wary of anything "for the baby" entering the house before the baby does. But we've compromised-- nothing now, but in November, I will have a shower. And perhaps then, a plan for setting up the nursery. Right now, we're setting up a beautiful and loving home. And when the baby comes, s/he will show us what's next.

In settling into this apartment, I am entering unknown territory, sharing my life with a man and our child. This is the "Wife and Mother" apartment. My first. And yet, it is also -- as in the past -- a place to dream, to love and to write. As I sit in the "baby's room" -- my office until January -- I tell myself to fill the space with as much writing and creativity as possible, hoping the growing baby will feed off the energy and grow spiritually rich as s/he grows inside of me.

The process of moving in takes time, yes - but how exciting to imagine that as the process unfolds, so too unfolds our potential, who we will each become in this space. There are so many unknowns, so many questions and so much to learn together.



Learn more of Brooke Berman's terrific story (through all 39 apartments!) in her book, No Place Like Home.

Got new homes on the brain? We're wishing we could move into these jaw-dropping spaces:
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