Before moving back to the area in the Spring of 2006, my wife and I envisioned a lifestyle that was driven by meaning and community. We longed to make conscious decisions about the things we ate, watched, discussed, and purchased, along with an overriding desire to work, worship, live, and play in the same community. Idealists to the core, we wanted to believe that such a life could be lived inside the transient hub of Northern Virginia, and that thinking/living outside of the box while still serving a great good could be accomplished. We wanted a good cup of coffee from a local shop that bought ethically traded products. We wanted to know where our water comes from, and where it goes. We wanted to know our neighbors and longed to live life outside of our white, middle class comfortable tendencies. We wanted a different life.
And so we arrived in the Fall of '06, and in a matter of days, I started a new career as a teacher and found this quaint apartment just blocks away from the school. When Sunday rolled around, we attended a new church plant that was created from our former church when we lived in the area a few years back. Within a stones throw of the metro and a handful of grocery stores and restaurants, we immediately knew we were given something special.
Who agrees on signing a lease before their spouse even sees the place? This guy. From the moment I received my tour of the apartment, I was enamoured by the character and distinct features that existed. The hardwood floors, tiny little sunroom, original faucets, and fancy plaster archways decorated an interior that was small but unique. After living with both sets of parents over the course of a year, we longed for a space of our own, and were determined to make anything happen. Little did we know how hard we would have to work.
Laughter, however, was something that came quite easily. On our first night in the apartment, after moving in and sorting everything out, still excited about the endless possibilities that awaited us, we finally laid down only to hear the blowing whistles and voices from the Metro operator echoing through the night. We barely slept, and cursed ourselves for failing to realize that we had just moved right across the street from two train stations. Another memory came when our kitchen faucets popped off and I was plugging the gushing water with three fingers, frantically waving my head and legs for assistance from my wife. Locking a cat into our apartment for a week and having it desecrate (and defecate on) everything clean and holy was also a found moment, as was each moment our circuit breaker would shut off due to us running the A/C and another electrical appliance.
We also put our share of elbow grease into this place, and at times felt as though we actually owned it. Within days of moving in, we found ourselves in a garden shop and quickly spent an afternoon pulling weeds and planting flowers in a tiny (shaded...ha) patch of grass just outside our door. Without a dishwasher, I think it's safe to say we have the softest hands in the neighborhood. And while we tinkered with minor plumbing and construction projects throughout our time here, nothing was more rewarding than converting our little sunroom into a nursery last summer. From picking out the paint color and fitting the room for carpet, to installing a crib and changing table for our little one on the way, the work we put into our place was nothing in comparison with what was to come.
Maybe in thirty years, we'll look back any only remember this place because it housed so many memorable first interactions with our son. The guests, the gifts, and the dreams that came to fruition all took place in this quirky, confined space...a space that ultimately kept us together during a time when it was most needed.
