Pilot holes and other grievances

My new house kicks ass and I’m so happy about it. There’s still tons of construction going on, workers are coming and going, there’s dust and chaos everywhere, the cat is furious, and it feels like we’re Shelley Long and Tom Hanks in The Money Pit, but we’re getting through it. We have visitors coming to stay in a week and a half, so we’re prioritizing the must-be-finished list and making good progress. We spend the early morning hours before James starts his work calls racing all over town — to the lumber yard to pick up the wood for the wardrobes and kitchen shelves he’s building, and to Ikea for good cheap storage solutions. Apparently breakfast at Ikea is hugely popular. Who knew?

I’m so grateful for how on the same page James and I have been throughout all of the stress of moving and the hiccups during the renovations. When I first met James I was still a dirty fighter. A scrapper. I’d say the meanest things you’ve ever heard in your life and stab you in your eye. Ruthless. It was a remnant of growing up feral in a dysfunctional family. I warned James about my dirty fighting as soon as I knew we were getting serious so he was prepared. I already loved him and never wanted to hurt him, but I knew I couldn’t be trusted in a fight. But we rarely fought. The only fight we had in the first three years of our marriage occurred just after the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Eve when we were playing Spades with his brother and his brother’s wife at his uncle Rusty’s house in Virginia. A single hand of Spades was our undoing. It happened so fast — we were all playing nicely one minute, and in the span of time it took uncle Rusty to say goodnight to the grandparents and return to the living room all hell had broken loose. James and I were furious with each other, brawling in one corner, and his brother and wife were also furious with each other and having it out in the other corner. It was a dual couple duel. All four of us stormed out of the house in a cloud of fury like cats in a cartoon alley fight leaving poor uncle Rusty bewildered and worried. James and I have never played Spades as parters together again, and we still rarely fight. (One time I got into a fight with a bunch of Jared Kushners in a bar in New Orleans and I was still so worked up about it when we got back to our hotel room I wrestled James, but I don’t think that counts.) Aside from the ill-fated game of New Year’s Eve Spades, there has only been one major blowup in our 21 years of marriage (I’m not going to tell you about it, but it involved politics and family so most of you would get it.) In general, James and I communicate really well and resolve our stuff quickly and efficiently. We have always been weirdly of the same mind. “We share a brain,” James often says, despite the fact that our brains are so different. We have complementary brain chemistry even though we are incredibly different people, especially when it comes to temperament. I’m a Capricorn and he’s a Cancer. Know what I mean? I’m a volcano and he’s a human Xanax. These days, I mostly keep my dirty fighting in check. (Although I did almost get arrested at the gym recently, but I’ll save that story for later. It reflects badly on me, and I have regrets.)

This is not to say we agree on everything.

I used to think pilot holes were annoying. It was a point of contention in my marriage. My view was they are unnecessary and a waste of time, much the way I feel about overly complicated approaches to just about anything. If it were up to me, I’d eyeball it. I’d hammer a nail in the approximate area of where I want my picture to hang, and if I don’t like it I’ll just pull that sucker out and hammer a new hole. Voila! James, on the other hand, uses advanced math equations and multiple measuring data points and a plethora of tools and gadgets in order to hang literally anything on a wall. Usually there are pilot holes involved. In the 20+ years we’ve been together, I’ve come around to pilot holes, but it’s an inside joke in our marriage that I reference any time I feel James is over-engineering what I deem a simple task. “Pilot holes,” I grumble under my breath, but James reads my mind and laughs. “You’re like, fuck it, it’s fine! Good enough!” he says, unbothered, and goes about his business of precise measuring while I snark about in the background.

There have been times I’ve gotten too overwhelmed by everything, and I’ve taken to bed with the cat to watch Seasons 1 and 2 of The Crown. The young Queen Claire Foy seasons are the only ones I like. I stay in bed watching an aging Winston Churchill bluster until my nervous system regulates and then I return to the tasks at hand. It’s easy to get overwhelmed, but I had the realization that just because I can’t do everything doesn’t mean I can’t do anything, and that has been my mantra and it’s working. I just keep plugging away, sweeping and vacuuming and wiping away the construction dust and unpacking one box at a time. I’m experiencing such joy and pleasure every time I find placements for my items. It’s incredibly satisfying — tiny hits of dopamine that make my brain happy.

I’m beginning to fall in love with my new house.

Oud West is so different than Oud Zuid. Oud Zuid, the fancy, old money part of Amsterdam where we lived for the last eight years suited our needs when we had a giant labrador and a kid going to the international school down the street, but it was never our vibe. We never felt at home with all the Porsches and Bentleys and Ferraris. This side of the park is far more down to earth. We live next door to a discount grocery store called Dirk van den Broek, but I refer to it as Dirk Diggler, due to the vibes. It’s a little bid seedy, and I like it. There’s a lot more humanity on this side of the Vondelpark, and I much prefer that to the pristine snooty quiet of our old neighborhood. People actually live in their houses here, and that makes a huge difference. Half the grand homes in our old neighborhood were empty most of the time — second or third homes for those folks. People live and work and shop and hang out here. We get tons of foot traffic walking past our house, and it feels alive and thriving and fun. People sit in the cafés lining our canals, smoking and drinking rosé and gember thee and talking and laughing with their friends, colleagues, and family. Everything you could want — from candles to dish soap to sushi can be found right on our block. We are not in the fray of the touristy part of town, this is where the locals live. It feels like a neighborhood. It’s lively and interesting and glorious. But not without surprises.

People barge into our house. It’s hilarious. If we leave our front door open (which happens a lot with the workers coming and going), it’s just a matter of minutes before someone walks right into our house. It’s usually older Dutch ladies who want to meet us and see the house. They have absolutely zero compunction about walking right in and asking us questions like “How much did you pay for this house?” One old Dutch guy barged all the way into the kitchen while James was on a work call and sailed right past James and the workers and tried to get out onto the scaffolding because the outside light was being installed, and apparently that light has caused problems for him in the past because it shines into his bedroom, so he was going to take care of business himself with the roll of duct tape he brought with him to block out the offending light. James had to wrestle him back into the house so he didn’t hurt himself on the scaffold. We assured him we will not leave that outside light on at night, but I expect it won’t be the last we see of that guy in our kitchen. He’s vigilant, and determined.

It’s so fun living on our canal. A spot opened up right in front of our house and last night we moved Shrimpy from where we had her moored in our old neighborhood. We were on the fence about moving her — our old spot is so special. We named it Thistle Grove when we first got it because it’s a little private oasis of green space tucked away behind thistles and blackberry bushes. We built a dock and it was like our own (free!!!) waterfront property. We weren’t sure we wanted to give that up, but having Shrimpy right outside our front door is amazing. We can literally walk out our front door and jump on our boat and sail away! I love all the birds on our canal. We had crows and parrots in our old neighborhood, but we have seagulls causing all sorts of drama and a beautiful swan couple here. I love them all so much.

One major problem with our new house is that it’s hot. The main windows that face the canal get full sun and are original to the house so they don’t have any heat blocking technology and they don’t open to take advantage of the breeze coming off the canal. By mid afternoon this house is cooking. Replacing the windows is not in the budget right now, but we need to figure out a solution. We’re heading into the Netherlands’ 5th record setting heat wave this summer. There’s a serious drought in the Netherlands, which is something I never thought could happen. The Rhine River is drying up! House boats are stuck on dry flats of mud. The climate disaster is fully upon the world and it’s absolutely terrifying and depressing. There are serious problems in the world and we need all the world leaders working together to find solutions but that asshole in the White House is over there causing wars and festooning everything in cheap fake gold and robbing the U.S. blind to line his own pockets while the world burns and he makes it all worse. Fuck everyone enabling him.

Anyway. I am starting to fall in love with my new house. She’s looking so beautiful, and is beginning to shine because she knows she’s special and being looked after. I’m taking pleasure in all her grand beauty, but also the little things. We lived with a freezer the size of a shoebox and a dorm-sized fridge in our old house for the past eight years, but I bought a goddamn American fridge with a freezer that makes ice and it is the best thing that has ever happened to me. (Don’t take me too seriously. I recently said the chicken sandwich I was eating was the best thing that ever happened to me, and James said, “Thanks.”) But I do relish the little things. Today I bought a large jar of pickles — something I could not do in my old house because a large jar of pickles took up entirely too much real estate in our tiny fridge, but today I am living large, eating pickles and drinking ice water and I could not be happier.

Come visit. Maybe after we get the closets built.

Xoxo