You spend so much time searching for perfect.
The perfect knife, the perfect piece of art for the wall, the perfect paint color, the perfect recipe.
For me, perfect started in this little tiny condo kitchen when I found a perfect set of bamboo canisters. They fit perfectly with the yeah-they’re-pink counter tops I’d been trying to disguise for years. They match the paint I picked out a handful of years ago and put on the walls myself. They perfectly match my refrigerator – the one I picked out and bought in an evening after my other one died. The canisters hang out near the KitchenAid my parents got me as a gift and on the other side of the new Bunn coffee pot and burr grinder Jeff got me for my birthday last week.
A few days ago, I removed those canisters from our counter, slipped them in a box “for when we have a house,” it’s all part of the process of making our condo appealing to the next guy.
You work so hard to find the perfect everything for your home – from the things you hang on the walls to the way you talk to your spouse, to the way it smells when you walk in the door – to only one day take it all down so that someone can love your home in the absence of you.
Our condo is officially for sale. And I’m excited and nervous and scared and excited. Selling any sort of home is not an easy feat these days and I want a real house – with a kitchen I adore and a back yard for my dog – a lot. I’ve done all I can to emotionally prepare myself for the roller coaster that is ahead, while simultaneously moving half of our crap out and making our condo more beautiful than it’s ever, ever been. She’s so clean, and fresh and simple and beautiful. I do not know how someone can’t fall in love with this place. This perfect, perfect little place.