The movers stormed the house like a SWAT team, dismantling large pieces of furniture as if they were Legos. They loaded all our earthly belongings into a giant truck then drove away. And just like that, we were de-homed.   An hour later, my husband, DC, and I are outside an ice cream stand stress-eating ice cream because that’s what you do when your world is upended. It’s sort of working but doesn’t change the fact that we are in limbo, and we will be for weeks. Maybe, it occ

I am so embarrassed. All these columns and books I have written on downsizing and decluttering and my oh my, the mess I am in. Moving is the ultimate truth test. As I pack up the house my husband, DC, and I have lived in for eight years, box towers line the halls, packed and stacked like big-city skylines. Each room coughs up its contents like a kid with consumption. I fear I may never see a clear counter again.   I don’t know about you, but when I feel out of control — and b

Now that my husband, DC, and I had sold the Happier Yellow House to the first buyer who saw it, we were quite suddenly, technically, homeless. Yeep! My head was literally spinning. I need to sit down often and put my head between my knees.   What had we done? We had accepted a handsome all-cash, full-price offer, I kept reminding myself. But still! Because the big idea behind this self-imposed upheaval was to decrease our overhead (but not our lifestyle) as we slide toward r

NOTE: Forgive me if you're receiving this post twice. My blog service was down and, as a result, 90% of my subscribers were not receiving my posts. I will be sending the ones that many have missed over the next few weeks. Thank you for following along -- Marni I should know by now, if you venture into an exploratory hypothetical conversation with a real-estate broker, you might as well start packing. One casual conversation with a broker friend started the house hurricane.