On move-in day , a runway of quilted blankets formed a path between the moving truck and our new front door. Five insanely strong men made a steady trek from truck to door like a trail of army ants, each one carrying an item three times his weight and size.   Meanwhile, my arms flail like a Dutch windmill’s sending the movers in various directions. “Where does this go, Ma’am?” one asks while holding a Bombay chest as though it were a cereal box. “Uh, living room,” I say and f

Until recently, I thought the expression that something makes your head spin was just a figure of speech. I now know it’s real. After my husband, DC, and I sold the Happier Yellow House in a whirlwind deal, without even listing it, we had 45 days to find a new house, pack up and move out. During half of those days, we were away on a long-planned, non-refundable summer vacation, which was supposed to be relaxing, but which turned into a nonstop frenzy of long-distance broker

Since selling The Happier Yellow House and moving out, my husband, DC, and I had one goal —move into our new house, The Happiest Yellow House, as soon as possible. But first we wanted to renovate. Our mantra became: Fix it fast.     As anyone who has bought a house and remodeled before moving in understands, managing multiple home improvement projects at once takes the strategic genius of George Washington, the diplomacy of Nelson Mandela and a pot of Irish luck.   I did ever

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.  

Since selling The Happier Yellow House and moving out, my husband, DC, and I had one goal —move into our new house, The Happiest Yellow House, as soon as possible. But first we wanted to renovate. Our mantra became: Fix it fast.     As anyone who has bought a house and remodeled before moving in understands, managing multiple home improvement projects at once takes the strategic genius of George Washington, the diplomacy of Nelson Mandela and a pot of Irish luck.   I did ever

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...