The Country House still hasn’t gone on the market. It’s taken longer than we expected to get the insurance companies to decide how much they were going to pay for the water heater accident, which means we haven’t been able to arrange for contractors to come and repair the damage. Which means the once-beautiful office is now a room we ignore, since it has a bare cement floor, a hole in the wall, and none of the equipment needed to make it a useful space.
But it’s also given us a chance to stop and think about where we really want to be next. I’ve recently accepted offers to work on two projects at The Theatre to Which We Now Have a Deep Emotional Attachment. They’re both short-term projects, and neither is big enough to support me (let alone us) without other employment as well, but they’re both very worthwhile projects that I’ll enjoy doing. But they’re up here, which means moving down there–into New York City–would make them much less attractive. But she works down there every day, and down there is where many projects I want to be involved with are based. It’s all very complicated.
She pitched a neither-here-nor-there venue from her commute the other morning, a town neither of us knows much about, but which might have exactly what we’re looking for in terms of balancing space, price, and commuting time for each of us. What it wouldn’t have is anything we know. It’s easy to find the best supermarket in an area, and a new favorite Thai restaurant; what’s harder to find are good neighbors and friends.
What I’m really worried about is finding the perfect balance of price, location, and space, and then realizing that we do nothing but sleep there. That doesn’t seem like much will have been gained. So much is up in the air.
But not tonight’s dinner.
After a ridiculous weekend of work for me, and two late nights in NYC with work for both of us, we have determined that there will be Dinner at the Country House tonight.
We watched a Good Eats episode the other day. “Except for the tofu, that looks really good,” she said of the result.
“I thought you didn’t like Pad Thai.”
It turns out it’s just the wide noodles that are often served at Thai restaurants she dislikes. This recipe calls for the very fine ones.
“Well, then. Wednesday?”
“You can make Pad Thai?”
I don’t know why this surprised her so much. I just hope the result pleases her as much as it will me. I’ve made this recipe many times. I don’t always improvise. It’s a balance of salty, sweet, sour, and savory. Sort of like finding the perfect home. Except the stakes are a little lower: if dinner doesn’t go well, there can be ice cream.
There might be, anyway.