Last year, we lived with family in New England for six weeks during Christmas, and we lived in China for a month for school. The last two years, we moved out of our school housing to rent an apartment for just four months until school housing would open at the end of August. Moving every few months is exhausting, especially when we know that every move will be just as short-term as the last, at least in the near future. Here are the six things I've learned to do, to make our constant moves a lot easier…
This is Offbeat Home's archive of Nitty Gritty posts.
This is our category dedicated to the hard topics of occupancy – the realities of having a home. Nitty gritties might involve moving, dealing with appliances, handling passive aggressive landlord notes, or choosing a utility company.
My partner and I just bought our first house. We love it. However, we didn't get the first four we tried for, and we almost didn't get this one at least 372 times throughout the process. I found myself on an emotional rollercoaster where I had to constantly prepare myself for a possible "it's just not going to work." To make the potential hard blow softer, I started searching for ways to make that situation a learning experience.
I have been working on reducing my plastic use this year. I am wondering if anyone has recommendations for alternatives to plastic bags for produce and bulk shopping at grocery stores? Has anyone switched from those store-ready produce bags? If so, did the store give you any problems when checking out with your produce holders?
My husband and I are considering putting our home on a vacation rental site for a huge summer event in our town. Escaping the crazy and getting paid for it sounds great, but I gotta admit I'm worried about having strangers in my house. Have any other Offbeat Homies rented their home to vacationers?
A few years ago I was watching an episode of one of Jamie Oliver's cooking shows. He noted, with an aire of superiority, that he doesn't even own a microwave. I remember thinking that he was a) wrong, and b) preachy. But the idea of having my shit so damn together that I didn't need the convenience of a microwave stuck with me.
I woke up to a phone call from my husband at 6:30 one morning and the not-so-exciting news that his keys, wallet, and phone were stolen from work. His wallet, of course, had his ID and Social Security Card in it, along with a debit card and the one measly credit card we had. I knew I was in for an annoying morning, but I felt fine: our bank shuts down cards the minute you say "stol–" and we had the foresight to opt into our phone company's insurance program so I knew that would be handled as well.