Kathleen 2.0

Every time my husband and I plan a getaway for our family and travel somewhere for the weekend (which we do frequently), I immediately envision what it would be like to live wherever we go. I determine in which area of the town or city I’d most want to live, look up real estate prices, and even peruse job postings in my field. It is all I can do to not get a library card or join the local PTA.

Which is interesting … as we have no intention of moving from the neighborhood we love in Oakton until our daughter leaves for college (or tours with her punk band, or joins a cult ...). I’m not actively looking to change my life. This is all part of some harmless fantasy where I am urban and fabulous and living in an impeccably styled and decorated loft apartment.

Kind of like the one we stayed in this weekend in ... Staunton, Virginia.

How could the home of the Statler Brothers produce anything as hip as a loft apartment? Staunton is not what I thought, either.

I went to college about 25 miles away from Staunton in Harrisonburg. I had heard of the town before but had never spent any time there. We learned from a newspaper article that it is a great place for a weekend trip. You can take a train from the D.C. area and walk everywhere once you arrive. There are historic sites, great restaurants and bars, the Blackfriars Playhouse with live performances five nights a week, some beautiful parks … and it is all within a mile or less. The loft apartment my husband found was right in the middle of the historic district. And we became instantly cooler just by walking in the door.

Not to sound too arrogant, but this weekend I totally became the woman of my dreams.

I became someone who cheekily hangs vintage bikes on the walls as art pieces and who thoughtfully and ironically scatters vintage 3D glasses among found objects throughout my loft. I am someone who tosses copies of the New Yorker and a coffee table book titled, “Martinis” atop a reclaimed wood coffee table that rests on original pine flooring. I am someone who luxuriates in the fabulousness that is high ceilings, quirky light fixtures, and slate floors and art glass countertops in the bathrooms – and who doesn’t mind the clocktower across the street chiming every hour on the hour because >sigh< “that’s city living.”

We walked to the corner for coffee and The New York Times in the morning, and strolled to restaurants and the gelato store at night. We browsed the local farmer’s market, fed ducks in the park and watched glassblowing demonstrations by local artisans in this sleepy and creative little burg. We even became friendlier. We talked to shop owners and dog owners at length, and made lots of new friends wherever we went. I even wrote this column while perched on a stool at an independently owned local coffee shop after chatting up the barista.

Let’s hope that if we ever meet in person, it is in Staunton. You’ll get the much better version of me.