A little over one month later, and it’s hard to believe, but we’re now settled into our new home. And by settled in, of course I mean we have paths winding around all the boxes. We basically stopped unpacking once we had located the essentials — various remotes, sweatpants, and the bottle opener.
In the final couple of days on the farm I nearly killed myself cleaning. I wanted to leave it nice for the new owners. I completely wore off all of my fingerprints through inexperience and aggressive use of SOS pads. Housekeeping was never my forte and my complete disregard for dusting is world renowned. After removing all the furniture I couldn’t help but marvel that my family members and pets are all functioning reasonably well without the aid of a respirator.
Luckily that means they are well prepared for coming to visit the new place, since the sellers did not share my enthusiasm for impressing with one last epic cleaning session. And heaven knows I’m not about to start in cleaning this place too. In a word, eff that.
Not to sound cranky, but the previous owners also ignored the part of the deal that said that window coverings were included, so all of our windows are bare. We weren’t madly in love with the draperies or anything, but I worry that our window exhibitionism might prevent us getting invited to any neighbourhood events. They say good fences make good neighbours, but when you get to be our age and you’re so hot you sleep in your underpants, I think blackout blinds are also kind of a public service. We may have trouble making any new friends if we don’t get some blinds soon.
We’re having minor issues getting adjusted. The dog has claimed the basement bathroom toilet (did I mention we have 3?) as his personal drinking fountain. But he can hardly contain his excitement as he gallops in for a drink. He’s so enthused he can’t help but wag, and the door is on a bit of a slant, so the minute his wagging tail touches the door, it promptly slams shut behind him, and his awesome flushable fountain room changes instantly, becoming a terrifying prison. Eventually someone always finds him, but not always before he has a panic attack and rips up the toilet paper or takes a dog sized bite out of the shower curtain.
Hubby says “barn” instead of “garage” all the time. 2 of the 3 cats have developed agoraphobia/eating disorders. They have quickly forgotten their past lives as adventurous outdoorsy “barn cats”. They are basically living my dream life, by eating constantly and never leaving the house. The other cat regularly ventures out and about while the other two peek out the window at him, between mouthfuls.
Our issues are more than made up for though, with sweet amazing benefits like …. wait for it …. a truck comes and picks up our garbage and takes it away. We were giddy the first couple of times it happened. It’s like magic. You put it out by the road, and then when you come home from work, it’s gone! The first time the anticipation was too much – I phoned home at lunch to say “did they take it?” Not that I minded those 20 years of wonderful Saturday morning rides into the dump, riding in the truck surrounded by recycles and odiferous trash bags. That was some quality time, right there.
I’ve changed jobs, and now drive to work via a big city on a highway. I’ve been trying a number of different routes, but don’t have the greatest sense of direction so have pulled a lot of u-turns. Plus I’m not used to this highway driving, I always drove my commute along scenic country roads, and I used to amuse myself by honking the horn at the cows and horses in the fields, to see if I could get a reaction. Now I’m surrounded by other commuters, so I amuse myself by staring at other drivers and grinning, and sometimes uncontrollably sit-dancing at stop lights. Sometimes when I’m doing dead arm robot other drivers think I’m waving at them. They never wave back.
I don’t know why they aren’t friendlier. I’m always fully dressed.