New House

We moved into our new house on Friday. One would think after all this trouble obtaining it, that there would be an angel chorus when we came in, but it was just an empty, ratty, old—awesome—house. We were excited though. We did our own angel chorus including swing dancing in all the space, watching a movie, cooking an onion sausage combo with sliced tomatoes. Very delicious.

All our stuff is mountained in one room of the house except for a few tendrils of various things vining into other rooms: toothbrushes to the bathroom, cookware to the kitchen, a trail of bedding to the futon, and me to my nook. I have chosen, at least for the present, in what room my writing nook is going to be and I am sitting behind its closed door right now with only the laptop, a chair and pillow, and a cup of tea. This tiny room alone feels cavernous. It is about half the size of our studio apartment by itself, but it is empty save for me and my most fundamental writing tools.

This house has some great quirky things going on for it. Being built in the year 1900, it can't help but be a little strange. If I were made in 1900, I, too, would definitely have made sure to be strange by now.

I love looking at walls and thinking, “I could tear that down if I wanted—'cause it's mine! ha ha.” But I calm down once I realize that my hammer is buried in stuff-mountain someplace and that would mean that I have to get up and then I'd get whiny and the pounding and manic laughter would wake Rebekah—it would just be horrible. Better to sit and stare at the wall, drink my tea, and realize that both tea and wall are under my dominion. Daunting, eh?