How can you miss me if I won't go away?
I am moved! Currently, I'm camping out on the floor of my huge and palatial room in the new house. I will probably keep sleeping on my foam mattress on the floor for the next little while, because it's more comfortable than most other beds I've experienced. If I really feel like classing it up, I can put a small rug next to it. What I do need are bookcases and cheap chests of drawers or cabinets that I won't mind giving away next time I move. My landlords are loaning me a big chest of drawers that they used back when the place was a bed and breakfast, which will help. I'm going to take a drive later and see if I can find free curbside furniture.
Just now, I had an excellent conversation with one of my new housemates, who recently moved in herself. She is a social worker, and she looks like most of the really good social workers I've ever met: friendly, bosomy women of about fifty with beaming smiles, confiding voices, casual clothes, and a strong air of momminess. I liked her right away. We negotiated about food and cabinet space, careful not to tread on each other's toes, and then told one another a little about ourselves. Of course, I'm geared to like anybody who will ask me about myself and then listen to the answers, since that's pretty rare, but beyond that she was funny and charming and had her head screwed on the right way. We're both going to be working so much we'll barely see one another, but I am glad to have met her and know she's a good sort. One nice housemate, one yet to be found (for the space across the hall from me) and one present but unmet. That's the guy on the ground floor. I know only his name and the facts that he is getting on in years, owns a giant pickup truck, and has an impressive collection of hats, straw, Stetson, and safari, hanging in the downstairs hall.
Everything about the house is just as lovely as I'd hoped. My little PRIVATE BATHROOM (I would put that in blinky text with sparkles if I knew how) is so nicely appointed that I'm going to have to take some care to keep it that way. Talk about personal investment: at the old house, none of us ever cleaned the shower, because four other people were using it and it would get dirty again immediately anyway, so who cared? Why should I put myself out, when those clowns are going to mess up my good work? And no one tried to start a cleaning rota, because we were never home at the same time to discuss it and we were all passive-aggressive anyway. The obvious candidate would be Reuben James, but he'd rather sit around and be mad at us for making a mess than fix the system so that we kept tidy. Anyhow, by contrast I always kept my room fairly nice and my carpet vacuumed. Here, I plan to keep all my space clean, and the common space will have to stay fairly tidy, too. If we have to negotiate for space and cleanliness I'll try and take it upon myself to be the one who calls the awkward house meeting and works out cleaning duties.
There's a fake marble bas-relief of three naked women with no heads or lower legs, hanging on the bathroom wall. It is unsettling. It's left over from the B&B years of this house. The books in the common area date from the B&B, as well, and there are a few treasures like a coffee-table guide to the castles of Britain. Some unknown person went through this book while spending the weekend here and put Post-It notes on half the pages, detailing which castles she'd seen and what they were like and what they'd meant to her. "My first husband and I spent our honeymoon here." "Drove by here every day when I worked in Leeds--you can see towers from highway, beautiful." "Drive across causeway to Holy Island is scary when tide's coming in." "Dungeons still open and horrid." "Much prettier than Windsor." Whoever she was, she's left her mark on this place. It's just enough to make me wonder who she was, where she wound up, and what she's doing today.
I will do a photo tour of the new place sometime soon, in my ongoing quest to nationalize the family camera.
Just now, I had an excellent conversation with one of my new housemates, who recently moved in herself. She is a social worker, and she looks like most of the really good social workers I've ever met: friendly, bosomy women of about fifty with beaming smiles, confiding voices, casual clothes, and a strong air of momminess. I liked her right away. We negotiated about food and cabinet space, careful not to tread on each other's toes, and then told one another a little about ourselves. Of course, I'm geared to like anybody who will ask me about myself and then listen to the answers, since that's pretty rare, but beyond that she was funny and charming and had her head screwed on the right way. We're both going to be working so much we'll barely see one another, but I am glad to have met her and know she's a good sort. One nice housemate, one yet to be found (for the space across the hall from me) and one present but unmet. That's the guy on the ground floor. I know only his name and the facts that he is getting on in years, owns a giant pickup truck, and has an impressive collection of hats, straw, Stetson, and safari, hanging in the downstairs hall.
Everything about the house is just as lovely as I'd hoped. My little PRIVATE BATHROOM (I would put that in blinky text with sparkles if I knew how) is so nicely appointed that I'm going to have to take some care to keep it that way. Talk about personal investment: at the old house, none of us ever cleaned the shower, because four other people were using it and it would get dirty again immediately anyway, so who cared? Why should I put myself out, when those clowns are going to mess up my good work? And no one tried to start a cleaning rota, because we were never home at the same time to discuss it and we were all passive-aggressive anyway. The obvious candidate would be Reuben James, but he'd rather sit around and be mad at us for making a mess than fix the system so that we kept tidy. Anyhow, by contrast I always kept my room fairly nice and my carpet vacuumed. Here, I plan to keep all my space clean, and the common space will have to stay fairly tidy, too. If we have to negotiate for space and cleanliness I'll try and take it upon myself to be the one who calls the awkward house meeting and works out cleaning duties.
There's a fake marble bas-relief of three naked women with no heads or lower legs, hanging on the bathroom wall. It is unsettling. It's left over from the B&B years of this house. The books in the common area date from the B&B, as well, and there are a few treasures like a coffee-table guide to the castles of Britain. Some unknown person went through this book while spending the weekend here and put Post-It notes on half the pages, detailing which castles she'd seen and what they were like and what they'd meant to her. "My first husband and I spent our honeymoon here." "Drove by here every day when I worked in Leeds--you can see towers from highway, beautiful." "Drive across causeway to Holy Island is scary when tide's coming in." "Dungeons still open and horrid." "Much prettier than Windsor." Whoever she was, she's left her mark on this place. It's just enough to make me wonder who she was, where she wound up, and what she's doing today.
I will do a photo tour of the new place sometime soon, in my ongoing quest to nationalize the family camera.