Infinitely Small Things

It's all new and strange, living in a new house and community.

Actually, I take that back. Really, don't worry. I still eat and sleep as usual. It's just the little things that are new and strange.

The other night, home to a dark house from church, I wondered vaguely why no outdoor lights were lit. Stumbling into the house, I succeeded in making my way to the kitchen, where I went on to....stand still in confusion. "Light switch?" I murmered helplessly. Diving randomly towards the nearest wall, my fingers hit a switch. I flipped it. A low growl disturbed the silence and I started back. This should be a dramatic story. But it isn't. It was just the garbage disposal. I don't think anyone knew where the outdoor-light switches were either....

Which reminds me (although I didn't want to be reminded) about the laundry room. The other day, I dashed into the room for at least the hundredth time. Dashed, and then stood in the doorway clawing the air like a madwoman. I'm glad we don't have security cameras, for I have no wish to see myself looking like a madwoman. It is bad enough to feel like one. Which is exactly what I feel when, after a hundred times of walking in the doorway, I still claw for the light switch on the right side of the doorway instead of around the corner to the left.

Conversely, I am sorry to say I am still reaching for the toilet paper on the left side of the toilet whereas it is quite happily established on the right. Sadly, it takes more than feeling silly to break a long time habit.

After the first night in our new house, I shivered out of bed early in the morning and the first thing I did was search the ceiling in my basement bedroom for a heating vent. There was none to be found. Yes, it's true! I have what children in India and Arizona and other equally balmy places are no doubt longing for: a naturally refrigerated bedroom! (Minor details here...)

Living in a developement is definitely different for us after living in the more-or-less "country" for the last ten years. Across the street behind our new house we enjoy the view of an especially widespreading developement where houses of all ages, shapes, and sizes cozy up together. I enjoyed a walk through it last weekend and came across a group of brand new homes, their fresh paint sparkling especially nicely against the un-landscaped dirt of their lots. Two friends and I, with cold noses and fingers, decided to tour the "model home" of the block. Not something one gets to do often on a walk in my more familiar "country." The perfectly manicured real estate agent appraised our windblown hair and red faces cooly. "Just walking by?" she asked matter-of-factly. Oh. I guess we didn't look like very serious home buyers. Oh well. There is something to be said for knowing what the inside of your neighbors' houses look like. Might come in handy in case of emergency someday.

The neighbors in our own particular development have all been nice, so far. One of the families who attend our church live in our neighborhood, and they have been most helpful with the moving process. Another neighbor, a native Frenchman, brought us over freshly made crepes, strawberries, and real (also organic) whipping cream. Happy us!

There is a neighbor across the street who adds a streak of eccentricity to the block. At night, especially, we have an opportunity to appreciate his individualism. He uses green outdoor lights instead of white. One rather expects to see shreds of stage smoke floating around his dwelling to add the proper nightmare-ish ambience the green demands. But, alas, I guess he isn't that eccentric.

And then there's the other neighbor. The one we haven't met yet, but he's a drummer and we are in no danger of forgetting it.

Like I said, it's a little bit different...living in a new house and community. Definitely different.