Sunday, July 31, 2011

SETTLING IN.



In the very first days I lived in the Frankenstein House, I was completely out of sorts.  Even though I liked the house, it all felt very alien and different.  Not me, not mine.  


On one level, I knew: yes, this is the house I've just financed quite a bit of money to 'own,' so it makes sense that I live here.  On a deeper level, I felt: what I am doing here?  This isn't where I live.  I should get back to my apartment.  I don't even know my way around this part of town, and I miss my old neighborhood, and waaaaaaaaaaah!  I wanna go home!


The process of resetting my idea of 'home' to this house has been funny.  Not funny ha-ha, but more Cristina-are-you-OK? funny.   I've spent these first few weeks in the house being veeeery suspicious of totally irrational things.  Observe:

  • For the first four days, I was convinced that someone was squatting in the attic.  I knew they moved in while the house was in escrow.  Someone was LIVING UP THERE, just waiting for the right moment.  To come down and kill me!  Or, more likely, come down and make very mean remarks.  HAHA, YOU BOUGHT THIS HOUSE, HAHA.
  •  For three weeks, I have ignored the washer/dryer in the kitchen; I have been afraid to use it.   A washer/dryer that takes no quarters, you say?  A machine that is just mine, that I do not share with strangers?    I'm sure there's something wrong with it, that water will flood the kitchen when I attempt to use it.   Luckily, Ross Dress for Less sells underwear for cheap.   



My dog has also had quite a bit of trouble adjusting to life in the Frankenstein House.


"oh, is this picture going on that blaaaaahg of yours? pffft. bark."


I thought she'd enjoy having a backyard.  But no-- she's so used to apartment life that she has no idea what to do with the yard.  She is accustomed to walks 3 times a day; when I put her in the backyard at walk time, she plops down by the door and patiently waits to be let back in.  Last night, ever the optimist, I put her out in the back and closed the door.


A few seconds later, I heard a soft...*jinglejingle* noise.  


My dog's tags clinking together.  I looked down.  There was my dog, standing next to me, looking up at me expectantly.


Instantly, in my mind's eye, I saw my dog stand upright on her hind legs and grow opposable thumbs to open the door.  I put her outside, now she is inside-- this can only mean she has  special human powers.


"DO YOU?"  I accused her.  "Do you have special human powers?  If you have special human powers, NOW IS THE TIME TO TELL ME ABOUT THAT."


Her tail, which had been wagging, stopped.  She cocked her head to the side, wondering about my tone of voice.  Part of me was surprised that she did not speak up and say: well, I always meant to tell you, but I wasn't sure how you'd take it.


In the end, I guess it's just waiting.  Waiting for time to go by so you feel yourself to be more of a 'homeowner' than an easily-disoriented guest in someone else's house.   Today, I  tried out the washer/dryer.
still life with washer and dryer




It worked beautifully.  Why did I wait so long to find out the washer/dryer works?  I love them, both washer and dryer.  Ah, it is wonderful to launder.  I plan to launder with abandon now that I know I can.

3 comments:

  1. We must fill your house with laughter, squeals, shrieks, tears, and snorts so it can become a home. I am convinced that is the solution.

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  2. Wait--how did the unnamed cute dog get back in if you put her out and shut the door? Did the attic squatters let her in?
    Is there, in fact, something nefarious afoot?

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  3. OH MY GOSH, I didn't even think about the Attic Squatters, but they must have let her in! Or-- THEY'RE the ones who conferred special human powers on the cute unnamed dog! SOMETHING IS AFOOT.

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