I was reminded of this last night, as a local tv channel is now airing reruns of the show Community. Abed's Uncontrollable Christmas was one of the first shows I watched after moving in, late 2010. I had never seen the show before, but after a day of unpacking and organizing, I took the evening off, turned on the tv and saw claymation. Being a fan of any kind of stop-motion animation, I watched it and subsequently started watching Community. Some episodes are mediocre at best, but for an unknown reason, I still watch the show when I see it on. Yesterday was the third time I've seen Abed's Uncontrollable Christmas and there were still several parts of it I didn't remember.
In the years since moving in, the elixir of newness of the house has tempered somewhat. The newness of the smells, walking in and feeling like I'm invading someone else's home is gone. But just about every time I think about moving in, I still feel really happy with the change. I loved the unwritten history of the old Victorian house and the secrets and demons it probably still contains, but I enjoy more the low maintenance and easier living in the new house. The energy costs and hardedness of the new house are dramatically better. Still, when I turned the heat on for the first time this year, the geothermal system doesn't have the same warm comfortable feeling that was given by the old fuel oil burner firing for the first time.
The houses largest selling feature is still the best. Sitting on 10 acres, the expansive view of the "back yard" is wonderful. Gone is the wildness of the unkempt back 5 acres and the ugly pile of left over bricks. Replaced by a mini-farm that my honest self knows I'll never do anything with.
Coming home is now part of the ordinary mundane, but that is OK. I don't miss the noise at the old house, sitting a few feet from the road or down the street from that hootenany bar. The neighbors here shoot shotguns often, but there has only been one day I can think of that it was at a level which approached an unacceptable level of annoyance. At times I think the shooting approaches unsafe behavior, but opinions on this will vary. I'm not downrange (the larger farm behind is more often and apparently they accept that risk).
I sometimes miss the smell of the place when I first walked in the unlocked house to pick up the keys from the kitchen island - that was a magical event. The trade-off for this is being completely comfortable "at home." I don't miss the stress of selling the old house after moving out. Every time I think about the self-induced horror of that first year, I say a prayer of thanks.
I still find leftovers of the original owners. I've swept the basement at least three times and each time I find new toys in places I am absolutely sure were swept previously. The only possible conclusion is that left alone and unloved in the dark, these toys are reproducing. Barbie accessories and Legos seem to be very prolific breeders. Perhaps I should store some ammunition on the basement floor to see if it will similarly increase and help deal with the ongoing shortage.
Things have changed over the last three years. I no longer ritually read the paper at the kitchen island as I really enjoyed for that first year. The paper kept being delivered later and later until there was no point to keep getting it. I don't sit outside as much as I did that first year either; work hours have dramatically increased since moving in and the free time obtained by life simplification is largely gone. Nature abhors a vacuum.
But, there is no question that after three years that the change was a large part of some of the overall best and most dramatic life changes. Despite a stressful and unpleasant current working environment, despite a dog sick with kidney disease. Despite hemorrhaging money for the last few months, despite the fact that I have a complete inability to grow even weed-like trees. Despite the idea that this probably doesn't match the description of a dream house and this area of the country holds nothing other than a job. Life is good enough.
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