September 5, 2012 by rebelwithalabelmaker
Saturday was officially our last day in the old house. Farewell, old house.
Things Gary will miss about the old house:
Now, even if you have never been to our house, you can picture where we lived for eight years.
Actually, now you can picture it only if you have never been to our house, because if you have been there you know that it never actually looked like that.
That said, I'm sure you will appreciate the new outlook on it and will declare "Oooohhh, I thought that it was actually made out of piles of lego… this makes much more sense".
Things I will miss about the old house:
1) The altar. We had an altar in our front yard–we were the only ones on the block with an altar. It was there when we moved in. Made it easy to give directions. Here is my first born son on the altar.
I was not sacrificing him–my sister's super artistic professional photographer friend insisted on taking this photo because it would look "unique". I don't know about unique–but perhaps they don't study the story of Abraham and Issac in Photographer school the same way we do in Minister school. Anyway, at Photographer Guy's insistence we took this picture, after clearing off all the string. ("The older boys like to tie one another to it" I explained in embarrassment. As though this explanation made our family appear any less, um, unique). Now I have a keepsake.
2) The labels. The old house has "character", which is realtor speak for "stuff breaks". I have character, too, which is me-speak for "stuff stays broken" because I am not what you would call "handy". I did rewire a light in the dining room last year, but haven't yet worked up the courage to flip the breaker back on.
That's not a joke. Anyway, since I have character, instead of fixing stuff I label it in a witty fashion.
As you can see, labelling is just as good as fixing, (unless you want to see things when you are in the dining room).
Which you probably don't, because I am not much of a cook, either.
Actually, I'm a fairly good cook. I used to say that I like to cook, but then I realized that actually I just like to eat, and cooking is the fastest route to eating that I know of that doesn't involve a Drive Thru window and an annoying 16 year old kid explaining to me that you're supposed to have a car to use a drive through and… what is up with your bike?
It's a cargo bike. All the coolest people have sold their Mercedes Convertibles to get them.
Because that's approximately how much they cost.
But they carry way more stuff than a wimpy sports car. I carried a dining set home on the cargo bike one time. It was a folding dining set. I thought it was great, but Gary thought that 1) it was clearly meant for children, 2) it was about 50 years old, and 3) the fire engine red paint that covered it was clearly loaded with lead. And I said I could take off the old paint and refinish it, and he said "Do we have lights that work in the dining room yet?" and I said "You're right, good point. The paint job doesn't really matter so long as I don't flip that breaker back" and he said "Lead paint is dangerous, you know" and I got out my label maker.
Of course, nobody can see to read in our dining room… …well, not in the old one.
We are settling happily into the new house. Yes, happily. Even Gary–you can ask him. Everyone keeps saying "Are you sure Gary will be happy in that house?" as though he is the Crown Prince of Snoof-Land or something. And, lest you think that we are casting aspersions upon the Snoofiness of House Formerly Owned By Loyal Reader Who Is Not Named Carol, I should mention that not-Carol was the very first person to ask that question. Several times.
It's a silly question, because a home is not created by stainless steel appliances and granite counter tops. It isn't the house that matters, it's the love that's inside it.
By "love" of course, I mean piles of Lego, broken appliances, and witty labels.