Today was the first day I spent more than just sleeping-hours at the new house. I’ve been unpacking boxes, sweeping, mopping, naming spiders (Boris, Ivan, Andrei, Sasha and Petya) and taking occasional breaks to watch the thunderstorm that rolled through since about 8 this morning, so that makes 15 hours. The end isn’t really in sight, although I think I can see the corner where the end will be in sight. I’m at the inverse of that phase I hate so much every time I pack to move – random crap in boxes that make no sense.
So anyway, I’ve been listening to Lady Gaga (I am going to be such an embarrassing mom to my someday kid(s)) and organizing and trying to figure out why it was that I let myself live on urban city streets for the last 15 years. Because finally, after immersing myself for all of those years in East Oakland, mid-city Los Angeles and upper Manhattan (with a brief break in Astoria, which was a pleasant break but still awfully urban what with Con Ed right down the street and all), I can open my front door and experience this:
I feel a tight coil in my heart unwinding with every hour I spend here. Here is a place I can call home – something I haven’t had in so long let’s just not talk about that any more. Here is the place where Raven and I can start fresh, without awkward memories stashed in corners – and without neighbors who blast their terrible (and I mean terrible) music at all hours of every day and night.
That yard across the way is the home of a seriously large groundhog who is very nearly fearless. I have seen her trundling around all over that yard, even coming within a few feet of the street to… do whatever groundhogs do. Here, look:
What are groundhog things? I assume bug-eating, digging holes, sniffing things. The yoozh. Anyway, I’m digging it. The groundhog is icing on a very good cake.