We’re moving again. We made a deal verbally yesterday afternoon and get our keys in a week.
This makes twice in a year. I don’t know why it bothers me at all. I mean, besides the expense and the soul-sucking terribleness of being uprooted (seriously; not having a kitchen of my own and a sewing space gets old for me – quick) I suppose in the deep recesses of my mind I worry the Hogaclan will end up that family that “moves all the time”. Which, according to people I’ve known who grew up that way, seems to be sometimes a happily-lived and sometimes a hated experience. Gee, like just about every other lifestyle people cite from their upbringing.
Our kids helped select our new home; they voiced opinions on everything I drove by and walked through everything we walked through and peeked through windows of some laughably slum-tastic dwellings (actually, it’s not really that funny). The house-owner S. seems like he knows what he’s doing but our lifestyles are near unrelateable to one another; he owns many properties, runs a construction business, self-described himself as “top-ten wealth of Grays Harbor”, and when I told him about our laying hens he was shocked into an uncharacteristic silence with a dear-in-headlights slow blink (why would you have chickens? “For eggs,” my husband speaks up helpfully). S. approved us on the spot in part because he could tell we weren’t strung out on crack or anything (it’s true! We’re not! P.S. for poor-whites in Grays Harbor the drug of choice is meth, just FYI) – forgoing, I shite thee not, the $80 credit check and reference checks and $200 non-refundable deposit per animal (yes, these are all real expenses of the property management groups who aren’t slum-lords – and I’m not even getting into the expenses of utility set-up and moving trucks should you elect to use one).* As long as nothing goes wrong (insert drum-roll or sound of shattering glass) we’ll be moving our asses to 1st street shortly.
Probably the only thing that really has me temporarily unsorted is that with moving again our Christmas gift scene is derailed. It’s hard enough for me to get organized enough to buy or make gifts for all my loved ones. Every year I leave a person or two out and I feel like an ass. Looks like that’ll be a new Christmas tradition.
* And by the way; one thing I discovered this time around is how very many, many slumlords we have in Aberdeen and Hoquiam. It seems like a lucrative business – maybe we should go into it eventually. If, you know, I can get around the whole morally bankrupt and depressing aspects of it.