It’s 10:30 PM.
I’m sitting in my new home writing this post. It’s been a long, long day, but I am home. I’ve heard trains going by off and on all day. I’ve heard the sound of doves calling from a huge old pine tree about 1/2 a block away.
I met my neighbor in Apt 4. He is a member of the city council. I did not meet, but saw my neighbors in the other two apartments. My landlords noted that Apartment 1 is a woman, a bit older than myself, who commutes by train north each day. She has a cat. I want to be friends with the cat. Apartment 2 is a Lebanese man who recently added a Brazilian girlfriend? to his home. I’ve also been told that he’s rather grumpy. The word curmudgeon would seem to fit. He doesn’t speak very nicely to his friend either, from some of the loud, rather commanding words that came through my open windows as I unpacked. I hear that he is moving, maybe. He’s been “moving” for about 3 months now. It’s a long story and one that will likely be an ongoing story.
This place is quirky. A mix of old with splashes of updates tossed in. For instance, the windows are all old, single pane types. The light fixtures in the dining area and kitchen are all retro-ish 1950’s style while the over-the-mirror light in the bathroom is exactly the same one I had in the home I just sold. The kitchen has new subway tiles but original cupboards. There is no carpet anywhere, only laminate–one style in the kitchen and bedroom, another throughout the living area and bathroom. Area rugs are on top of my shopping list, right after food. I think I have a few eggs, some OJ, a half jar of mayonnaise, a little wine, and two donuts left over from the coffee and donuts that Alison brought with her this morning. I literally have to start from scratch again, but I had a moment, in the midst of being sweaty and hot and tired where I stopped, looked at Alison and knew that this was right.
“This is really starting to feel like home,” I said, and I meant it. My welcome mat is on my doorstep, I am still surrounded by mostly empty boxes, I have a feeling that I’m going to be rearranging my cupboards a few times until I get them just right, but I feel as if I know this place if that makes sense. It feels like mine. It feels like home.