Settling in

The best way to appreciate all the little creature comforts of home is to take them all away, and then, each day, give one back to yourself. We moved into our house a week ago, and for three or four days, we had only what we had brought in the car. So we slept on an air mattress, cooked in a single pot, and ate with the two forks I had packed. It was delightful when the pods arrived with our belongings, but since Andrew and I are both working full time, we only have a few hours to unpack each night. (And since I'm working at a brand new job, I use all my brain power there and have no energy left for household chores when I get home.) The unpacking is happening slowly, and each time I unpack a new item, I am delighted to see it again. Oh, clean towels, what a treat! And the next day I may discover a colander, so that I no longer have to drain the pasta by holding the lid tightly to the pan. On Saturday we discovered the bed sheets, and I was so happy I could have sung a song. I had no idea that sleeping on a sheet-less bed for a week would be so awful, but it turned out to be an unbearable symbol of an unwelcoming apartment.

The apartment is slowly turning into a home, and thereby becoming a bit more delightful each day. The trains still roar by, a few hundred yards from our front door, but they no longer wake me (or the dog) each night. We've purchased shelves, so there's somewhere to put the mountain of kitchen gear I own. I won't feel really settled until the boxes are all unpacked, but it's definitely a good start.