You guys, last week was like Christmas. Like one of those kitschy stores that try to push Christmas in July. Last week was my Christmas in July.
Why? Because we moved into our new awesomesauce house that we’ll be renting for the next year while the owners live and work in east Africa.
Surreal is the only word.
The night before we moved in I came over to the house to bring over a load of our stuff. I left The Wild Things at the apartment with the Husband so I was all by myself. The house was clean and quiet (two things that it will never be again, which is partly what made the whole thing feel so dreamlike). I floated through through every room, opened every drawer and cabinet, sat on every couch.
It’s just so weird (good weird) to move into someones home. Our arrangement isn’t typical, it’s rather intimate considering we don’t really know the other family very well. They needed someone to rent their house with all of their stuff in it. We needed to rent a house and also … happened to not own any stuff. We found each other by the most random of circumstances (a reader of the blog connected us through Craigslist).
I think our landlord said it best. Written in an email during a layover in London, he wrote:
“It is one of life’s serendipities that our families can be a blessing to each other in all of this.”
Yeah. That pretty much sums it up.
Everything we need has been provided, seemingly by happenstance.
There are books on the shelves, dishes in the cabinets, cereal in the pantry, butter in the fridge, board games in the closet, cleaners under the sink, balls in the garage.
That alone would make it a bountiful bohemian blessing, but it’s more than that. It’s personal. There are so many things that we left behind in Georgia that I really didn’t want to. It was silly stuff mostly – but it was my silly stuff. Yet one after another we released our emotional attachment to our favorite things.
So it’s very nearly floored me to see many of these things reappearing in our new home. Remember when I was being whiney/superficial and was all “Meh. How will people know how cool I am without my bohemian decor that I’ve picked up around the worlddddd.”
I had to forlornly pack up all of my African art and unstuff and store my African leather “poofs”. Which was a walloping sack of nostalgia, btw, because they were stuffed with things from years past, like German shopping bags and a deflated Welcome Baby balloon from when Six Year Old was born. Sigh.
BLAM. The new house has similar ones.
There are, literally, African table cloths in the closet.
It’s a little emotionally overwhelming, honestly. I just feel so stinkin’ divinely cared for. Or something. There are a few too many “coincidences” to make them . . . coincidences. Which is oddly comforting.
It makes it a little easier not to freak out yet about tuition and rent and bills and . . .
Seriously though, there have been times recently where I swear I feel my Grinchy heart growing in my chest. And it’s a good feeling.