So, last night when I was done pulling all the awful overgrown...flowers? weeds? (if you can't tell, they don't get to stay) I came in to open the garage door so I could stealthily throw it all in the yard waste bin before anyone accused me of ripping up some heirloom flower or something. I pushed the button to the garage door opener and I proceeded to walk into the garage, forgetting there were two stairs leading to the garage floor. As I fell, I was momentarily confused about why I was hurtling through the air so ungracefully; it's a wonder I didn't knock myself unconscious on the fender of the van. It did get me thinking about all the hazards of changing addresses, though. More examples:
1. Last weekend I was making a hostess gift of Sunday morning banana bread to bring to Saturday night dinner with some old Montana friends who are also assigned here. I can make perfect banana bread one handed, with my eyes shut, standing on my head. However, in minute fifty-two—just eight minutes to go—I wiped the handle of the oven with a washcloth and accidentally bumped the door lock (which I didn't realize was there). On this strange oven from the late 1980s or early 1990s, apparently the lock will not UNlock until the oven is completely cooled. Nice. Gina got tulips from Albertson's instead.
2. There are four times as many light switches in this house as we are used to. Some of them are easy to figure out, and some of them make me wonder if I'm remotely electrocuting neighbors when I switch them on and off, because they sure don't seem to be doing anything in our house. And one of them turns the power off to whatever is plugged into its partner-in-crime-outlet. Like the computer. When the power is cut to my computer incorrectly it takes exactly three weeks off my life. We've since moved the computer to a different location, and now it's only the TV/cable that turns off when the tricky lightswitch is flipped. I am considering using some AC rub-ons to place just underneath the switch that say NO TOUCH.
3. The first week we were here, Maddie started hollering about her ACT fluoride rinse shooting all over the bathroom. I hollered back to quit squeezing it so hard, and that made her holler worse about how she waaaaaaaaasn't doooooooooing anythiiiiiiiiiiiing to it. I envisioned her squeezing it to show off for her sisters and was completely annoyed by how much was all over the bathroom sink, the counter, the floor. Until today, when I opened up a different container of ACT rinse downstairs, and it started shooting out the top all over the sink (I, at least, have the presence of mind to aim my exploding fluoride rinse over the sink. Also, don't think too much about how I haven't used my rinse in more than three weeks.) Altitude change. I apologized to Maddie for accusing her of tomfoolery in the bathroom.
4. Every single time I walk into our bedroom a wall anchor left behind by the previous tenants tricks me into thinking a giant insect is waiting to prey on me. Every. single. time. I need to just get a ladder and get rid of it. Which leads me to my last example...
5. When you move, not everything has a home right away. It takes a while to carefully reposition every single one of your possessions somewhere new, and a lot of appropriating things for X room that once belonged in Y room occurs. And sometimes things just stay where they initially land until it becomes normal, say, to walk around the stereo subwoofer that came out of a box to rest next to the piano, jutting slightly into the path of hallway traffic. For three weeks. Until today, when I saved us from the hazard of potentially stubbing a toe on it at 3 am by finally moving it to the basement.
It isn't just me, right? : )