"Be still my lionheart! / A revolution ready to pounce / All passioneers / Up and out of the house!"
Dusty and I have received a three-month notice for "termination of tenancy". Our landlady's son and his new wife are taking over residency, so we have to be out of our house by noon on September 30. Edmonton's rental market is craziness right now and we know people at work who are scrambling to find places to live. A couple of weeks ago, we flirted with the idea of buying a home, especially when our friend put his nice house up for sale. It's quite tempting, but we want to be able to bike or walk to work and the big blue house is simply too far away.
We also have to decide whether we will be here long enough to justify buying a house. We are on Year Three of our current Five Year Plan, which we had dubbed the Canada Years. The question of whether or not the Canada Years will continue merits a deeper conversation. We probably should've bought a house when we first got here, but what if that first winter in this arctic tundra had crushed me? What if I didn't get my great job at the same company where Dusty is kicking ass? What if we never met all our adorable, lovely friends? Buying a house in haste is as advisable as starting a land war in Asia. Or going against a Sicilian when death is on the line.
When we got the notice yesterday, I was rage personified. I stomped around this house that I felt was being taken away from us, this house that we had loved as our own for three years. All the new vocabulary I've learned from watching Deadwood finally came in handy. I am quite sure I left my definitive aural prints behind. Tell me, Brady Bunch House, will your new caretakers paint your walls with expletives as colorful?
I wouldn't have been so mad if it hadn't been for the lousy timing. We already have a fairly hectic summer, both personally and professionally, and the notice just felt like one last swift kick in the ovarios from whichever Universal Deity is in charge of rochambeaus. Seriously, can we please stop with the kicking? It's not nice.
And then, this morning, music soothed the savage breast. I walked to work under gorgeous Alberta blue skies, listening to Sarah Slean. She wrote her latest album, Day One, after her house burned down. Hola, Perspective! My house did not burn down. My house was not swallowed up in a flood, earthquake, or other natural disaster. My health can be considered in most circles to be excellent. My family is healthy and relatively sane. My hunny and I have each other. Together we have weathered far, far worse things than moving house.
Maybe we'll find a rental home that suits us better than the Brady Bunch House. I never did like its broken glass stucco siding. Maybe we'll decide to buy a home and extend the Canada Years. I am a huge fan of socialized medicine. Besides, I already have a new home, right here on the interwebs.
Aloha! It is Day One.