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By which standard, this place is 62.5% home.
I'm typing this from the kitchen peninsula of my new abode in New Hampshire. The dining table is on order, and the new computer desk has yet to be acquired, but really it's hard to beat a comfy bar stool that is only steps away from the shiny new coffee maker.
After two decades spent in upstate New York, I'd decided it was time for a change. I traded in my 1950s ranch house for a brand new tri-level townhouse, left a perennially depressed area for a growing New England college town. Doing so came at a price, naturally, but I believe it will be worth it.
I've owned this place for ten days and been living here for five. The bulk of the unpacking is done, but I still need to set up the new home office. I can't fill the last three bookcases until the new furniture arrives so I can figure out just where the bookcases will go. And as I settle in to the new place the list of projects gets longer--each time I get one thing done I discover two other things that I need to do. Luckily I have good friends who say things like "I'll be over this afternoon to install those shelves for you" or come over to spend the day unpacking and then take me out to dinner at a place that serves wine by the chicken. Seriously, at the end of a long, hard day, when the chicken arrived at the table, I hugged it and named it my new bestest friend ever.
And while I'm on the topic of friends, I miss my friends in Binghamton, dreadfully. I keep thinking of things I want show them, or do with them, and then realize that they are three hundred miles away. Having friends here eases the transition, but it's still hard.
I miss other things. Wegmans. Having a mall closer than an hour's drive away. Having a local TV station with a local weather forecast.
But the negatives are more than offset by the positives. There's a sense of coming home, of returning to the New England that I grew up in, before that part of Connecticut devolved into suburban sprawl. The people I've met here have been invariably friendly, from my new neighbors to the clerks at the co-op. It's a small town, yes, but it's a vibrant community, with plenty to do, and I'm looking forward to exploring the area. It's a minor adventure, a paltry thing really, when compared to the experiences of immigrant ancestors, but I claim it as my own.
I'm typing this from the kitchen peninsula of my new abode in New Hampshire. The dining table is on order, and the new computer desk has yet to be acquired, but really it's hard to beat a comfy bar stool that is only steps away from the shiny new coffee maker.
After two decades spent in upstate New York, I'd decided it was time for a change. I traded in my 1950s ranch house for a brand new tri-level townhouse, left a perennially depressed area for a growing New England college town. Doing so came at a price, naturally, but I believe it will be worth it.
I've owned this place for ten days and been living here for five. The bulk of the unpacking is done, but I still need to set up the new home office. I can't fill the last three bookcases until the new furniture arrives so I can figure out just where the bookcases will go. And as I settle in to the new place the list of projects gets longer--each time I get one thing done I discover two other things that I need to do. Luckily I have good friends who say things like "I'll be over this afternoon to install those shelves for you" or come over to spend the day unpacking and then take me out to dinner at a place that serves wine by the chicken. Seriously, at the end of a long, hard day, when the chicken arrived at the table, I hugged it and named it my new bestest friend ever.
And while I'm on the topic of friends, I miss my friends in Binghamton, dreadfully. I keep thinking of things I want show them, or do with them, and then realize that they are three hundred miles away. Having friends here eases the transition, but it's still hard.
I miss other things. Wegmans. Having a mall closer than an hour's drive away. Having a local TV station with a local weather forecast.
But the negatives are more than offset by the positives. There's a sense of coming home, of returning to the New England that I grew up in, before that part of Connecticut devolved into suburban sprawl. The people I've met here have been invariably friendly, from my new neighbors to the clerks at the co-op. It's a small town, yes, but it's a vibrant community, with plenty to do, and I'm looking forward to exploring the area. It's a minor adventure, a paltry thing really, when compared to the experiences of immigrant ancestors, but I claim it as my own.