Keep Calm and Carry On

We've moved.

Remember all those barn photos? I now live in the house on the same property. It's only 10 minutes outside the city, but, man, it's suburbia.
A rather sudden move, too. There was a random violent incident - shaken and some nasty cuts and bruises, otherwise fine save for the unfortunate fact I have to don long sleeves in August heat for a few weeks - and I decided that maybe I don't want to live in the city anymore. Not if I can't remember all my self-defense tactics when, you know, I actually need them. Because that's the key, really. When you think about it.

Also, because what I was paying to live in the city place was dwarfed by what I could - and did - rent it out for. Which is good because the job situation is uncertain; bad because I had to end that sentence with a preposition and I'm feeling uncomfortable. Moving on. On. Moving on to another subject.

I am fairly certain that I am the whiskey tango of the new neighborhood.
You see, I have a great big front porch here and I'm not afraid to use it. It took me less than a week to figure out that while everyone else has cute little wrought-iron chairs and tables on their front porches, they are there purely for decoration. Jack and I sometimes like to sit outside with a glass of wine and a bone, respectively, and watch the fireflies on the front lawn. Because we have a front lawn now, not just a tiny backyard between the house and the alley. Back to sitting on the front porch: traaaahh-shy. "I guess it could be worse," I imagine the neighbors whispering to each other.

Also, I think this is one of two duplexes in town. I always live in a duplex: let someone else pay for the mortgage! And I like knowing that, in an emergency, there are people around. But I digress. Do you know what "duplex" means in a town like this?
Renters. "Ahhhh! Run them outta here! Housing density! They'll invade our top-rated public schools!"

But this barn? It has always made me happy. And now it is in my backyard. And it comes with bunnies. This little one is out of her baby stage and about halfway to adulthood, judging by the size of her mama.

I'd take you inside the barn, but it is all rented out to tenants storing who-knows-what in there. My imagination says "go ahead and snoop; c'mon, it'll be fun" and then my brain says "you will never sleep ever again if you discover a box packed with alien body parts."*

Ok, I'm actually going to take you inside. Let's go.

But no peeking under anything draped in burlap. And if you see anything out of the Mutter Museum**, please, don't tell me. I live here now.

This is...well, I don't know what it is. A hook. And some kind of ghostly purple apparition.
Ok, this side of the barn is not very exciting. I rent out half of the first floor to two people, and the remaining half of the first floor plus the entire second floor to someone else.*** The latter portion is superduper cool, but I'm an irresponsible landlord who forgot to obtain keys to that tenant's padlock. Right now that is #548 on the to-do list. I'll get to it. Why? Because the cool part has, well, cool stuff. Antique chicken coops. Antique ladders. And something I'm going to show you when it is framed.

*Why, yes, I did read a lot of RL Stine and Stephen King as a child! Why do you ask?

** Pretty much the coolest museum ever. I love that these abnormalities are presented as just that; the mandated pre-exhibit lecture emphasizes that the whole purpose of the museum is to learn, explore, and educate - not to point fingers and laugh at the "freaks" of nature.

***You might have too much stuff when you require 75% of a barn to store it in. In which to store. Just sayin'. I'll happily take your check, though.

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Usefulness of the day: free bowling!