Suspicious Move
We recently moved from a 1931 Spanish-style house in Glendale, California, to a 2022 house in Parker, Colorado. Our new house was custom-built for a man who decided to sell after six months of living here. Supposedly, he’s now living in another suburb. Did we question why he moved away so quickly? No. We were happy to live in a house of this century.
Our new house has an amazing design feature that hadn’t been invented in the 1930s–an attached garage. Only two steps lead into the house. Our Spanish house, while charming, had thirty-four steps to the front door. In seven years of living there, only one trick-or-treater knocked on our door. Not surprisingly, there were major struggles hauling groceries up to the kitchen. Giant jars of pickles, gallons of soy milk, and all products from Costco were out of the question. On days we didn’t feel energetic, we bought only marshmallows and potato chips. On normal days our purchases included packages of Ramen noodles and dried beans. We also ate out. Delivery people left our packages down below. Because an adult must sign for alcohol, bottles of wine from our wine club were carried up to the front door. The FedEx man became one of our best friends.
Now that we’ve had time to think things over, we’re suspicious as to why the man who sold us our new house, vamoosed. He left no forwarding address. Did he realize the construction was shoddy, and we would face homeowner disasters? Was he a CIA operative? Or maybe, an organized crime figure in the Witness Protection Program? Are there bodies buried in our yard?
Seemingly, he planned to stay awhile. He installed high-end appliances, some of which are a little annoying. The dishwasher greets me with a seven-note welcome song every time I open the door to add dirty dishes. The washer and dryer each play a symphony when their cycles are complete. What’s the etiquette here? Must I applaud? Will their feelings be hurt if I interrupt their musical performances to retrieve my washed or dried clothes? My new refrigerator beeps or squeals in decidedly unmusical language if I leave the door ajar for a few moments. Frankly, I prefer my old, mute appliances who did their jobs but didn’t try to entertain me.
The guy before us also went to the trouble of planting trees, shrubs, and flowers. Anyone as versed in botany as I know that you can’t grow a shade tree in six months. If you plan to stay a few years, then go ahead and plant. As it turns out, the mystery man’s plantings make us even more suspicious of him. We know his favorite flowers were daisies, as there are clumps of them planted in both the front and back yards. Deceased people are said to be “pushing up daisies.” Are these flowers clues as to where the bodies are buried? After the blooming season is over, we’ll start digging.
Our predecessor also installed shades at every window despite his apparent plan to leave. Clearly, something secretive was going on. I might suspect he was making adult movies in the basement, but there is no home theater or even a screen. Card tables stashed in the furnace room and several decks of cards could indicate some kind of illegal gambling operation. Any day now, card sharks could come knocking on our door looking for a game.
When we’re not worrying about why the previous owner left, we can’t help appreciating the bountiful number of electrical outlets in our new house. They make obsolete our box full of extension cords that once wound around our old house connecting things that people in 1931 didn’t have–computers, routers, and Alexa.
We also appreciate our double-pane windows, which don’t breathe or rattle like our thin, single panes did in the Spanish house. With Southern California’s mild, Mediterranean climate, a little air whistling through the house was refreshing. If we had those same drafty windows in Colorado, a blizzard howling through the house would not be as welcome.
The truth is, we’re bonding with our woodsy, hilly neighborhood. We see deer every day. This summer we had two does, each with twin fawns, grazing on lawns and flowers. (Roses were their favorites.) Wild turkeys abound. They feel so safe here that they raise their chicks in our yards. In the picture below, Mama Turkey, after looking both ways, paraded her young ones across a busy local street.
Despite all the things we like about our new house, we’re still waiting for doom. Rather than serenading us, our too-smart appliances will rise up and take control of the house. Or the basement will flood and leave behind a treacherous mold. An old tree in the backyard that was struck by lightning in the past is bound to crash through our roof. Whatever happens, no doubt the home warranty will have expired the previous day!