Tonight I will be spending my first night in the house that I bought more than four months ago.
It's not that I'm moving in yet. That's still a while off. Right now I'm undergoing a household reclamation effort that will be familiar to anyone who has read Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. It's a purely practical matter: days are growing shorter and colder, there is much work that must be completed by next May 31 (at the risk of losing my homeowner's insurance), and it takes me an eternity to get myself out of bed and across town to work on the house on a Saturday. It will be much easier (in theory) to simply roll out of bed, roll down the steps, and roll out the front door to begin this weekend's task, wire-brushing and repainting the wrought-iron railing around the porch. (This is one of the tasks specified by my insurance company; for some reason, they were untroubled by the rusty wrought-iron fence that runs along the front of the house. I would rather work on that, but as far as the insurance company is concerned, the porch railing is the higher priority.)
That's the plan, anyway. The practical consideration of breakfast just hit me. Maybe some cold Pop-Tarts and an apple - I don't want to tax the electrical system with a toaster just yet. I may make some tea, too, which means I may blow the house up by using the antique gas stove. I sure hope that doesn't happen.
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