Well, that was a nice little enforced hiatus. Let me catch my breath. Now I know what people mean when they say a whirlwind of activity! Over the last three weeks it feels like I've been picked up, whirled around, and bludgeoned by ceaseless activities, sensations, and emotions.
About four weeks ago, Seth got a job offer from a company that makes the machines that manufacture computer parts. Said company has an office in Hillsboro, Oregon, less than two hours from Seth's folks. Seth immediately accepted and offered to start work three weeks later. As he put it, employment is good. So in three weeks, we set out to pack up our old house, fix it up, list it as a rental, find a new place, take leave of our friends, and move so that Seth could start work this week.
We almost did it. Seth is at work. I am typing in a nice little three bedroom townhouse in Hillsboro, and most of our stuff is here with us, unpacked and in some semblance of put away. The house we left behind is not ready for rental yet, but three out of five ain't bad.
Now that I've had a few days to reflect on it, I think Hillsboro is going to be a pleasant place to live. Each time we move, I get to reflect again that each place is different. Saratoga Springs was older and more refined than Sunnyside. Bremerton was more compact and varied than Sioux Center. And now Hillsboro is going to be something else again. My first impressions is that it is very suburban, clean, and quiet. There are blocks upon blocks of apartment and townhouse complexes with ornamental trees, wrought iron lampposts, and names like Lion's Gate and Palladia. A quarter of a mile in any direction will take me to a shopping center, and fifty feet takes me to a tiny city park that manages to satisfy moms with kids, nature hikers, and evening basketballers all at once. It's a good place to be, but I think it's going to take a while for it to feel like home.
For one thing, I'm not used to quiet, and it's very quiet. There must be at least 500 people in our complex, and yet I have yet to encounter anyone but the dog-walker when I take Max and Boogaloo to the park or the dumpster or the mailbox. I don't even hear voices outside the windows until 5 pm. It's kind of unnerving, especially when I find myself making noise. I find myself imagining some kind of silence compact that I haven't been asked to sign yet. There doesn't seem to be any neighborly curiousity. Sometimes there doesn't seem to be any neighbors. Maybe they're all just used to seeing people come and go. Maybe they're all just thoroughly involved in their own lives, whereas I, in my disrupted state, am trying to reestablish mine.
I have to get used to the notion of being a tenant again too. It's too weird to think that I have to call someone to change my lightbulbs. I don't have to cut my grass or rake my leaves, but I do have to observe quiet hours and prevent mildew at any cost. I have to walk to the central mailbox to send and receive letters, carry my trash to the dumpster every two days, and walk my dog four times a day to keep the carpets clean. And a townhouse is a new experience too. Both bathrooms and the laundryroom are on the top of three floors. I anticipate having very toned legs by this time next year.
