Sunday Morning Post (V.3, #16) – 21 Years Here

It was on this date in 2000 that we realized our longtime dream of home ownership and forever debt.  We moved here from a short-term rental arrangement in an apartment, and the less said about that experience the better.

On this date, we moved all of our furniture and packed boxes into the Cape Cod we’ve called home since.  Many of the boxes filled the side porch for a few months as we slowly unpacked and distributed the contents around to the other floors and rooms.  At that time, we shared our lives with a nearly all white cat, Sydney.  He was all white save for a black tail and two black spots on the top of his head which made him look like he had a separate pair of eyes.  We’ve had six other cats since, but he was the one Warrior Queen had when we met.  In many ways, he was the cat that set the bar for the others. 

On that date, we had not transported any groceries and did not really know our way around our new kitchen yet.  We knew the refrigerator was a Norge, yes one of the fabled Norge appliances.  Fortunately, we did not have to call a repairman with the obligatory Dan Aykroyd butt crack, because everything was in working order when we moved in.

On the recommendation of the realtor who sold us our new digs we ordered cheesesteaks from a local pizza shop.   This became our tradition on the anniversary of our moving in.  We have cheesesteak sandwiches every year since on this date as befitting the occasion of moving back to our home town.  We would order from the same pizza shop until about 10 years ago when I accidentally noticed that this pizza shop pre-cooked the meat and only warmed it up in a microwave when they got an order.  Oh, the horror.  Any Philadelphian will tell you that this method is nothing short of sacrilege.  

Well, maybe not sacrilege per se, but there was definitely nothing sacred about the language Warrior Queen used when I told her what I saw.

We had no problem finding another pizza shop.  There is an Italian take out virtually on every corner in this section of the country.  I can’t say for sure, but I’m guessing it’s a zoning ordinance that requires a pizza shop for every ten citizens in the suburbs.  It’s not so bad as long as they probably cook their steaks to order on the grill.

Otherwise, there will be hell to pay.

Anyway, the house has survived the two of us — middle-agers slowly creeping towards our senior years — and 7 cats.  Our abode is looking worn in a few spots, but we have every intention of repairing the scratches in our walls, possibly replacing the gutter which broke down some years ago and touch up a few other rough looking spots.  We don’t mind having a shelter that looks “lived in”, but we’ll draw the line at “white trash disheveled”. 

(Thank you for reading. WQ is recovering well from her surgery.  She survived not having her morning cup of coffee on the day of the procedure.  Thank goodness it was only one day.  Mankind may never know how close it came to total annihilation when WQ does not get her “happy juice”.)