Living Together Signals a Change in Ways

Most of my adult life, I've only lived with cats. I last lived with another human nearly 20 years ago. Even back then when I was considerably younger, I was accused of being  too set in my ways to tolerate the day to day presence of another person in my home.

I had two roommates in college. College roommates are supposed to help you learn tolerance and compromise. All I learned was that I didn't want roommates.

Nevertheless, after a year of dating, Clyde has moved to my address. There is additional furniture in the house and an unusually full refrigerator.

What's happened to change my mind? For one thing, Clyde spends so much time at my house anyway that he might as well move in. My neighbors already assumed we lived together.

I do have some questions about cohabiting.

Forget about whether the toothpaste is squeezed from the middle or which way the toilet paper is loaded. What I need to know is, how do people who live together share a DVR? Is there room to record both persons' programs? What if one watches something but doesn't know whether the other has watched it - how does the former know whether to delete it?  Erasing Cosmos too soon could actually ruin the relationship.

Another issue which concerns me: step-parents are often resented by the children. I have the opposite problem with my non-human dependents. Far from viewing Clyde as an evil step-daddy, the cats prefer him to me. No, my feelings aren't hurt - just because I  have fed, kitty littered, paid vet bills for, given pills to, worried about, and generally taken care of them most of their lives. When Clyde and I are both sitting on the sofa, whose lap do you suppose they go to first? Not mine.

There are other adjustments to be made when the boyfriend moves in. For example, I can't put the remote on the other side of the bed like I used to. And it's more difficult to secretly watch Steam Room Stories (guys in towels) on YouTube. And even though Clyde is not judgmental, I feel guilty when he sees me eating junk food.

Of course there are advantages to having Clyde around.

I now eat fish occasionally, and it's not always disgusting.

Someone else did the laundry last weekend!

Also, Clyde has reorganized the kitchen closet. I can now locate the double-A batteries. And who knew I had two tape measures? Last time I looked, I couldn't even find one.

Clyde likes my cooking. He makes coffee early in the morning. He folds things that I just wad up. He even has an iron. I haven't had one in decades.

The other day, we went to Safeway instead of King Soopers. Who says I'm set in my ways?

I just have to figure out how to get my cats back.

Contemplating Life in Distant States

I love California. It truly has everything: obviously the coast and great weather, but also mountains, farms, and desert; big cities, small towns, beautiful countryside. On the coast, it's always spring with temperatures that range from cool to warm. There's nothing like the sound of pounding surf as you gaze from the pier up to the mountains; palm trees silhouetted against the hills as wave after wave crashes into the shore.

California truly has it all. Every time I visit, I ask myself why I don't live there.

So naturally, Clyde and I recently discussed moving to Minnesota.

Yep, you read correctly. Circumstances at Clyde's job were pointing to an opportunity in Minneapolis. When invited to visit, we went to check it out for ourselves.

Minnesota is no slouch as states go. It also has big cities, small towns, and beautiful countryside. While not particularly noted for mountains, there are lots of lakes and forests in which to experience nature. There's no ocean, but Lake Superior is certainly big and wavy.

The only problem with Minnesota really is just that it's so terribly freaking cold. Everyone we met seemed shell shocked by this past winter's extremely low temperatures. I've never seen an entire state so weary of snow. Even a local TV meteorologist, typically good natured and upbeat, humorlessly cursed the few inches that had fallen as we arrived. With exasperation, he described how the snow had all melted, only to reappear. He couldn't guarantee that it wouldn't happen again before spring finally asserted itself.

I remember living in eastern Nebraska when the snow stayed on the ground all winter and it never warmed up and you could go for weeks without seeing the sun. Ice on the road never melted, it just wore out if you were lucky. It can only be colder in states further north.

I've been to Minnesota many times. I like Minneapolis very much. It features the advantages of a fine city, including the arts and liberal minded people. The airport is conveniently located in town (unlike some other airports I could name ... Denver International) with light rail connecting the terminals to downtown. I already have friends there. I could live there.

Oh, and Saint Paul is very nice too.

I'm sure Saint Paul always appreciates being mentioned as a casual afterthought.

But in the end, the moon and stars realigned with the juxtapositions of work and home. It looks like we're staying put for the time being.

At least I am.

Clyde actually will be relocating soon. He'll be moving in with me and the cats.

New Home Continues to Build Character

Friday on my lunch break, I wandered around the Home Depot garden center with a glazed look in my eye. I picked out some heavy duty work gloves, but I wasn't sure what kind of little diggy thing to buy for planting flowers. I don't even know what those diggy things are called. I also needed a big clipper thing for cutting back dead branches. Have you ever been to the Home Depot garden department? It's huge! Completely overwhelming.

I appreciate a nice green space. I love a good stroll in the garden or a romp on the grass. I enjoy seeing trees and flowers and nice landscaping. But I'm an "appreciator," not a "doer." I'm nearly as handy with garden tools as I am with regular tools, which is to say, not very handy.

As a teenager I mowed the lawn for the family home. I hated it. I sneezed and sniffled over row after row of grass, only to have my dad tell me what a terrible job I'd done. I wasn't good at edges, apparently, or something. I never quite got it.

What I did very consciously know was that when I grew up and lived on my own, I would NEVER mow a lawn. I would live in apartments and condominiums where that was done for me. For that matter, I looked forward to the time when I would never again lift a snow shovel in winter.

I've completely succeeded. I haven't mowed a lawn since the 1980s and I've only shoveled snow once in my adulthood, and that was to keep my mother from going out and doing it herself because the snow removal guy was late.

Last week, I gazed out the large picture window in my new living room. The shrubs were looking pretty mangy and the weeds were starting to proliferate between the front door and the patio. I wondered when the lawn and garden service would be out to clean it up. Since my house is legally a condo with "common area" upkeep reportedly provided by the homeowners' association, I just assumed this would be taken care of.

As I looked around at neighboring condos, I noticed that the vegetation in front of some looked very tidy and well groomed.

At what point do you suppose the obvious started to dawn on me?

I excel at denial. Plus, I've been busy dealing with the inside of the house, like deciding where to put towel racks in the bathroom (there are none) and what color to paint the bedroom. After about three days of a little thought percolating in the back of my mind, it finally occurred to me that I might be responsible for my own landscaping.

Rage grappled with panic for control over my response to the situation. Rage pooled around the growing list of frustrations with this place and how some of these "little" details should have been but were not disclosed to me before closing. The panic was simpler: I simply didn't have a clue what to do with those half dead bushes out front. Paving them over seemed the best option.

I sought out a friendly neighbor for clarification. I found her seated amongst her own bushes, clipper in hand, pulled weeds littering the sidewalk. I asked her what I already knew.

Turns out that to save money, this very casual and laid back HOA decided a while back to limit the lawn service and for each person to keep up their own little areas themselves. In addition, the snow removal service was eliminated. Everyone just "pitches in" when it snows.

Newly trimmed bushes - there's me in the window
and Charles inside the front door.

Recourse?

I could kick myself black and blue for not asking the right questions, although who could have known all the questions which should have been asked?

I could consult a lawyer and sue someone, which would cost everyone a lot of money and accomplish very little.

Or I could suck it up and deal with it. Hence my lunch time visit to Home Depot.

Early Saturday morning I was outside with some clippers and my new gloves, snapping off the dead parts of a couple scroungy bushes. With satisfaction, I admired my work. It looked a lot better. At least now I don't have to be embarrassed when the neighbors look my way.

I guess I'd better pick up a snow shovel at some point.

Character, Character, and More Character

My new home continues to impress me with examples of its distinctive character.

Previously in BillsWeek, I discussed a few of the property's features about which I had failed to ask before purchasing. I struggled with a number of disconcerting surprises including:

• The total absence of drawers in the kitchen
• The knob on the back door which comes off in your hand if you turn it the wrong way
• The bump in the garage that scrapes the bottom of my car

My intention was to view each newly discovered foible as a sign, not of a bottomless money pit which languished most recently as a cheaply maintained rental, but of a finely aged and well lived in home of great character. Instead of being annoyed that I have to organize all of my forks in a canister on the counter, I choose to revel in my kitchen's unique charm.

But appreciating my house's character is getting harder to do. The problems, I mean characteristic attributes, just keep coming.

• One of the window air conditioners that the previous owner so generously left behind is not only too filthy to ever use,  but is also apparently the ideal habitat for a community of wasps. I didn't know this until I pulled the appliance out of the window onto my bedroom floor.
• The home security system alarm goes off whenever my cat Charles jumps onto the window sill. Ok, strictly speaking, that's more about the crappy alarm system than the house, but it's still annoying.
• The floor beneath the washing machine is uneven. I know when it's reached spin cycle because the living room floor vibrates at Richter scale 4.8.
• The bathtub bottom is covered with cute little plastic fish stickers that are supposed to keep you from slipping during a shower. I hate them. I think they look trashy. Every now and then I try to peal one off. Whenever I succeed, I not only have a sticky fish in my hand, but a few chunks of enamel. My bathtub is pockmarked where the finish is chipping away. I am afraid to take a bath because little tub shards sticking to my nether regions is not conducive to a relaxing soak.
• Charles' favorite window is in the kitchen above the sink. He leaps from the floor below, banking off the counter near whatever food I'm working with, into the window. Not only does it startle me, but I hear my late mother's voice decrying the unhygienic practice of allowing animals in the kitchen, let alone on the counter.
• Ants. Millions of them. So many ants. If you were to make a movie about ants taking over the world, it would look like my dining room floor. Ant poison? They laugh, devour it, and move on to the cat food. I've received some suggestions from Facebook friends about how to deal with this problem. Next up is the thing you plug into the wall which uses the electric power lines throughout the house to somehow vibrate them away. If that doesn't work, an exorcism might not be out of the question.

I don't regret buying this house. I can't regret it. I'm stuck with it. The best thing to do is take responsibility for my new property and deal with each issue as best I can. And I strive to see the positive side. It's still bigger than my old place, and I like the wood floors. I have a washing machine with a spin cycle. I got to buy a new swamp cooler which I will enjoy when the weather gets hot enough. I love the neighborhood. And it's nice to have a kitchen window.

Does anyone want a couple of used air conditioners?

New Home Riddled With Problems, I Mean, Character

The move is complete.

I accept your hearty congratulations.

I'm all settled in my little ranch style house/condo/4-plex/residence.

Well, not completely settled. I'm still moving some furniture around, looking for just the right arrangement. I've purchased a swamp-cooler which I have to set up before it gets hot. I'm figuring out how to cope with how quickly cat liter spreads across those hard-wood floors.

The cats are figuring out the best places to sleep (Lily on the big pillow under the coffee table and Charles on the DVR because it's warm).

To be honest, the honeymoon period has been a little rocky. There are a number of things I didn't check before purchase which I now wish I had:

This is what a kitchen with no drawers looks like

• There are no drawers in the kitchen - not one. Don't know how I missed that. 
• Not all the windows have screens. 
• Not all the windows had locks. They do now. 
• The neighbors can hear the alarm every time I set or unset my new home security system. 
• The slope by the garage door scrapes the bottom of the car, unless you go just the right speed and turn in/out at just the right angle. 
• The neighbors can hear my deluxe surround sound system. 
• The neighbors can probably hear me go to the bathroom. 
• The knob on the back door comes off in your hand if you turn it the wrong way. 
• Front blinds don't go all the way down - rather one side does and the other doesn't. I see custom shutters in my future. 
• Because of the way they are arranged, you can't open the dishwasher and reach the cupboards at the same time - makes it a challenge to put dishes away. 
• The front screen door doesn't close all the way unless you pull it shut - no big deal unless you have cats. 
• The combination washer-dryer doesn't dry, it only washes. 
• Where is the furnace? Why does the heat come on when the thermostat is set to off?

Granted, I can live with most of these problems or fix them. But I admit to wondering whether it was wise to move out of a perfectly functioning domicile with working shutters.

The answer is clear when I go back to the old condo which I am preparing to rent out. I walk into the empty living room and say, "Boy, is this place small." The new (older) place is bigger. The bedroom is actually a bedroom, not a combination bedroom-office-laundry room. So what if there's a big burnt spot on the living room floor which had been covered up by the realtor's staging furniture. That just adds to the character of the place. Yeah, that's it. Character.

Lists Key to Moving

Note to readers: sorry to inflict all this moving drama on you, but be warned, it's going to last another couple of months.

There are millions of things to do when you buy a new home and prepare to move. In addition to securing the mortgage, struggling to understand realtor lingo, managing inspections and appraisals, and fantasizing about color palates, there are all the little details to take care of. There is no way anyone can remember everything. The solution:

Lists.

Not a list. Many lists. There's a list for the old house, the new house, a list of what ridiculous things the mortgage lender still needs (last week it was an accounting for every address I've lived at since the 1970s), a list of what needs to be done prior to moving day ... and don't forget the list of regular life things that have nothing to do with the move but must be dealt with regardless, such as getting the cat's medicine refilled.

One list has a note on it to check another list.

Here's a sampling of what's on my lists - and I've only just started:

• Line up movers
• Change address at post office
• Change address for all accounts
• Start planning house warming party
• Move cable
• Figure out what to do with cats during move (tranquilizers?)
• Call Xcel
• Fix garbage disposal old place
• Inspect (replace?) furnace old place
• Find out what kind of filters to buy for new place furnace
• Figure out what to do with those old electronics I don't know where to recycle
• Treat wood floors at new place before moving in
• Get boxes
• Measure new garage to see if car will fit
• Find out how to treat wood floors
• Find a property management company for the old place
• Start boxes for Goodwill
• Change address at work
• Insurance home and car
• Voter registration
• DMV car and driver's license

I remember now why when I last moved in 1997, I swore I would never move again.

When I last moved, I kept all my lists on paper legal pads, noting items with a ballpoint pen and crossing tasks out when completed. How quaint that was!

Now I have an iPhone, something which is new in my life but which I'm finding quite handy. The lists reside primarily in the app called "Reminders." It's nice to be able to whip it out of my pocket and add something when I think of it, and it's nice to have access to my lists when I need to obsess about all that needs to be done. When a task is completed, I can gleefully delete it.

And yet, I'm afraid I'm missing something. Some little task that if I don't do it, will wreck the whole move. If it's any comfort, I don't think anyone's move goes 100 percent perfectly. I think you just have to hold your nose and charge ahead. Speaking of noses, all the dust from moving likely will cause my allergies to flare up. Better put tissues on the list.

Movin On Up? Part II

Who says I'm not flexible? My very specific fantasy of living in a high rise with a balcony quickly succumbed to the reality of space limitations, parking restrictions, and cost per square foot. The long and short of it is that I'm not moving to a deluxe apartment in the sky, but a rather middle class ranch style domicile at ground level with a garage.

I was just about to give up on finding a better place to live. There is nothing wrong with my current abode of 17 years. It's a little small, but it's paid off and very cheap to maintain. Sure, I'd like a guest room sometimes. Other times, I'm glad I don't have one. The places I looked at last weekend with my handsome realtor, Glen, were either too small (and expensive), too much "fixer upper," or were snatched up by someone else before I had a chance to even think about it. In some cases it was all of the above.

I was exhausted after one day of looking but as I prepared to email Glen to forget it, I noticed he sent me a couple more listings.

Cut to Monday: I found myself digging through files for financial statements, signing endless forms, asking for time off to attend a closing next month, and talking on the phone multiple times with Glen and Michelle, my mortgage lender lady.

Caught in a whirlwind of paperwork and a frenzy of describing the new (to me) residence to friends, I had an attack of "ohmygodwhathaveIdone."

I've spent the past few days talking myself out of a continuous anxiety attack. Fact is, I have a little money to invest, and this is a good investment in a nice neighborhood. I'll enjoy the extra space and hardwood floors, and did I mention the garage?

So what if it's not the penthouse portrayed in the opening of Green Acres. I wouldn't look good in Lisa Douglas's flowing gowns anyway.

Movin on Up?

When I was a little boy, my dream was to live in a big city apartment. I'm sure that dream was born of watching TV because there were no big city apartments in Kimball, Nebraska, where I was born.

I thought the opening of Green Acres was fabulous when Eva Gabor swept back the curtains to a view of the Manhattan skyline. I, also, adore a penthouse view. I sympathized with her character, forced to live in the country with a bunch of bumpkins when she could be shopping in the city.

Later, when I was six, my favorite TV show was The Courtship of Eddie's Father, where a little boy lived with his handsome dad (Bill Bixby) in a cool high rise with a balcony and a housekeeper. That's what I wanted.

Of course I ended up not glamorously in the sky but on the ground floor between the mailboxes and the laundry room.

When I moved into my condo, I planned to stay about a year. I'd build up a little equity, save some money, and then move to Capitol Hill where I really wanted to live. That was 16 years ago. 

In the early 90s, I rented a roomy two bedroom apartment in central Denver with huge closets for $350 a month. It was Heaven. But by the time I was ready to buy, the real estate boom had taken hold and I couldn't afford to live in my own neighborhood.

I was forced to invest in my current property on the far away southeast side of the city (ok, it's 10 minutes from my old apartment, but that's light years in urban neighborhood terms).

I'm still in my "starter" home. Of course it's much nicer than when I moved in. The avocado green kitchen is gone. The flowery 1970s decor in the bathroom has been replaced by subdued gray walls, a blue granite counter, and elegant silver fixtures. My pad is nice now. But there's no balcony.

It's not just the building I'm thinking of changing. It's the neighborhood.

There's nothing actually wrong with my neighborhood. It's as safe as any in the city. There are plenty of stores and public transportation. The population is interestingly diverse. I love watching the South Asian men play cricket in the park across the street, for example (and it's not because of my interest in sports).

But Cap Hill has history, architectural diversity, a larger Gay population, a more urban feel, and tall buildings with balconies.

I have reached a point where if I'm going to move, now would be a good time. I have a little cash for a down payment and the interest rates are low. I'm not sure I'll do it. But I would sure like to fling open the shutters and see something besides the neighbors carting laundry.