Moving In (and and a story about ice)

An unexpected ice storm has provided a Monday free-from-work for both Husband and me, and we've spent much of the morning cozied up inside our new abode. Now that we own a home, we must shovel sidewalks and a driveway--and Zack is out in the snow doing just that as I type this. (Husbands are the best).

Aside from one minor catastrophe**, the move from apartment to house was a smooth transition on Saturday. Wonderful friends loaded and unloaded,  packed and unpacked boxes and bags and our few pieces of furniture. It took a few truckloads and only one broken dresser drawer for every thing we own to be transported from one place to the other. All that filled our tiny apartment seems to take up no space at all in the new house, and the empty walls and shiny floors echo and creak as we walk from room to room.

Today, since we are home and out of our offices, we are tackling a few projects. He is painting a small bathroom while I organize the large boxes and messy piles into neater piles and smaller boxes.
One room at a time. The bedroom's nearly done.

I've already unpacked the kettle and tea, so we are slowly drinking pot after pot of loose leaf goodness as we slowly work and the ice rains down outside. It is a good day.

**An explanation of the small catastrophe:

A knock on the garage door prompted me to pause what I was doing and answer. In the doorway stood the cable man, and he pointed at the garage ceiling a few feet away.

"You've got a a leak," he said.

I looked up and, only then, noticed the gushing streams of water falling from the ceiling, drenching the piles of hardware and old carpets we'd stacked in the far corner of the garage.
"Oh! Thank you." I replied rather calmly, entirely unsure of what to do.
Thankfully, in cases such as these, husbands are excellent souls to have on hand.

Its been cold. Terribly cold. And the radiator pipes off the small upstairs sun-room had burst in an angry exclamation against the low temperature. Honestly, I can't blame them.

We shut off the water and paused our unpacking, snacking on pepperoni pizza while the men scurried from upstairs to downstairs, basement to attic, solving the problem which was our frozen pipes.

Copper pipes were purchased and soldering commenced. While we women unpacked the kitchen utensils and rearranged our minimal furniture, the offending pipes were carefully brought into submission.

And that was our minor catastrophe.
Welcome home, us.


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