In August, when I put together my list of thirty things to do before I turn 30, I added "Learn to be happy in Roseville." It seemed like such a daunting task. There are so many things about this town that I just despise: the lack of character, the cookie-cutterness of it. The fact that most of the restaurants and stores are national chains and the neighborhoods are a sea of suburban track housing. How could I ever be happy in such blah surroundings?
I've always believed that old saying that wherever you go, there you'll be. Problems and all. That's probably why I never moved to Boston or London or any of the other crazy locations that I was sure would make life so much better. Don't get me wrong. I still think I'd rather live in either one of those places, but I was always aware that simply being there wouldn't change me. I do, however, think I've remedied a couple of the major problems that made me feel so strongly about my current locale.
First things first. I am NOT a beige person. I believe our previous housing situation is to blame for my unhappiness in
In walks our new house (no, not literally...we actually walked into it, but that's not the point). Which, by the way, we love. And we OWN. And while it WAS beige when we moved in, now it's a pretty shade of grey with a touch of blue and more than enough sunlight to satisfy my vitamin D requirements. We've put holes in the walls with no regard for a security deposit. As I mentioned before, we painted....the WHOLE HOUSE. We even painted one wall a dark blue and one room a beautiful teal green color. We have a garage for our camping stuff, a big enough kitchen for all of our shiny new wedding gifts and even an entire room just for my books!
I know, I know. "We want to see pictures!" Well, you're going to have to wait. Because while I'm uuber excited to have enough space for all of our stuff, we are still living in clutter, the clutter of the still-needs-to-be-put-away. So when I get it all together, I'll write a whole post full of photos of our new house. Deal?
For now, I'll post this one for you: Our new pooch, Katie.
We rescued her from the SPCA in Sacramento. She's the sweetest dog, about a year old. She loves to be around people and hates the back yard! Which is too bad for her because she's going to be spending some time there, especially while we're still getting stuff put away. Her previous owners brought her to the shelter because they didn't have enough time for her. She comes to work with me every day, so we don't have a problem there (and don't feel so sorry for her for having to spend time in the back yard. She is by no means neglected)! She's part black lab and part.....we don't really know. The vet speculates terrier, but she also looks a little like a basenji. We won't ever know for sure, but we don't care anyway. We love her regardless of her pedigree.
Katie's been with us for about two weeks, which means she got to meet the families at Thanksgiving. They all loved her. And we had such a great time seeing all of them. Although there was one person missing at the dinner table this Thanksgiving: Jim's uncle Ken, who passed away at the end of July. There was a moment toward the end of dinner when I realized that the last time I'd sat at the formal dining table at Jim's parents' house had been...I don't even remember the occasion... but Jim was working late and didn't make it to dinner. Uncle Ken was being his obnoxious self and terrorizing Jim's sister, Tricia. It wasn't a particularly eventful evening or memorable in any way except that he had been sitting across the table from me during that dinner, and now he won't ever again. Uncle Ken would have loved Katie.
Two Christmases ago, Uncle Ken and his wife, Elaine, spent the holiday in Mexico with my family. Uncle Ken is in black next to me. The guy above him is the bartender at the hotel where they stayed. He'd become part of the family by the end of our trip. And the head in the background to the right of the bartender is my youngest brother, Dan. I can barely remember Uncle Ken without that giant smile on his face. For as much of a pain in the butt as he could be at times, he sure did love life. I'm so glad we got to spend this time with him.
But enough of hanging out on the verge of tears. Life is good. And there's so much to love about it. Uncle Ken would have been so pissed if he knew we were sitting around crying over him. He'd want us to feel the joy in our lives. And between owning our own home, having a new pooch in our little family, being closer to Jim's family, and the numerous little things that make life amazing, I think I may just be able to stay happily in Roseville. ...for a while anyway.