There’s an unspoken game going on in our new house.
Dawn and I are both working full time, so there is still little time during the week to get much unpacking done. We have dishes to wash, laundry to fold, neighbors to meet, children with homework and baths and teeth to brush, and let’s not talk about the leaves piling up on the front yard. So unpacking happens in stolen, guilty moments, time spent illicitly away from the morning shower or the burnt out light bulb or the dirt spread across the front stoop by squirrels digging in the tomato plant.
Despite the fact that I work at home and so have more opportunity to unpack than Dawn, she seems to keep up with me. At least, I assume it is her. I never actually see her unpacking, which is a little spooky. Every day, I find something new in the house, something that was packed away in Vermont and hasn’t seen the light of day for two years. It is like having the opposite of a burglar; someone who sneaks into your house and leaves things (other than over-sized garden zucchini).
The hot water bottles took up residence in the hallway closet overnight. At lunch today, I found a fiddle-shaped cutting board hanging on the wall next to the built-in ironing board cabinet. Two days ago, my college diploma appeared magically on the wall of my office.
So far, no Mini Cooper, sapphire necklaces, or airplane tickets to France, but one can always hope.