More Musings on Year One

It's been just about a year now since we moved to Chicago, not counting the seven weeks of living in my sister Lisa's spare bedroom. That was more of a hazy dream time. So let's review just how things have shaped up after one year. I now live in a big, brick, two story building. It is nothing like the place we had in Florida. I have not had to worry about flooding, hurricanes, or rats in my attic since we moved here. Our new home is cozy, meaning the bedrooms are the size of most people's closets. I did manage to squeeze the king sized bed into our bedroom, and that was it, except for the flat screen TV we hung on the wall. I still have to suck in my gut when I sidle past that. But I don't care, I love my new home. I better like it, I've sunk all my money into it. And Mark had better like... no, love it. After months of plaster dust and strange men in our  house, he has a brand new kitchen. You would really think he'd appreciate it, yet every once in awhile I hear him mutter, "I hate this place, I hate you.." under his breath. I suspect it's the weather that makes him grumpy, and the fact that everybody thinks he's from a foreign country. He does have that funny New Jersey accent. My dog Chandler has given me the side eye a few times too. He was not ready for winter, he had never seen anything like that. Snow in the back yard where he poops made it hard for him. I probably wouldn't like it either if I had to pee while snow rubbed against my wiener. Like Mark, Chandler hasn't found many friends here in Chicago. He knew everybody on our walking route in Florida. Here, everybody is a stranger and he wants to kill all of them. Well, all except for two. There is Ashland, a wire haired terrier that lives across the alley, and Jacks. Jacks is a cute little French Bulldog that Chandler really, really likes. Jacks is terrified of Chandler. So neither Mark nor Chandler have fully acclimated to living here in Chicago. It's possible that Chandler and Mark are planning some nefarious fate for me so that they can sell the house and move back to Florida. I don't care. It turns out that I love living in Chicago. Other than the 10.25% sales tax, the super high property taxes, the thousands of immigrants who still think they're driving in whatever country they came from, and the super corrupt politicians, Chicago is a great place to live. I'm happy here.