A Day on My New Street

At 4am, the newspaper is delivered. When Corey's alarm clock went off for the triathalon, we lay there for awhile listening as the "THWACK" sounds retorted into the distance. They are delivered by car, not by small children on bicycles.

When the sun comes up, it shines directly into our bedroom windows. We anticipated this, and our cellular honeycomb shades are just right for sun blockage. The entire front of the house is in direct sunlight until after 3 PM. We have impatiens on the front porch, but they don't seem to like the sun as much as the small pot of sunflowers.

Three children who live two doors down ride bicycles and roller skates up and down the sidewalk all day. They squeal with delight all the time. Corey wants to oil their chains and show them better technique. On the porch, he sits on his hands to stop himself from diving into their gears.

In the evening, the little lady across the street walks exactly one hundred footsteps, turns around, and comes back. Again, and again, and again. She clutches her back the entire time. Last night, she caught me counting her steps. I couldn't say hello to her because I didn't want to lose my place.

The ice cream man comes and plays "It's a Gift to Be Simple." GW tries to contain himself and doesn't purchase a chocolate taco. Instead, everyone eats ice pops and popsicles, the only acceptable things the former owners left behind.