Last night, after the U-Haul had been emptied but before we started painting, M asked me how I could ride my bike for hours and hours with little complaint, but suck so much at moving? It took a bit to decide on an answer, but soon it became obvious: moving has too many variables, too many unknowns. I do not do well with so much disorder in my world. Fortunately I married someone who does, and has been willing to drag my sorry butt through the bulk of the last week. On Wednesday someone needed to drive our truck up here and meet the gas company at 3pm to turn on the furnace, so she volunteered me, and stayed in Missoula until 5pm packing the final annoying details.

I am a very fortunate husband.

I went to sleep early (by recent standards), exhausted by moving boxes and fitting the x’s of our life into the y’s of our new house. It’s on the edge of the old section of Kalispell, on a street that with its diverse houses and 150′ oaks could be in Kansas City or Des Moines. The house has seen many different residents over the years, and has some idiosyncracies as a result. One of them was the creepy wallpaper in the upstairs room that is now our bedroom.

The rabbits got painted over.  Byebye rabbits, we won’t miss you at all.

The house also has a fantastic diversity of light switch covers, such as the one in our new bedroom, no doubt designed (along with the rabbits), to begin proper childhood acculturation ASAP.

Note the nice gray-blue walls (sans rabbits).  Paint from Home ReSource (another thing that seeming only happens in Missoula).

We have a few emminently classic switch covers, like this one, in the stairwell:

It matches the wallpaper.  At least previous residents were consistent.  This sister switch cover is in the foyer:

The best switch cover, however, is right where it should be: the most important room of the house, the kitchen.

It inspires me to make some roast duck soon.

We have a few nice socket covers too.  Most are of this late-faux art deco type, though this one is my favorite (because someone obviously stuck a fork in it in the not too distant past).

There you have it.  I’m getting used to proper Montana, which in contrast to Missoula (a thoroughly new west, and thus Coloradoficated, town) has quite the midwestern flair.  To whit: 

The coffee shop I’m in has a bunch of seasonal lattes that revolve around egregious corn syrup content. 

No bike lanes downtown.

Way more (full size, natch) pickups than subys.

The average person on the street is several standard deviations plumper. 

No boutique sausages made in every grocery store.

Crappy wine selections in said grocerys (have to find out where Danni goes).

And so forth.  Ya know, moving.  Though I should be able to go hiking this weekend.