As of last Friday, we are now officially Wichitans. I think we’ll always be sentimental about our first house in the lovely Potwin neighborhood of Topeka. On the other hand, we have a pretty good story of selling it: we sold it to an old friend of mine from KU. I’d happened to bump into her at Arturo’s Mexican Restaurant one day at lunch — she was looking for a home in Topeka, and we had one that met her needs. Friends have described it as everything from “an amazing coincidence” to “a sign from God.” I’m not arguing with any of those interpretations.
We’ll also probably remember the time we closed on our house during a blizzard, when we stayed in an empty house on an air mattress, subsisting on pour-over coffee and peanut butter sandwiches.
Today, our first official Monday of living in Wichita together as a family, we’re hunkered down during ANOTHER blizzard… finishing off the peanut butter and hoping the power stays on long enough for the stew to finish cooking in the crock pot.
In the words of all good Kansans: we need the moisture. But I’m going to resist the temptation to look for deeper meaning in the extreme weather events that coincided with our move.