Welcome to Pleasantville

Whew!

Our move is complete and we're exhausted. There is still much to do in the New House of the Sour-Swedes but it's looking good so far. Look for the tour to come soon.

I just want to say...

I LOVE OUR NEW HOUSE!!!!

It was very sad leaving our good friends and, although we're just 10 mintes away, it's never going to be the same as living next door.

Our new neighborhood is a few steps up from our old one. That isn't at all the reason for the move - except perhaps from a investment standpoint. In fact, we thought the diversity of the old neighborhood was a big benefit for our kids. The new neighborhood is lily white and a bit like Pleasantville. In fact, heretofore, it shall be referred to it as "Pleasantville". When our next door neighbor, Capt. Morgan (so called for her love of the rum), and the rest of her family visited last Sunday, we joked that we'd be bringing the Clampett factor way up in the new neighborhood. This was pretty evident in the disposal of our old ripped-up carpet which was stacked curbside an entire week before garbage pick up. The Swede had tried to prevent it from getting wet by covering it with a tarp making the pile even worse looking and we laughed with The Morgan's as the tarp had blown off and was flapping in the Pleasantville breeze, exposing the mounds of dirty, old carpet.

Then, a few days later, the joke was on us. We received in the mail a note from the homeowner's association.

I heard The Swede open the letter with an "Uh-Oh."

After the initial "oops" wore off, we began to get mad. Then madder and madder as time went on. I felt like we had made a mistake by moving from a "real" area to a snooty area. Not a great feeling the week of our move. I was missing The Morgan's and was quick to assume our new next door neighbors were the snitches who had contacted the association. Good God! Who wants to live next to a couple of old-timers who are stickler for the rules? Wait until they see our RV in the driveway, they'll have a conniption!

The Swede kept saying, "What a way to welcome us to the neighborhood." Okay, it wasn't said in such a pleasant manner and I chose to omit all the expletives.

I had my arsenal all ready for when we made the call to Hal Pearson, III.

Pfft! The third...snooty bastard.

As I pleaded with The Swede not to be confrontational, he called 411.

No Hal Pearson, III in our town.

Strange...

No Hal Pearson coming up on Google either.

Hmm...suspicious.

We scrambled to find our Pleasantville newsletter which had arrived a week prior.

No Hal Pearson listed on the board at all.

Then it occurred to The Swede.

It was The Morgan's last practical joke on us and we fell for it hook, line and sinker.

So all ends well in Pleasantville...that is until the RV shows up in our driveway someday soon.