Tag Archives: moving

Tiny House, Weird Neighborhood

Here I am writing The Phil Factor in my third home in the last 11 1/2 years. It’s because I’m always “on the lam”, staying one step ahead of the law. I wonder if anyone has ever been on the lam on an actual lamb. I think trying to get away quickly while riding a lamb would be ill advised, although if you were on the lam on a lamb you could always eat it if you ran out of food. You can’t do that with a motorcycle. For those of you curious, it is on the “lam”, not on the “lamb”. Yes, I looked it up just to be sure. I have to keep moving, otherwise my mysterious past would catch up with me.


I don’t actually move that much. I moved about a year after starting The Phil Factor in 2005 and stayed there about 10 1/2 years, until I moved yesterday. As the title implies, I moved into a tiny house.


No, that’s not my new tiny house, and truth be told, I did downsize significantly, but not into a tiny house like that. And sadly, my new house isn’t on wheels. What is it with the tiny house people? Sure they save money on property taxes and utilities, but to what end? How many tiny house millionaires have you heard of? If you’re a tiny person I suppose that a tiny house wouldn’t be so bad. Like I said, that’s not me, but right now my life is filled with boxes waiting to be unpacked and me wondering where everything is going to go.

For me, more interesting than my house, is my neighborhood. It’s the kind of neighborhood that you’d find in a Stephen King novel. It’s a small street, just six tenths of a mile long, ending in  cul-de-sac. Most people that have never been on the street don’t even know it’s there. The entrance to the street sits between two businesses on a main road. If you stand on the main road and look up the street you can’t really see anything. It turns sharply after about a hundred yards/metres. If you’re looking for it you can just barely see the first driveway but the rest of the street disappears in between tall trees on both sides. After you go around that sharp turn you enter a street that was probably an idyllic little neighborhood when it was built in the 1960’s.


Aside from being a street that seems to be hidden in plain sight, why do I find it a little spooky? Like I said, it stretches off of a main road into nothing. It’s surrounded by woods on all sides. Also, with the exception of a few invaders, most of the homes on the street are occupied by either their original owners, or the children of the original owners. I’m worried that I may have moved into some sort of weird cult neighborhood.  (Even if it’s not a weird cult, it’s possible that implying my neighbors are cultists may not be the best way to make new friends)

Thirdly, it has no streetlights. Being away from other main roads or streets and stretching straight into a woodsy area makes it inky black outdoors at night and in the early morning. It’s the kind of darkness that cloys at you and swallows up everything about twenty yards/metres ahead and behind you.

This is my new street

This is my new street

The hidden street, the long term residents, (although they all seem very nice) and the desolate darkness makes me think of a few spooky, Stephen King worthy scenarios that would make a great novel or scary movie. Hopefully, if I survive, I’ll get a chance to write one of those stories. I’m going out to walk my dog in the darkness now. Wish me luck, and call the authorities if you don’t see another blog post in a day. Have a great Saturday! ~Phil

Throwback Thursday! My House Is A Very Very Fine House

Two cats in the yard

Two cats in the yard

I’m moving tomorrow. When you think of things that are long term or permanent in your life, most do think of their house but I doubt very many think of their blog. This Throwback Thursday is interesting because I wrote it in 2005 shortly after I sold the last house I lived in. I still feel the same way today.

(Oct. 14, 2005)  3 bedrooms, one bath, and one melancholy owner. Amenities include several new windows, one of which was replaced very recently due to a baseball shaped hole put there by a future major league pitcher. A fully carpeted flight of stairs which are capable of withstanding the tumbling of an 11 month old child without inflicting a single scratch on either of them. A beautiful deck built in the hot, summer sun which has hosted countless cookouts and quiet nights with a glass of wine. Walls that don’t talk, but that do contain countless words of wisdom, written on them by tiny hands, that would tell a story if they hadn’t been hidden by a few coats of paint.  The large picture window in the living room features a spot centered directly in front of it that is just right for a Christmas tree. The plush, royal blue carpet in the living room is perfect for being strewn with wrapping paper and presents.

I have finally sold my house and as I sit here looking around at the big, wooden box that has contained my life for the last 13 years I can feel the ghosts of those memories in each and every room. Sadly those ghosts seem to be living things which will stay in this house as I move on. I wonder, when I move into the new home I’m buying, will I sense the ghosts of someone else’s life wandering those hallways? Although a house is just wood, steel, and mortar, when filled with memories it seems to be a living part of you. It is the place that has provided my physical and emotional security for most of my adult life. My children have never known another home and I’ve never known them in another home.

Gone will be the familiarity of knowing which step to avoid if you don’t want that loud squeak as you descend in the middle of a sleepless night. The 6th sense to instinctively avoid the sharp edge on the corner of the wall in the basement will no longer be there. No longer will I habitually know which door will need me to push down slightly as I pull it open to avoid sticking. I wonder, when I’m gone, will my house miss me as much as I will miss it?

Have a great Thursday! ~Phil