Some of the idiosyncratic quirks peculiar to this house that I probably won't miss after I move:

• The kitchen sink doesn't hold water. It's a double sink, with a garbage disposal on one side. I'd like to use the other side to wash dishes, but I noticed early on that the stopper would not seal the drain tightly. I might fill the basin with soapy water to let some dishes soak, but if I came back an hour later they were high and dry. So I bought a rubber stopper, but for some reason the water still drained. That was $1.99 down the drain. So to speak.

• The kitchen floor is so out of level that the refrigerator door will not stay partway open. I guess there must be a balancing point, but I never found it. If you open the door and let go, thinking you can put groceries away, it will either slam shut as soon as your back is turned, or swing violently the other way and bang against the side, rattling the milk and eggs and jars of exotic mustards that live in the door.

• I have to stand on a stool to turn the light in the family room off and on. It's part of an overhead ceiling fan assemblage. The fan cord hangs down to eye level, but the light cord is just out of reach of my fingertips, even on tiptoes. I could jump and grab it, but I was always afraid of not letting go in time and pulling the whole arrangement, fan and all, down on my head. Hence, the stool. Speaking of which...

• The toilet has to be plunged at least once a week. 'Nuff said about that.

• The refrigerator grunts and groans and hums much more loudly than absolutely necessary. This isn't really a complaint about the place, because it's my refrigerator, transported here from the old Home Office. But I've learned that the landlords will let me have the one in the new place if I leave my old one here. I don't know for sure that the one at the Fortress is quieter, but I do know it's larger. If I thought there was anything functionally wrong with this one, I'd clue them in. But it's always sounded like an old truck pulling uphill.

None of these peculiarities, separately or together, would be enough to make me move. Most of the time I don't even think about them. I just live with them as minor annoyances, thinking how much worse it could be. I didn't have a double sink or a garbage disposal at the last place I lived. There was no cord at all on the ceiling fan there, so I had to use the switch (which, again, I could reach only with the tips of my fingers). And the refrigerator was just as noisy, even though it wasn't as close to my bedroom as it is here.

I'm sure the new place holds its own eccentric surprises for me, and I'll get used to living with those, too.

It's hard to get enthusiastic about packing when you're only moving the length of a football field. But you still have to go through most of the same ordeal. Mom came by to help me get started on some serious packing today, and now my kitchen drawers and cabinets are really bare.

And most of my culinary supplies are in the plastic containers on the right. But it's been too hot to cook anyway.