around my sophomore year of college i lived in a complex south of BYU’s campus called campus plaza. it wasn’t much to look at. i’ve heard a rumor that they’re old army barracks. whatever they are, they’re cheap and small and appeal to tightwads. the whole shebang was built in sort of a U shape around a basketball court. and so, as you might imagine, a favorite evening activity was to draw the plastic venetian blinds across the large window in the front room, leave a tiny hole for peeking out, and enjoy watching the drama of life unfold for your neighbors.

while northwood V isn’t exaclty ye old campus plaza, it does have some frighteningly similar features. giant window looking out on central playground. check. plastic venetian blinds. check. plenty of opportunity to spy on surrounding tenants. check.

i thought henry might languish in michigan without our little neighbor reta. (you know, the one who stuffs her lawn full of unimaginable kitsch, including plastic flowers and giant ferns, and always gives your kids an unearthly amount of pretzels or blue twizzlers or lemonade or whatever will spoil their dinner.) but it turns out that family housing is brim full of people and, even better, abandoned toys. henry will play for a few minutes at one park and then jump up to announce, “next park” before running around the corner to find new delights. the sidewalks here are littered with disheveled cozy coupes and little riding firetrucks and police cars without wheels. every sandbox has battered and scarred tonka trucks. it reminds me a little of the island of misfit toys.

and so, piecemeal, we’re getting to belong here. i have to admit, it’s a good feeling to have nice wide roads and giant parking lots and speed limits over 25. and, we’re cheating a bit, my brother and his wife happen to live just around the corner. there’s nothing like family to give you a leg up on the settling in process.