In the words of Lieutenant Colonel Charles E. Stanton (sometimes attributed to General Pershing), Lafayette, we are here! Whereas Stanton was talking about repaying the French a 140 year old debt of gratitude for their assistance in the American Revolution by aiding them in World War I, I am talking about a 25 mile move to the southwest from Monticello to Lafayette, Indiana. So, roughly equivalent.
And what a welcome! The doughboys got shot at by the Huns. I get the Lafayette Police Department knocking on my door in the wee hours of the morning. Apparently the neighbors, who seem nice enough, have a wayward son who was staying with them who brought certain chemicals into the house that, one way or another made law enforcement authorities think that they needed to bring in a bomb technician. (My original thought was that they suspected a meth lab. Further investigation has revealed that the substances were suspected to be materials for making dynamite or a pipe bomb, so I’m oddly somewhat relieved.)
Neighbors, such as myself, were evacuated “just in case.” Thank goodness we had taken the kids to their grandparents during the move so we didn’t have to roust them out of bed. I’ve been told that this “really is a nice neighborhood,” but to have my first night’s sleep at my new house disturbed by the police knocking at the door is just disturbing.
So, now we just have to find out whether this story will end up being of the “We knew it was trouble right from the start” variety or the “Haha, . . . but do you remember that *first* night?” variety.