Walk-In Closets, Gold Faucets, and One Confused Dishwasher: Welcome to Our New Home

Before the grand tour of our newest home base, I wanted to address a burning question from Greg G on my last post. Greg wondered if I use AI to write these dazzling updates. Well, Greg, the honest answer: yes… a little. One of my goals lately has been to rescue my writing from the “awkward family newsletter” category. To that end, I’ve taken a few writing courses—plot, voice, humor, etc.. Thanks to these classes, my writing is a bit less cringe, but I still let AI polish things up. I draft, feed it to our robotic overlords, then rewrite whatever they send back—occasionally while muttering, “Nice try, Watson.” And if Mike is lurking nearby, he’ll do a quality check before anything goes public. About 95% of this blog is me, the other 5% is AI suggestions (plus the occasional pun). Is that cheating? Maybe. But if using AI is wrong, I don’t want to be right. It’s like discovering a spell-checker that also tries to be a stand-up comedian. Most AI tips get rejected, but at least they make me consider phrasing things so my readers don’t immediately close the tab.

And now, back to our irregularly scheduled program…

We moved into our new Dutch house about ten days ago. The biggest surprise: unlike your standard issue Netherlands home, our stairs are not built for Ninja Warrior qualifying rounds—no 45-degree turns up super steep grades where your groceries double as dumbbells. Instead, our steps are wide and normal. It almost feels… American.

The back of the house (from the polder)

What we adore about the house:

• The view. Our old place in Woodside had “park vibes” but zero view. Here? Panorama across the polder (that’s fancy talk for “flood-prevention water zone”) with a direct line of sight to the football (er, soccer) stadium. Plus, we enjoy this scenery thanks to windows galore.

• A garage! A (practically) full-size one: 20 ft x 20 ft. (Can you hear Mike jumping for joy?) That’s good for one car and a few bikes. No more “car mirror origami” squeezing into the garage at our rental with millimeter precision! Also, it’s got an automatic opener, so we aren't hopping out to practice our turn-lift-pull coordination skills.

• A walk-in closet in the main bedroom. This is as rare in the Netherlands as finding a unicorn at Albert Heijn. In our last rental, we squeezed our wardrobe into two shoeboxes and a shelf. Now? Space for days.

• Sinks in every toilet room! In most Dutch homes, bathroom design follows the “mystery hunt” theme: the toilet is in one place, but the sink is hiding next door. Here, we enjoy the luxury of washing our hands in the same room. Modern civilization, achieved.

• There’s a game room for Alex.  At first, this seemed like a good idea. But now, proof-of-life texts are required every two hours when he disappears. The good news: he’s never been a video game hermit and we’re guessing he won't start now.

• The last owner tricked the place out with a heat pump, solar panels, and a power wall. Lower utility bills + mild climate guilt reduction = win, win.

• The house is on a canal with our very own mini-dock. Because…Amsterdam. (Our last rental was “canal-adjacent,” which is code for “close, but no place for a boat.”)

Things a bit odd about this place:

• Each floor has an extra-wide hallway with doors to every room, so each hallway is basically a private vocalization studio for Chonkles.

  

  Note the hallway that is bigger than the guest bedroom and about the same size as the office

• The toilets are in separate rooms from the showers. At least we’re getting our steps in!

• The main bedroom is at the top, two floors above Alex and the game room. The main living area is on the second floor—unfamiliar territory for us Americans, where “living room at the entry” is a birthright.  But this makes for better views.

• Dutch kitchens are famously petite. Ours is less tiny than most but there isn't much counter space and only a few cabinets. And those cabinets are so deep, anything you put in the back goes through a portal to Narnia.

• The primary bath features gold fixtures. Actual gold. When the last owner warned us about special cleaning requirements, I tried (and failed) not to laugh. On the plus side, when the apocalypse comes, we’ll just barter for faucet handles.

  

• There’s an elevator! Originally for accessibility but now excellent for hauling groceries, furniture, or anyone tired of daily stair workouts.

• The landscaping is strictly “sandy Zen garden with weeds”—a blank canvas with beach vibes, perfect for future garden projects.

A cultural learning: The previous owner made plans for a carport. “Perfect!” we thought, until we realized the plan parked the carport right in front of the garage. You see, in the Netherlands, garages are rarely for cars. Block it all you want, as long as there’s room for a dozen bikes.

This is a rendering of what the carport would look like. The garage door is to the left of the Tesla.

Other “adventures in domesticity”:

• I tried switching the dishwasher display from Dutch to English. Managed to set it to Arabic. Not recommended for beginners.

• Still working on stopping the shower nozzle from rising on its own. It’s a slow-motion chase scene, every day.

• The new electronic keypad refuses to unlock the door remotely, which is either a security feature or a test of patience.

• The internet cut out today. Apparently, “the previous owner paid through the 15th” means “off on the 12th.” Customer support: “Sorry! See you Monday.” We now measure time in how long it takes our phone batteries to drain given they are tethering all of our devices.

There you have it: home sweet (slightly quirky, sometimes AI-enhanced) home, with enough gold-plated plumbing and canal-front drama to keep things interesting.