Not everyone can live like millionaires.

After six years in an apartment, I'm finding house-living to be baffling and fun. They are decidedly mercurial entities and hard to pin down.
The closest I've come is to quarter the place off into zones--each with it's own personality, each with it's own rules of engagement.

The Goldilocks Corner: A persistent troublemaker, the thermostat has given us at least half a dozen issues in as many months. If the corner gets too warm (say from someone walking by or breathing), the thermostat shuts off--despite the frigid temperatures in the rest of the house. Likewise, if it gets too cold outside, it goes into its own hibernation and needs to be roused. Two of its more whimsical traits.
The Weeping Wall: Likened to an Our Lady of Fatima or a reverse Ganesha, our bathroom has cause to be proud. The far wall tends to seep brown sticky water through the window, onto the floor, into the tiles. Now whether this is an act of natural melt and condensation or evidence of the warm amber tears of God, I can't tell. But I've left a smelly candle burning for each extreme.
The Whistling Way: The copper pipes that deliver our heat tend to scream in protest when the warm water pushes through. It may be Pavlovian, but I find it charming. It's like a chirrup of happy announcement from the house: "Lookit here! I bring you heat!", and I'm not going to complain.
Big Mouth: The entire front face of the house is like a determined asthmatic. The more we try to plug its airways, the more desperately it tries to breathe in. Currently on plugging duty: a white blanket and an old scarf--fighting the good fight.
The Warrior's Corridor: I'm okay with meltwater from our flooded gutters freezing to make a skating rink between our house and the next. I'm okay with the garbage can wheels freezing into said rink and it taking ten minutes stretching and twenty minutes swearing to dislodge them. I find it cruel and unjust, however, that this same rink becomes a minefield as the roof (in its own battle of freeze and thaw) tends to pitch its grapeshot onto our valiant struggling heroes below.

More to come with the changing seasons.