We did it! Lance and I signed the closing papers for our new home last week, moved in and I almost have everything unpacked. Speaking of, I hate it. Just an FYI. It's so nice to have our own home now though, with a big back yard for the dogs to play in. Abby LOVES it. Every morning when I let her out her first order of business is to run the perimeter of the fence line, ya know, make sure every thing's on the up and up the way she left it the night before. She likes to be close to me still though, so I have to keep her outside when I'm trying to clean and organize and finish the unpacking. That has been my biggest chore lately, since I am jobless still, until tomorrow any way. Then I have a seasonal job that will at least get me through the winter without too much strain on knees that think I'm already 80. We finally got new batteries for the digital camera so I will most definitely get some pictures of our new place put up soon. It's absolutely beautiful though. I feel so domestic right now it drives me nuts. I wake up in the morning and my first thoughts are about which load of laundry to do first, then it turns to the state of the dishes and I immediately start making plans for dinner. Nothing about work, what time I need to leave to get there, if the hospital trip will be able to fit in nicely or anything of the like. I finally got my PICC line out, by the way. My hospital ventures are over for the time being. They took that wretched line out Monday, finally, and I can't say that I miss it much. The nurses were awesome, I do miss getting to talk with them every day, but I do not miss the line or the problems or having to drop everything in the middle of a project to go get yet another dose of drugs. Super excellent. The only daily occurrence that has marred my otherwise peaceful existence right now has been the phone calls from daddy-o. That same Monday I got my PICC line out I had to pick him up from the hospital and get him home with some groceries and I haven't heard the end of it since that day. Tuesday he called me in a panic because he thought his refrigerator had died on him and wanted me to go help him get a new one. Wednesday he wanted me to get his car from the hospital parking lot and get it back home to him, even though he couldn't drive it if he wanted to, not with that hole in the bottom of his foot and stitches to boot. Thursday he wanted to know if I could bring him some big black garbage bags to tie around his leg to shower, never once thinking about the fact that his PICC line itself needed to be wrapped up as well. He had resigned himself to living in a state of filth and grime before I stepped in firmly to let him know that there are in fact other ways to get just as clean. May not be shower nice, but there are ways to get clean, I should know, I've dealt with casts, PICC lines and stitches a number of times in my life. Where there is a will, there is a way. Friday he needed to go to his doctor appointment where they finally got him a new meter and helped him get some cheaper diabetic supplies, thank heavens. Saturday (last night) was possibly the best adventure we had all week though. I took him out grocery shopping again later in the evening because the rest of my day had been spent at our old place helping wash down walls, counters, sinks and floors. Everything was going well, we got everything dad had on his shopping list and a few things I needed myself and we were on our way back to dad's place to unload it all. Now, I have physically and bodily hurt my car a few times intentionally, but for the most part I'm good to Gretchen and she does me well. Her legs (aka Tires), however... well... we have always had, at best, a sketchy relationship. I try to take good care of them, do the rotating bit, watch the tread, all that nice jazz, and yet... they spit in my eye, time after time. Last night it was on the Nine Mile highway, thankfully at the stretch of road where the speed limit just starts to turn to 50 and there are still houses and side roads, and not too far from the gas station at the bottom of the hill. The front left tire blew a nice 50 cent piece size hole in itself and forced me off into one of those loverly little neighborhoods where trick r' treaters were still running rampant. Now, because this isn't the first time this has happened to me, rather than get upset I started laughing, a lot. Dad gave me a strange look and didn't say anything for a minute after I stopped the car in front of someones house. After I finally got myself together enough to get out and start pulling out the necessary tools to fix said flat dad decided to get out and offer his help, which was a surprise kind of. Together we got the car jacked up and all of the lug nuts off at least, but had a little trouble getting the tire itself off. Thank goodness for kind strangers. A man, who's name we never got, pulled his car up with his lights on to aid in our attempt and then actually was the one who got the tire off and my "spare" tire on. Now, notice that spare is in quotes. My spare is actually one of my winter tires. Studded and everything. Yep. Oh, and that's not where the fun ends, no no. See, we got the tire on, my loverly "spare", and began replacing the lug nuts as any one would do who knows how to change a bloody tire. All was well and right in the world. Lug nut one went on smoothly, as did two, three and four followed swiftly. My sweet lug nut number five is in the pocket of Lance's pants right now. I would like to say it was a folly of my own that left that lug nut off, I would gladly take the blame, but the ugly truth is that the bolt lug nut number five was supposed to go on refuses to thread anything properly. Super sweet, no? It's a good thing today it's legal to drive with studs on because we don't have anything to replace my "spare" with at the moment besides my other studded snow tire. One day I do hope to remedy this entire situation. Hopefully soon.
Any way... That is what is going on in Marandaland. Thanks for tuning in and we'll see you next time!