Pivoting

My mood

Well, here's a fine how-do-you-do? The house two doors down from us, which was for sale for $50,000 more than we were planning on listing our house for, just lowered their price to our rock-bottom price sales price. The house two doors down is bigger, has a third garage bay and a fourth bedroom. So, it would be like comparing apples and scissors. 

Marty jokingly suggested we buy the house two doors down, move in so we aren't so crowded, and make ours into a rental. I'm all for it. 

Anyway, we aren't going anywhere right now. We are leaving, just not right away. Of course life can change AGAIN at any time. But, whew!  

Petty Suffering in Introvert Hell

During my time in Texarkana, I'd successfully avoided the Church of Christ's Tuesday morning's lady's Bible class. Until Yesterday. I know my time here is almost over and I wanted to see if maybe, I'd missed out on something. 

I had and I hadn't. 

I knew 99 percent of the attendants by name. One hundred percent of those around me were positive and happy, gracious women. I love that about these people. They are truly beacons of light and joys to be around. 

This week happened to be Deb's turn to lead the class. She started by commenting that I showed up for the first time (because she made me) and knew the Scripture better than most everyone there. She isn't wrong, but I didn't want to show anyone up. Instead, I announced I was only there because Deb said I had to go and today I planned on practicing my best, "Southern Talk." You know, "Oh my!" "My word!" "Dear me!" "Heavens."* 

I should also like to point out that today's topic was Second Timothy Chapter 2, which is the best example of the pious Catholics walking among us who like to declare that proclaiming their personal petty martyrdom for the rest of us to relish in is akin to holiness (it isn't). I promise, a lot of my good story fodder comes from those who take Second Timothy Chapter 2 out of context. But that wasn't the audience for me to share this publicly. 

And to be fair, that's not what the rest of the ladies got out of today's class anyway. 

Here's where it got interesting. I was naïve in thinking that a one hour Bible class ended after one hour. Oh no! That's the warm-up. The Bible class is the gateway drug to fellowship. In this case, all 13 of us heading off to a leisurely lunch. I tried backing out of it (shooting eye daggers at Deb for neglecting this tid-bit, though come to think of it, "If two or more Church of Christ members are gathered, there is food."**). However, fun Corona Suzy nudged me to the restaurant and sweet (non-Corona) Sharon and I bonded over our hatred of mayonnaise and eggs, so I had to make a showing. 

Unfortunately, lunch lasted another two hours and I was ready to kill someone. As an introvert whose day was rearranged, it was best to smile and keep to Southern Talk. Thoughts of putting my pious Catholic suffering into practice came back as I suffocated under the love and fellowship of these great ladies. But honestly, THREE HOURS??? Out of my home! Out of my sweat pants! Away from my garden! This is hell on an introvert, whose biggest plans for the day included working on edits and petting the dog. 

Will I go back? I don't know. There's only a handful of classes before they break for the summer and I doubt I will be here come fall. However, in the event I ever decide to attend another Bible class, I'll be prepared for it to take all day.  

*"Bless your heart," that old reliable saying, would have been taken out of context in this situation. 

**Corona Gail says this often enough there's no disputing it. 

Saturday Morning with Tessa

 

100 percent accurate

In my second venture into the real world after this awful illness, I met with Tessa Saturday morning. Tessa, you might remember, was my real estate agent when I moved here. I worked for her for six weeks. As a consolation prize for hanging out in her office and dealing with the unholy shrews totally delightful women who worked there and welcomed me with open arms and didn't sabotage me a teensy bit, Tessa introduced me to the Coronas. 

Tessa also happens to be besties with Her Majesty, Queen of Life, Deb (who really is a true delight, unlike the majority of Tessa's horrible agents). Also for the record, Tessa is also pretty awesome and I really like her. 

Anyway, Saturday morning, Tessa needed to vent about her real estate woes. I listened like the friend I hope she considers me to be. Unfortunately, I understood everything she was talking about. The antics of her clients brought back enough PTSD that I have zero interest in ever thinking about selling houses again. EVER. Every story of clients thinking Tessa was some sort of concierge, lawn service (the woman is in her 70s) or dog babysitter made me laugh as I commiserated with the nuttiness of her situation.* **

When she finally breezed through all that, she looked at her phone and said, "I'm going to have to go in about five minutes." 

I countered with, "That's just enough time to tell you that you are listing my home in early June. And please let me be the one to tell Deb." 

Tessa wasn't surprised, but she was surprised if that makes sense. I've been alluding to this particular thing for months. Even Deb won't be totally surprised. (I did tell Tessa the reason Deb hasn't heard yet is I don't want to deal with the Deb-guilt. Tessa said, "Good luck with that."). Honestly, nobody should be surprised, though my pal Joy--who is my first local friend to get this news--took it pretty hard yesterday. She raised a leery eyebrow and asked, "So, you are saying you are moving in a year or two?" Um... no. 

Anyway, Tessa wanted to come over and "evaluate" what needed to be done. No deal. I told Tessa we have four adults, two cats and a senior dog living under one roof. Our house looks like we have three households and feline chaos living there. Before Tessa comes over and tells me to move a table to the other corner, I need to find the other corner. Unless she's got a buyer wanting a 20 year old starter home in Wake Village and will give us a long escrow, sit tight. We'll meet up again before she lists it. Maybe by then she'll have saner real estate stories to share with me. 

*Note to anyone thinking of buying a house: unless your seven year old is on the mortgage, he doesn't have a say in the property. Thank you very much. 

**Note to anyone thinking of selling a home: if your real estate agent says, "this cash offer is a good deal and you should consider it," please do and don't blame your agent if the next offer is $40,000 lower, takes a month to get, and is in line with the current market prices. 

In Other News

 

We're moving this summer. 

I don't know when or where exactly, though we have a few areas in mind (it will be somewhere in the Orlando area). No. Marty doesn't have a job at this time. But he's now concentrating his search to Orlando area and remote jobs.

It took some convincing that buying was better than renting with two cats and a senior dog, but I've managed. Today I spoke with a loan officer and started the preapproval process. Because of Marty's retirement, this is an option without him having current employment.  

This week, Pete the Painter came by and painted our outside trim. I also had him freshen up the bathrooms and the front door. Those were painted early in our time here  by--I'm not making this up--six meth-heads who camped in our home for four days. 

I plan on breaking the news to Tessa soon. She's going to be listing our home. When? Not sure. We can't list our house until we can get rid of about 60 percent of our personal belongings--some of which will be stored in Uboxes (like everyone's personal desk). After all, the house has to look like four adults, two cats and a dog can comfortably co-exist without tripping over everyone's stuff.  We have another teensy problem, we are expecting thunderstorms for the next two weeks and we can't get Uboxes delivered here (they come from Shreveport) until the rain subsides. This is life in East Texas. 

After I finish my edits for The Redeemed (coming later this year), I'll start working on filling the thrift stores with items to repurpose and posting all over Facebook Marketplace. But, that's next week's issue. 

This is Totally Rational

I've sworn since I moved to Texarkana, that the first snake I saw, I'd be high-tailing it back to Arizona. 

In the last four years, that statement has been amended to the first alive snake I saw on the Texas side. Because, the empirical evidence I currently have is only alive snakes live in Arkansas. I've seen my fair share in Arkansas. I've also seen my fair share of dead snakes on the Texas side.* 

Last week, during our drive back from Florida, somewhere in mid-Louisiana, in the middle of a huge thunderstorm where my phone was alerting me every three seconds of tornado warnings, Polly called Marty. She said, "Hey Dad, I just found a copperhead." After I finished exclaiming my displeasure, Polly said, "Oh... I didn't realize you were on speaker phone." 

Fortunately, Fate decided to riddle my immune system with all sorts of nastiness since we returned, so I haven't been outside in days. Marty swears the snake has now slithered back under two sets of fences and into the woods behind our house. He also swears he's put down sulpher--but it rained, so he will have to do it again. And, he swears he raked the leaves where Polly found the critter and did not find a copperhead, much less any other snake. However, I've noticed a shovel has been strategically placed in the garage. 

Meanwhile, my sister-in-law is on notice that I may be moving in. She's got my room ready. 

*I should add, last fall I found a harmless grass snake in my greenhouse. But: 1) I recognized it as harmless 2) there's currently enough sulphur spread out over the greenhouse floor that I'm pretty sure it isn't coming back. Probably. But my brother and sister-in-law are waiting anyway.  

Gotcha Day

A year ago Buckaroo brought us the Overlords. Leon and Roosevelt have been fun and chaotic additions to the Sunshine family. 

A year later, they are still maniacs. Leon still kills paper. Roosevelt still climbs everything--especially people in the middle of the night. They also extremely sweet. Leon will wrap his front legs in a hug-fashion around an unsuspecting person walking by. Roosevelt is so lovey-dovey and will purr with the smallest amount of attention from anyone, including Luna. 

Though brothers, they are about as different in size and personality as one can expect. However, they are extremely bonded, even to the point of crying for the other (also in the middle of the night). 

Roosevelt and Leon

Looks Like One (or More) of Those Coronas Must Have a Direct Line

This illness is lingering. It's taken its toll to the point where I accidentally "replied all" to an e-mail today and at some point I probably should care. Right now the best I can do is muster an "oops." 

Being this sick is so awful that, after six days, I broke down and asked the Coronas for their help with some Divine Assistance. Though I'm now answering 17,081 text messages instead of sleeping, the truth is, I'm starting to feel better. Looking back, I probably should have asked for prayers last Wednesday.  

For the record, there is no antibiotic for bronchitis. It just has to run its course. 

If you are looking for a good stock tip: whatever company makes Ricola sugar free cough drops. I'm on my third bag in six days.