Friday, June 27, 2008

From under a pile of boxes...

...I send you greetings. Am currently digging out from moving in. Will be back posting when I can find the living room again.

Let me give you the edited highlights, though:
  • There was a brief last-minute to-do about the truck we'd rented. My sister was supposed to pick it up at an office near them, but the place had no reservation listed. I had to sort it out long distance over my cell phone, but it turns out whoever I'd talked to on Thursday had reserved the truck for the wrong location. Fifteen minutes later (through the magic of computers), the reservation was in the right place and she could drive away with the truck.
  • My family was amazed at the amount of stuff I'd managed to cram into that tiny apartment. At one point Stretch asked me: "Do you have a door into some other apartment that you're taking stuff from?" Come on, gang, I'd been in there a decade and a half, and I have pack rat tendencies. What did you expect? And why did you think I've been packing for two months?
  • I need to get the townhouse reinspected now that the work required by the lenders is done. Before I call my realtor and say it's okay to call the inspector, I need to clear a path to the breaker box, which is surrounded by very heavy boxes of books. Guess what I'm doing Saturday?
  • The hollyhocks by the front door are starting to bloom. The tall one is hot pink, and the one next to it is a deeper pink, somewhere in the magenta range. Must take a picture and post it.
  • My third day in the new place I got my first door-to-door evangelist. Thought he'd be sneaky about his pitch and start by talking about Noah. Noah? Trying to tie in with the Mississippi floods? I didn't wait to find out. I'd answered the door covered in lilac and green splotches and brandishing a paint brush. Told him I was in the middle of something and then politely but firmly refused his offer to come back and talk to me later.
That's about it for now.


Just Me said...

Ah, yes. Every six months or so a carload of Jehovah's Witnesses arrives in my neighborhood, and they split up and go door to door with their literature.

This is another area where having a big, hairy dog and an Invisible Fence is a blessing.

G said...

I hear the magic word is "disfellowship" - as in, "I'm sorry, brother, but I was disfellowshipped a year or two back." If that's really the case, they are not allowed to talk to you.

I prefer the big hairy dog.

Or a careless flick with a loaded brush. Lilac would be good.