I think there's a military organization of one sort or the other who conducts something called "hell week". I'm a card carrying, board certified graduate of our very own civilian version.
I cannot, just cannot, bring myself to recount the gory details. Suffice it to say, it takes a village to move house.
And please don't anyone mention that we will have to do it again when we find a house to move INTO. Though it cannot possibly be as difficult as getting OUT of a house. I'm not sure if my theory is right, but it SEEMS that way. I'm holding onto that thought for dear life.
In an amusing turn of events, at the storage place, there was a bit of room left over and right at the entrance, there sits my computer chair, and a file cabinet. The door of the storage unit opens out onto a view of a horse pasture. I decided if I take a notion of a Sunday afternoon, I could go down there and open the door and have a sit down with my stuff. Air it out. Let some sunshine in. Paw through a few boxes just for fun. Set up a barbecue and cook a kosher hot dog. Invite friends. Eat potato salad. Sit by the stuff. Drink beer.
(You don't like beer. I think you need to go lie down for a while Cupcake. That sounds pretty silly. And by the way, when do we get our library card?)
Patience grasshopper, the to-do list is long.
Hub Man has returned to work, which I am sure will seem like a walk in the park compared to the week he just lived through. Speaking of spousal units, I would like to publicly thank said unit for keeping his sense of humor under trying circumstances. I think I owe him a few dozen Cornish Pasties when I have a kitchen of my own again.
Beef or chicken honey?
So here on the "farm", I have taken on the horse and chicken chores. I volunteered right away, because I'm not so good at things like running the big rototiller, or hauling hay out of the barn. Though I should be fired from the chicken chores, without a reference.
Ben and Sunny are banned from the chicken pen as they decided to chase them the other day. Ben actually grabbed one of them. I nearly had a nervous breakdown over it. The chickens still are not speaking to me. I don't blame them. I'm not speaking to me either.
You should have known better. Those dogs are dim wits.
Speaking of the dogs, they are having a very difficult time adapting to country life.
Or I could be misreading the signs.
What do you think?
Anyway.
My job, and I have chosen to accept it, is to house hunt. In a few days, I will begin my quest in earnest.
This may prove . . . interesting.
A house of our own, with no homeowner's associations, no car butt avenues near by, and not a Starbucks within 50 miles.
(How about running water?)
I'll put it on the list.
But don't get your hopes up.
You should have known better. Those dogs are dim wits.
Speaking of the dogs, they are having a very difficult time adapting to country life.
Or I could be misreading the signs.
What do you think?
Anyway.
My job, and I have chosen to accept it, is to house hunt. In a few days, I will begin my quest in earnest.
This may prove . . . interesting.
A house of our own, with no homeowner's associations, no car butt avenues near by, and not a Starbucks within 50 miles.
(How about running water?)
I'll put it on the list.
But don't get your hopes up.