Reliving The Dream

scream

If you remember the movie Groundhog Day, Bill  Murray’s character (Phil, the local TV weatherman) kept waking up on that day, and relives it over and over and over again. During this process he evolves from a selfish, ego-centric asshole to someone who respects people, cares about others, and is actually likeable. He finds himself falling in love with Andie MacDowell’s character, and wants to become someone she can love in return, hence the transformation.

I bring this up because my quest to become published has made me feel the same sense of deja vu Phil experienced. The dream is an endless loop that brings me back to the same place, and never arrives at a conclusion.

I first wrote about getting published  back in May of 2018. I had hopes 2018 would be the year it would happen, but the process really didn’t get started in earnest until early 2019. I had to re-edit the manuscript for what felt like the thousandth time, and once that was completed the manuscript was sent to a bunch of publishing houses. I believed this was the end of the process and was confident that 2019 would be the year. I was wrong.

Early last month I got the word from my agent that the feedback she had been receiving was that as a first-time author, the publishers would not consider looking at a manuscript that exceeded 85,000 words.

The original draft had approximately 150,000 words. When my agent first took a gander at it, she said it had to be 100,000 words or less, otherwise nobody would look at it. So I spent months revising the thing, and after several iterations got it down to a little less than 100,000. Imagine my surprise and dismay when I learned I had to go through this all over again.

My initial reaction, which I never expressed, was “Are you shitting me?!” I was pissed. Chopping 15,000 words from a manuscript you think is tight is no easy feat. In fact, I thought it impossible. But I hadn’t looked at the manuscript for close to eight months, and it turns out it wasn’t as tight as I thought.

My first effort netted a savings of maybe 5,000 words, but that wasn’t good enough. So the second time I was more ruthless and thought I hit the magic number, but only got it down to 87,000.

If I’m honest, this is a far superior version because there was a lot of fluff in what I thought was the final edition. This one is much tighter and the story doesn’t lose a thing, so perhaps there is a method to this madness. But now I have to read it one final time (hopefully) and see if there are any other pieces of text that don’t really add to the story that can be removed. The resulting outcome will have to be good enough.

This process really sucks, if for no other reason than the fact that I have read this thing from beginning to end at least 100 times and am tired of it. It wasn’t so bad during the first go-around in December, but this will be the third revision in a month. I’m so sick of looking at it I’m tempted to burn the thing and be done with it, but I can’t and won’t. I’ve invested too much time in the process to give up now. Hopefully this does the trick.

The only silver lining to this is that I have an excuse for not starting a second novel, the storyline of which has been in my head of almost a year. If and when that process starts, I’d like to think I’ve learned enough from this experience not to have to write and re-write it as many times. If that’s not the case, maybe I should wait until I retire so I can devote myself to this full-time.

Age or MS?

faucet

I don’t complain about getting older. There’s no point to it, and besides, it beats the alternative. But one annoying and frustrating symptom has become exponentially worse lately, and I’m wondering how much of it has to do with MS.

As men age, it is not uncommon for us to have to urinate more often. From what I understand, the prostate increases in size and presses against the urethra, which prevents us from fully emptying our bladders. So when I found myself going more often at night and during the day, I wasn’t surprised. Besides, there is medication that helps remedy the problem, and when I first started taking these meds it definitely helped. But now these meds are as useful as tits on a bull.

To put it bluntly, I can’t hold my water, am constantly dealing with what I refer to as a leaky faucet, and it is driving me out of my mind. I have to wear pads to absorb the drips (and sometimes more than a drip) and have a urinal in my car in case the need becomes extreme and I’m not anywhere near a bathroom. I’m guessing that I’ve had to pull over and use it a dozen times over the past year.

I had the unpleasant experience of dealing with a kidney stone that had to be surgically removed a couple of years ago. It came as a complete surprise, and I hope to never experience it again. My urologist told me that if I didn’t consume a ton of salt (I don’t) and drink around 100 ounces of water a day (I didn’t), I would never see him again. From then on my water consumption jumped from practically nothing to that magic number. Keep in mind that water does not include coffee or beer.

So I know part of the reason I pee all the time is because my bladder is always full. But there is more to it than that.

First you should know that I typically start work between 5:30 and 6:00, and the first thing I do when I arrive in the office is get a cup of coffee (12 oz). Once that is consumed I start filling my mug with hot water, and consume 100 ounces between seven and noon. During that time I make the trek from my desk to the men’s room every half hour or so. Once the 100 ounces is consumed I don’t drink anything.

So, the other day I made three stops to the men’s room after my last mug of water, including as I was leaving the office for the trip home. Keep in mind it had been over three hours since I drank any liquid of any kind.

When I arrived home, 45 minutes later, I had to rush to the bathroom because the faucet was dripping. Then I went to the basement to work out on a recumbent bike I have, and had to inturrupt my workout after 20 minutes because I had to go again. Then after I returned and finished my routine (less than fifteen minutes later), I found that I had to go again once I got into a standing position. Once upstairs I sat for a while before getting up to set the dinner table, and had to go yet again. To make a long story short, I had to pee seven times in less than three hours, and this was long after I consumed any liquid.

It seems that anytime I go from a sitting to upright position, or do anything that could get things chruning, I have to go. Immediately! It’s as if gravity triggers the need to void whatever is in my bladder, and since my muscle control down there is much worse since the MS, the faucet begins to drip. If I don’t attend to it, it will become a flood. Fortuantely that hasn’t happened yet.

It’s maddening. I literally have to plan my day and where I might be going around the amount of liquid I’ve consumed and whether there is a bathroom I can use. I hate using the pads, but need them all the time. Who wants to feel wet all day long or, even worse, walk arond with a wet spot in a place it doesn’t belong? On the days I have my plasma transfers, I literally can’t drink anything for at least two hours prior to the procedure, because once it starts I can’t get up and aren’t supposed to move my arms. The dilemma is water helps fatten the veins, which makes them easier to find.

Age and MS are probably both at work here. I am obviously not emptying the chamber whenever I go (age), but the frequency and urgency in which the need arises is because I can’t hold anything (MS). It’s as if there is nothing to stop the flow once I stand up, which is maddening for someone who used to be be able to hold it all day long if necessary.

At least I don’t have this issue when it comes to empyting the intestines, which I know can be problematic for folks with MS. I don’t even want to contemplate what that would be like.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Politics

The tick bites the person, sucked deep under the skin.

We often hear this word thrown around a lot, but what does it actually mean? I looked it up the other day and wasn’t satisfied with the standard definition, so I broke the word down, conducted an out-of-the-box word search and learned that the word politics comes from the Greek word Poly, which means many, and tics, which are arachnids that feed of the blood of mammals and other creatures: in other words, many bloodsuckers. Yep, that sounds about right.

Before you start thinking this is going to be a diatribe on any specific person or political party, I’m sorry to disappoint you. You might see something like that as we draw closer to November 2020, but not today. And in the spirit of full disclosure, I am socially liberal but fiscally conservative, which puts me right smack in the middle of the political spectrum, as I presume most people are. I also vote for the candidate, not the party.

Our political system is broken, but judging from what I read about Great Britain and some of the other world news, I suspect we aren’t the only country that can say that. I think term limits are necessary because elections are more like auctions where the nomination goes to the highest bidder in terms of lobbying and endorsement money, and doesn’t come close to separating the wheat from the chaff.

And once a person is elected to office, is their priority to do what is right and best for their constituents?  Hah! No, the number one priority is to get re-elected, and to do that you need cash. Perhaps a candidate begins the process in good faith and with good intentions, but when the rubber hits the road, they become beholden to the special interests that fund their campaigns, got them elected in the first place, and put those needs above the people they are supposed to represent.

Politics, in theory, demands compromise, and putting the common good above everything else. Nobody gets everything they want, but gets what they can live with. Perhaps there was more of that before I came of age, but it certainly isn’t that way now.

Admittedly, the nature of politics is to obtain power to promote your party’s agenda. When political blood is spilled the sharks hone in on their target, particularly around election time hoping to rip them to shreds and kill their re-election chances.

But when did it become such a blood sport, where the only thing that is important is to kill or be killed, to say no to anything to opposition proposes, and not be willing to consider another point of view and to bastardize long-standing protocols and traditions (Mitch McConnell refusing to consider Obama’s Supreme Court nominee in 2016, for instance) in order to promote one’s own political agenda and ideology? When did it get so nasty and demeaning? And when, given some of the nonsense coming out of people like Devin Nunes, did we begin electing sycophants and buffoons?

Have I been asleep at the switch for that long? Sometimes I wonder because I thought Rudy Gulianni was the greatest thing since sliced bread after the nine-eleven attacks. I didn’t know the guy or his history as NYC’s mayor, but he certainly presented well as he galvanized the city and nation with his pluck and attitude in getting his city back on it’s feet. Now I think he’s a whacked-out loose cannon and bat-shit crazy.

What is going on now, and seems to have been escalating ever since Karl Rove was part of Dubya’s inner circle, is discouraging as hell. Nobody accomplishes anything,  gridlock ensues, nobody takes ownership. The other side is blamed, and our national debate devolves into name calling, outright lying, and deflecting attention away from real issues. It’s getting worse instead of better.  Some it of is so blatant that I often wonder if our politicians think the electorate is really that gullible and stupid. It’s insulting to think we are viewed as nothing more than faithful sheep who blindly buy a bill of goods without reservations or questions.

Perhaps it’s because our attention spans have shrunken to that of a gnat. Maybe it’s because in a social media and reality television-driven world, politics is nothing more than a form of entertainment for the masses, replete with heroes and villains, depending on which side of the aisle you reside in. Unfortunately, negativity sells. The issues get buried for the spectacle of the  the show. Maybe it’s because we have morphed into an it’s all about me society, and as long as our 401ks are healthy we don’t give a shit about unimportant things, like climate change.

I’m not bitter, just embarrassed and extremely worried about the sideshow we currently finds ourselves in. The level of hypocrisy is appalling, and so is the apparentl level of apathy in some circles. Or maybe it is a feeling of hopelessness.

I have tried to avoid getting caught up in the circus that is Washington DC by taking the ostrich approach, sticking my head in the sand to drown out the noise until next fall. But the drumbeat of discontent, the closed-mindedness, the unwillingness to consider  different points of view and outright hostility make that difficult.

If nothing else, I expect and truly hope that we have a massive voter turnout in 2020. If that occurs, I believe we can expect fundamental change. One would think that would be the only way the jackals in DC will get the message and (hopefully) act accordingly. But there is no guarantee of that either because when one party gets pimp-slapped the other often doesn’t learn from their misfortune, and resort to payback for all the crap they felt they had to endure under the previous administration and Congressional leadership. All that changes is one end of the political spectrum becomes a lot happier than they are now, and vise versa.

In order for this change to occur, the youth of our country need to vote in much larger numbers, and become more politically engaged. It’s their future after all, and they have a lot more at stake as far as that is concerned compared to someone in their sixties.

It’s going to be an interesting, infuriating, maddening and fascinating eleven months. When it is over, we will remain a fractured country, but hopefully have the infrastructure  in place that can being the long, hard task of healing our divisions rather than making them worse.

Hey, a guy can dream, can’t he?

 

 

 

 

Random Thoughts

THoughts

 

I’ve been staring at a screen that is as blank as my well of inspiration, so I’ve decided to fill this space with some thoughts that have flittered across my mind recently but don’t have enough meat to stand on their own.

If you have MS or another chronic illness, have you ever gotten to the point where you seriously wondered what would happen if you just stopped everything on the procedure and medication front? I have, except for the MMJ. I mean, I’ve been receiving monthly apheresis procedures for almost seven years now, have been getting intravenous meds for about ten, and have taken a host of pills ranging from Ampyra to Low Dose Naltrexone, but the progression continues. The IV meds and other procedures no longer produce a noticeable difference or relief. The costs aren’t insignificant either, so why bother continuing getting poked, prodded and stuck with needles? Because while all this is true, the progression has been slow and confined to one limb, and I’m afraid that if I abandon this course of treatment the progression will accelerate and I will join the ranks of the completely disabled sooner than later. It’s kind of like believing in Santa Claus, so I continue. But I know the day is coming, probably once I don’t need to work full time anymore, where I say fuck it and let the chips fall where they may.

Speaking of MMJ, my preferred method of consumption is vaping because I can control the dosage, and choose the amount of THC. Plus it’s cheaper than many of the other options. What I’m finding however is that with all the concern and, in some cases, hysteria, surrounding vaping and its potential health consequences, the vaping options have become very limited. I use to be able to literally choose from two to three dozen options. The last time I looked, it was down to three, and I am not talking dozens. It’s quite annoying!

And speaking of THC, one of the things I have noticed is that when I am under the influence, my thought process is very different. All of the emotion that is often in play when pondering the decisions we make is stripped away, and I view the pros and cons of each choice in a very detached and black and white manner, which is usually good because it brings clarity. Of course, if you have a particularly dicey situation, such as the fact that our house hasn’t sold and I could be starting down the barrel of a winter of financial discontent, it isn’t so good because there is no bullshitting or silver lining to rationalize over and soothe one’s sole, which makes the situation feel a lot worse than it is. Or does it?

If what has gone down in the White House is not impeachable, then nothing is. It’s becoming obvious that in order to impeach anyone, let alone remove any President from office, the key is not what they did, but whether one party controls both the House and Senate. After all, how do you explain the difference between Clinton getting impeached for lying about a blow job and our current resident’s transgressions.

All of which proves that we need term limits for our Senators and House members. If they don’t have to worry about getting reelected, perhaps they’d have the courage to stand up for their convictions.

I have no doubt that if the votes in the Senate on the impeachment issue were anonymous, the outcome would be very different than what we are going to get.

My favorite thing about winter is that I can swing into hibernation mode without any guilt. Since it gets dark so early, I have no reservations about calling it a night, getting into my sweats and hunkering down for the evening by seven.

Does anyone watch the news, network cable or otherwise anymore, or do most of us get our information off the web? It’s the latter for me, but it is getting harder to get news that isn’t biased one way or the other.

Am I in the minority thinking that the world is going to hell? I swear that I’ve read about shootings somewhere in the world every single day for a week, and that a week doesn’t go by without news of someone killing a handful or a mass of people somewhere. Is it anger, hate, isolation, desperation, fame seeking, or a combination of them all? Whatever the reason, it’s scary as hell.

I’ve been telling myself lately that as bad as things seem, it still hasn’t reached the level of discord that this country saw in 1968. I was only a kid back then and didn’t have a clue about what was really happening, but having seen some documentaries on what went down that year, I probably would have been more fearful of what was happening to this country had I been an adult than I am now, which is saying a lot. Still, can we survive another four years of the current regime?

Be that as it may, it feels like I am experiencing 1984, not 1968. George Orwell’s 1984, that is.

Professional hockey players are the toughest, best conditioned athletes in the world. After all, they are in a flat out sprint most of the time they are on the ice, travelling at top speeds of 30 MPH, surrounded by and crashing into opponents who are just as big and fast as they are. If I’m not mistaken, there are more concussions suffered in hockey than football. Plus, these guys are wielding sticks that have a habit tearing flesh, smashing teeth and breaking bones. They also willingly drop to the ice to prevent a screaming puck of hard rubber from reaching the goalie. They simply get stitched up, or visit the dentist office that is in most NHL clubhouses, and get back on the ice. I admire their skill and tenacity, but often think they are a bit insane.

Only ten weeks before pitchers and catchers report for spring training. Can’t wait.

If you had a chance to look into the future and see what was in store for you and your loved ones ten years from now, would you do it? Not me. Sometimes ignorance is bliss.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Best Laid Plans Often Go Awry

plans2

Ever since that night when the concept of a new house became an idea, the wheels that eventually resulted in our October move were set in motion. Meticulous plans evolved and were followed. It was exciting to see a concept become reality, and every step of the process brought it’s own unique ups and downs.

Most of what we expected to happen played out the way we planned, except for two things. One was the cost, which even with the predicable overruns was significantly higher than what we expected, but we fortunately were able to navigate that hurdle. The other fly in the ointment has turned out to be more unexpected and troublesome.

The original plan of breaking ground in the late fall, which is not optimum, was based on the desire to move during the summer. But as spring was drawing to a close, it became obvious that a summer move was in jeopardy.

There were a variety of reasons for this, none of which are worth getting into, but as the days dragged on, K took charge and lit a fire under the subcontractors because our biggest fear was to move after the peak period for real estate sales had come and gone. Progress accelerated from that point but, as you know if you have been following this blog, we didn’t move until October.

While this was concerning, there was no reason to go into a full-blown panic. Admittedly, nobody wants to move to a new town after the school year starts, but late September/early October is a beautiful time of the year, and the views from our hillside home are spectacular when the foliage is in full display. We had transitioned from focusing on the new house to getting our current one clean, painted and move-in ready. Even though it was late in the game, it wasn’t too late. Or so we thought.

We’ve never been lucky when it comes to real estate, but heard plenty of stories about people selling their houses within days of it going on the market, particularly in our area, and we harbored fantasies of that finally happening to us. It soon became apparent however that the market had slowed to a crawl because we couldn’t generate much interest, and now that we are in the midst of the holiday season, it is absolutely dead.

Fuck!

Carrying two mortgages and having to maintain two places was never part of the equation, but that is our reality. The question now becomes what to do next. At some point we are going to have to take the house off the market until spring. But when? I don’t expect anything to occur between now and January 1st, unless by some miracle a family relocates due to a job change and needs a new home. The question is whether to wait a few weeks after the first to see if anything pops.

Double fuck!!

In the interim, it feels like we’re taking a torch to our remaining assets while this drama unfolds. Two sets of mortgages, property taxes, insurance policies, snow removal and utilities will do that. The added shame of it is that this has taken some of the joy out of living in our new abode, which we absolutely love. If there is a silver lining, and I’m stretching to find one, it’s that winter is coming. During this time we generally hunker down and don’t do a lot, which means we don’t spend a lot, which is important because these next few months are going to be lean and mean.

Triple fuck!!! 

I’m convinced this unfortunate development is all a matter of bad timing. Every agent who looked at the place after it was placed on the market said the house was beautiful and wouldn’t have a problem selling. Our current agent is frustrated because she can’t even recommend we do something to the house to make it more attractive, other than perhaps drop the price, which we have already done once.

Here’s the dilemma. If we lower the price to the “sweet spot” that is being suggested, which we aren’t that far above now, what happens if we’re in the same boat come spring?  I’d want to start higher when the demand is higher, but will that fly? Probably not.

I truly believe that if this Hail Mary doesn’t work, the real estate market will heat up by March, and we’ll have an offer on the house in the blink of an eye. If that turns out to be wishful thinking, we can still manage, but that would involve an option we’d prefer not to consider and creates a different set of issues.

I was beside myself when this part of the plan went up in flames, but have ridden that wave and developed a plan that gets us to early spring. If we are still in that same boat by then, I guess we could try to rent the place to help stop the bleeding, but that isn’t an option we relish whatsoever.

Needless to say, never in my wildest imagination did think we’d be choking on this huge lump Christmas coal last December. But here we are, with no quick resolution in sight.

Fuck!

 

 

 

 

The End Game

End Game

Throughout my MS journey, I’ve never dwelled on the ultimate outcome of my progression, what I refer to as the end game. I mean, what’s the point? The end game has been the proverbial crazy relative locked in the attic. You know they’re there, and you know at some point in time there could be a reckoning, but you don’t pay much attention to it because all it does is get you cranked up. Meanwhile, you do what is necessary to keep the progression at bay and prevent that day of reckoning from occurring.

The only concession I have made to my condition, besides diet, apheresis and infusions, is this house we just built, figuring it would be better to be proactive, and create a new space that can accommodate my needs should the worst occur on my terms. In other words move when I can, leaving the emotion out of it, instead of when I have to. That decision may prove fortuitous because my symptoms have definitely progressed to the point where the end game feels closer than ever.

The symptom that first appeared twelve years ago was a subtle foot drop. Slowly but surely, the weakness progressed beyond my foot, consumed my ankle, and slowly made its way up the leg to just below the knee. Walking became increasingly difficult and annoying, but it was manageable, and even though I used a cane liberally, I didn’t need it to get around. For the longest time, the weakness and lack of control hovered in that area, and even though it made maneuvering and doing stuff harder, I didn’t think twice about any physical limitations, and never thought of myself as disabled.

Well, things have changed. Perhaps it was all the work and activity I did to help get this house ready. Maybe it was the move itself. Maybe it was the stress of this entire process, which was significant. Maybe it was a combination everything or perhaps none of this mattered, and it was simply inevitable. Regardless, the symptoms have now consumed the knee, and my foundation is crumbling.

My knee feels like a broken kickstand that is on the verge of falling off. The pin that holds it to the frame is still there, and keeps the bike upright, but barely. It is loose as hell and is constantly on the verge of popping out. My knee literally feels like it is hanging by a thread, and as a result the leg feels like it can snap in half at any time. I wear a knee brace now in addition to the AFO brace, which helps, but all it does is provide a little extra support to prevent the leg from torqueing sideways.

If I don’t plant my foot a certain way every time I step forward, all my body weight lands on the bad leg as the other leg swings through, and the results aren’t good. The knee forcefully snaps back and the leg suddenly becomes inflexible and ramrod straight, which hurts, and my body wants to lurch forward. I literally have to place my hand behind the knee and push to unlock it and get the leg working again. This can happen several times a day if I’m not careful.

Needless to say my balance is worse than ever. I am in danger of falling with each step I take, which is a first for me.

So the nagging thoughts have begun. Is this the beginning of a steady, downward slide? Is my body going to allow me to continue working full time until I planned to retire? How much longer do I have before a walker or the dreaded wheelchair become necessary? What is all this going to do to from a financial perspective? I was supposed to see my neurologist again in January, but moved the appointment up to a week from Monday. I’ve never done that before, but I need to hear what he thinks.

Of course, I know there are no definitive answers. This could be my status quo for years, or I could be in a wheelchair by summer. I have always known what the deal is, but it never became a conscious thought until now. That crazy relative has broken loose from their prison and is rampaging through the house.

I’m resilient and stubborn though. We’ll wrestle for a while, and I have no doubt I will subdue them, stuff them back into the attic, replace the door and padlocks, and focus on more important things that I can control.

At least until the next obvious progression comes along.

 

Hell Week

Van

I forgot what a pain in the ass moving actually is.

The process started on Friday the 18th, when I took the day off from work to help with a few last-minute details. The following day a host of friends helped move all the boxes and some of the larger items we had in the garage of the old place into the garage and basement of the new place, which took about five hours. Then the moving van showed up at 9 on Monday the 21st, and by six or seven that night they were gone, and we were in.

The seven day period I took off was hell physically. Up at 6, work until it was dark, sometimes long after it was dark, then grab a few hours of relaxation before collapsing into bed and waking up early the next day to do it all over again. Going back to work felt like going on vacation.

The part I forgot about was not how tedious and cumbersome the packing and moving part is, it was how much the unpacking part sucks. About how spent you become just getting from point A to Point B, only to be faced with taking out and moving everything you packed into their new location in the new home, particularly when one is downsizing and there is more stuff than there is space.

Every day since the 21st, the laborious process of opening the boxes and placing the items in the areas we think we want them has been in full roar. We’ve cleaned out about half of the garage and could probably fit one car in there if we wanted, but the basement still remains a disaster. I lost count of the number of trips to the dump we have made with the SUV filled with broken down cardboard moving boxes.

Slowly but surely we are getting there, but it has been a physical and mental grind because for the last few months we have been either packing, unpacking, cleaning or moving. It has been relentless.

I have pushed myself harder than I can remember since MS raised its ugly head, and I am feeling it. Imagine carrying and moving boxes and other assorted things on one good leg for hours, day after day after day. Often it felt like I was walking on a balance beam, especially near the end of the day. At the risk of sounding over-dramatic, the term Dead Man Walking kept coming up in my mind because at times it felt like that.

My leg feels like it is hanging by a thread. My knee aches most of the time because it doesn’t bend the way it should, and walking is more cumbersome than ever. I persevere, but am hoping I didn’t overdo it, and that with a period of rest (whenever that might happen) I will be able to walk with a profound limp compared to whatever it looks like now. I can’t really describe what that is, but what I can tell you is it probably looks like one leg is a lot shorter than the other. My body noticeably dips lower and to the right with every step I take. I try to keep my knee bent because if I don’t, I hear a lot of grinding bone, and the leg feels like it will bend backwards before snapping in half at the knee. Instead it kind of buckles to one side. Swell.

I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I’m a bit concerned, but I made this bed. There really wasn’t a choice.

We are thrilled with the new place. It is wonderful to be on one floor, the shower is massive, with two shower heads, plenty of grab bars, and a place where I can easily sit. There are wood floors throughout so it is easy to slide my feet as long as I am wearing socks. It is clean, comfortable, could easily handle a wheelchair, and represents the culmination of a lot of sweat and gnashing teeth. K did herself proud with this one.

She still spends a lot of her days picking through the garage and culling stuff, and I lend a hand when I get home from work in whatever way I can, but that is when I notice how bad the leg is because I feel like I am on the verge of falling all the time if I’m not careful.

The stress of worrying about moving and all that goes with it is over, thankfully, but one little nagging issue remains unresolved and is becoming more worrisome with each passing day: we still have to sell the old place, and the holiday season is rapidly approaching.

Nonetheless we plod forward, and continue to place or dispose of the rest of the stuff that is in the garage and basement before the first snow flies. Slowly but surely, we’ll get there.

The inside isn’t ready for prime-time exposure, but here are some views from the outside. If it appears there are two stories when I said I love one-floor living, that is because in addition to the basement, the downstairs has a fully furnished apartment for Nidan and K’s Mom, who lives with us.

Once everything is in place I’ll share some pics of the inside, but have no idea when that will  be.

House1

House2

House3

House4

House5

House6