I have been feeling niggling guilt for not following up on Mary's comment about Bush's tax cuts after saying I would do so. It's been a busy week. We made another trip to PCT to find short-term housing for my husband and look at some long-term housing for the rest of us. We saw one house that we both liked a lot -- enough that we have been applying for a m-- for a mortg-- for one of those things where you pledge to give the bank a sum of money amounting to several years' earnings in exchange for the privilege of paying for the plumber's services yourselves.
In spite of having wished for years that we could have a place of our own, I am battling frigid feet. My sudden-onset Raynaud's syndrome is a result of my anxiety about this new job. Once bitten = twice shy. Twice bitten = ten purple toes.
Right now the plan is to see how it all comes together. Elwood starts work in PCT on Monday. If the boss does not appear to have a second head tucked under the shoulder of his sportcoat, if the financing goes smoothly, we'll look at moving by mid-March.
Gulp.
This is the house around the corner from my friend -- a 1913 house with four bedrooms and a little yard that's exactly the right size for our "I-don't-want-to-mow-the-grass-you-mow-the-grass" marriage. The back gets lots of sunlight from the south -- just the thing for a vegetable garden. It has pretty wood floors and high ceilings, and bay windows and a walk-up attic. It's in good condition. And housing costs are so low compared to Pretty Now Town that a 15-year m-- mortg-- you know would cost us less than we pay in rent now.
There's another house for sale in the neighborhood -- slightly cheaper, slightly farther from downtown. We're going to see if we can take a look at it together this weekend.
When my husband and I travel together, we play "B is for Botticelli." Do you know it? One player picks a famous person or fictional character, and everyone else has to guess who he is. The other players earn the right to ask yes or no questions by stumping the player who is It with questions about people whose names start with the same letter. If that was confusing, there's an example of play here.
I spent hours, off and on, trying to figure out my husband's mystery person. The letter was A, and I laboriously learned that he was a fictional character from a mid-twentieth-century poem written by a man. It turns out he was Anyone, from "anyone lived in a pretty how town." I laughed out loud when I finally figured it out.
My cold feet and I are going to bed, where it's warm. See you later.
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