Home Again

January 19, 2018

 

Gentle Readers, you who have been with me as the flood waters of Hurricane Harvey filled my home, listened to my bemoaning of having to move out, and the Laundry Chronicles, GOOD NEWS!  We are home!

 

Sort of.

 

Home is not quite finished.  Which I did not quite realize until last Saturday morning when Luis & Co. of Three Men Movers schlepped my stuff from my rental home 2 blocks to my home-home and then collided with the painters and carpenters still working on my house.  After listening to a painter tell a mover for the 5th time, "Not there, I'm working there" so basically all our stuff had to be piled in the middles of rooms, I looked at my husband and said with just the tiniest note of despair, "I think we might have made a mistake."  Of course it would not do to have both of us dwelling in the Land of Remorse, so Husband answers, "No, if we hadn't set a move date, then a lot of this work wouldn't be happening."  Case in point: the plumber was working on the bathroom till 9:00 the night before because we were moving home Saturday morning.

 

So, this is the situation to date:  We have one fully functioning bathroom that supports the 4 of us.  It's like staying in a hotel, only we're not on vacation.   It's actually working out okay.  I take a shower at night, Older showers early in the morning, Husband showers later in the morning, and Younger tries to avoid showering altogether - "I bathed 2 days ago! I'm fine!"

 

The kitchen has no oven/stove top.  My attitude was, "No oven? No problem."  I made a dinner last night in the crock pot.  ***[Quick side note: OMG - this was the best recipe EVER!  Thank you, Lauren, you are the new source for All Things Yummy - Slow Roasted Pork with Mustard and Sage.  The recipe says to cook it in the oven, but the slow cooker works just fine.  I've included the recipe here].  But my point is not the delicious roast that cooked all day while I was at work, nor is it the clever idea I had to serve it with microwaved Brown Rice & Quinoa; no, my point is that I was little too Gung-ho Sally for my own good because when I got home last night, I found that the kitchen sink had been taped over so that the black splash could be put up today (new back splash because now my house is level and even, which means the new cabinets are level and even, so you can really tell that the old back splash was installed crooked and lopsided), so how am I supposed to clean the dishes?

 

"You can spray them with a hose outside," suggests Husband.  Ok, #1 it's freezing outside, so #2  when I'm aiming my hose at the dishes, I'm going to have cold water and food waste shot right back at me.  Thank you, but No.

 

My co-floodie Sarah told me she's been sending her food waste down the toilet.  Sarah has been living like this, without a kitchen, since August so clearly I'm not going to criticize however she's making this work, but I'm not taking any chances with my one, functioning bathroom. 

 

So, starting today we're going to do what reasonable people do, and that is Go Out to Eat.

 

The other interesting aspect of moving home is the home telephone.  Yes, we still have a landline, and apparently its purpose is to take calls from (1) Houston Independent School District informing me of Icy Days and (2) telemarketers informing me of Great Opportunities.

 

Last night, Younger hands me the phone, "It's for you."

Me: "Hello?"  Did I sound wary?  I didn't mean to; I try to assume Best of Intentions

Lisa the Telemarketer: "Yeah, Hi, Bustle!  This is Lisa from Pharmacy Inc.  I'm going to mail out that free topical pain cream to you.  I just want to verify your address."

She starts to rattle off my address, but I interrupt.

Me: "Pain cream?  What pain cream?"

Lisa the Telemarketer: "Didn't you fill out a survey saying that you have back pain?"

 

Ok, now as it happens, I do have back pain.  Because apparently standing around all day directing movers to just pick a room middle, any room middle is not only exhausting but excruciating as well.  My back really does hurt, particularly around my right hip, but for crying out loud, I didn't fill out a survey about it, so how does Lisa know this?

 

Me: "NO!  I didn't fill out a survey!"

Lisa the Telemarketer: "Oh, um, well..."

Me to Husband, "My gosh, this is how the opiate crisis must have gotten started, people being offered free pain meds over the phone!"

Lisa the Telemarketer: much sputtering "Ma'am, I assure you... (Oh, now I'm ma'am?)"

Me: "Relax, Mama, I'm kidding.  Good evening to you, madam."  [click]

 

Much like dinner out, the solution here is obvious: get Younger a cell phone, and quit this home telephone business.  Unless, of course, I can obtain one of those shoulder rest handsets like I had in 1988.

 I really loved those.

 

And I'm really going to love my house someday soon.  For now, I'm going to be trendy and just "lean into the discomfort."  And I'm eating out.  There is discomfort and then there is camping; I'm not a savage.

 

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