Posts
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Change: that old thing?
I had a pleasant email exchange with a friend this morning about what I've always known as "second sight," a kind of ESP some people have that tells them of impending events. In my Kentucky days I knew several people who were so gifted. They were just plain folks who every now and then got "visions,"-- strong premonitions that usually turned out really to predict an important happening, either in their own lives or those of their loved ones. I was attracted to these people, had a special affection for them, even before I knew of their unusual ability. They seemed relaxed in their own skins--what we now call centered--and accepting of circumstances and people on their own terms. I don't know why there should be so many such folk in Kentucky; the only thing I know they all had in common was a strong grounding in the charismatic churches of Appalachia. They weren't Bible-thumpers by any means, and all of them had stopped attending regular services by the time I knew them. But their earliest memories were of people "getting the spirit." Speaking in tongues, having the ability to run in the woods, eyes closed, without crashing into anything, breaking into wild, spontaneous dance literally when the spirit moved them, were common, even mundane occurrences for them. They were completely at home with the possibility of other realities. At a very deep level, I envied them and was fascinated with them, while at the same time having no desire to develop whatever potential I may have had in a similar direction. One of my favorite expressions begins, "In my next life I'll........". I say it as a joke (late for the bicentenntial celebration in 1976, I swore I'd be on time for the tricentennial) but in truth I'm completely open to the possibility that my facetious bon mot may actually be true.
So while I don't have second sight and don't particularly want it for myself, my earliest experiences and even the circumstances of my adult life did prepare me for at least one important thing: the inevitability of loss. I've often had occasion to compare my reaction to negative events--the loss of a beloved friend through a move or death, a sudden health emergency--and found myself wanting. But then I realize that I've "lost" friends for as long a time as I can remember and just got used to it.
Even though I have a sister, she is 10 years older than I am and I was raised essentially as an only child. Circumstances taught me to value companionship. Before I started school, Don, the boy who lived across the street, was the kid I hung out with. I clearly remember looking forward to going to school with him and being in the same classroom. We'd lend each other support. Alas, his parents sent him to another school and we were separated. That was my first loss. I had to face school alone, and I shed some tears. But then I learned something about myself: with no one else to lean on, I could do just fine.
Since our neighborhood was only a few minutes' drive from the Pentagon, lots of young military families passed through it as the fathers did their obligatory 2-year DOD tours. The Rosackers were one of those families. So well can I see Mrs. Rosacker standing at our front door with two little boys in tow. She came to introduce herself to my mother and see if I could play with her kids. One of them, Gus, was exactly my age and we quickly became fast friends, closer, even, than Don and I had been. Gus and I did everything together, finished each others' sentences, laughed at the same jokes. Inevitably, though, in two short years, he was gone. Over the years this happened so often that all of us permanent kids on the street simply became inured to the eventual loss of these special friends, and learned to savor their presence while we had it. As we got older, these boys and girls had lived all over the world and gave us provincial hicks who had never left the neighborhood a window on other lives and realities. I never left Meadow Lane and yet I became pretty cosmopolitan in my outlook. I was so accustomed to imagining alternative possibilities with alternative people that the idea of the Peace Corps wasn't outlandish at all to me when the time came to consider it. And then, lo and behold, I had an entire career at the Peace Corps, where there is constant staff turnover because of the five-year employment rule. I realize I've lived with never-ending change for my whole life, resulting in a huge cast of memorable, well-loved characters, some of whom are now distant, but others remain close and dearest friends.
And so the loss of this dream of a new life is hard to take but I'm not broken by it. Thinking of alternatives is hard-wired in me, and already we are optimistically exploring new possibilities. There is always fear of the unknown, and these are especially scary times. But we'll make it. We always have, and besides, we have no choice. That alternative is one we can do without.
So while I don't have second sight and don't particularly want it for myself, my earliest experiences and even the circumstances of my adult life did prepare me for at least one important thing: the inevitability of loss. I've often had occasion to compare my reaction to negative events--the loss of a beloved friend through a move or death, a sudden health emergency--and found myself wanting. But then I realize that I've "lost" friends for as long a time as I can remember and just got used to it.
Even though I have a sister, she is 10 years older than I am and I was raised essentially as an only child. Circumstances taught me to value companionship. Before I started school, Don, the boy who lived across the street, was the kid I hung out with. I clearly remember looking forward to going to school with him and being in the same classroom. We'd lend each other support. Alas, his parents sent him to another school and we were separated. That was my first loss. I had to face school alone, and I shed some tears. But then I learned something about myself: with no one else to lean on, I could do just fine.
Since our neighborhood was only a few minutes' drive from the Pentagon, lots of young military families passed through it as the fathers did their obligatory 2-year DOD tours. The Rosackers were one of those families. So well can I see Mrs. Rosacker standing at our front door with two little boys in tow. She came to introduce herself to my mother and see if I could play with her kids. One of them, Gus, was exactly my age and we quickly became fast friends, closer, even, than Don and I had been. Gus and I did everything together, finished each others' sentences, laughed at the same jokes. Inevitably, though, in two short years, he was gone. Over the years this happened so often that all of us permanent kids on the street simply became inured to the eventual loss of these special friends, and learned to savor their presence while we had it. As we got older, these boys and girls had lived all over the world and gave us provincial hicks who had never left the neighborhood a window on other lives and realities. I never left Meadow Lane and yet I became pretty cosmopolitan in my outlook. I was so accustomed to imagining alternative possibilities with alternative people that the idea of the Peace Corps wasn't outlandish at all to me when the time came to consider it. And then, lo and behold, I had an entire career at the Peace Corps, where there is constant staff turnover because of the five-year employment rule. I realize I've lived with never-ending change for my whole life, resulting in a huge cast of memorable, well-loved characters, some of whom are now distant, but others remain close and dearest friends.
And so the loss of this dream of a new life is hard to take but I'm not broken by it. Thinking of alternatives is hard-wired in me, and already we are optimistically exploring new possibilities. There is always fear of the unknown, and these are especially scary times. But we'll make it. We always have, and besides, we have no choice. That alternative is one we can do without.
Monday, January 26, 2009
News
Well, I said I'd probably have some big news today. I do.
We're selling the land in Delaware. We won't be building a house on Hopkins Prong.
The year 2008 was rough on a lot of people, Steve and me included. It began early, when we learned that Steve's company was reneging on policies in place when he was hired but changed without notice: his pension would be drastically reduced because of California state retirement programs they opted out of. We had no recourse, these programs were not part of any employment contract, just perks the company decided it could no longer afford.
OK. We could still make it on the new income, reduced as it would be. And we still had this little Arlington gold mine we're living in. We own it free and clear; a second mortgage against it was paying for the land in Delaware, but selling the house would clear that and build a dream house as well. If we had to take a little loan to make it work, maybe $50K, that would be OK. We continued with our plans and enjoyed our summer weekends in the trailer.
Then came the real estate crisis. DC and its close-in suburbs have taken hits with the rest of the country, but not as big. Well, at least in some places. It so happens in our Zip code, however, 50% of home sales over the past 12 months have been foreclosures. Fifty percent! Home appraisals are not supposed to be influenced by a nearby foreclosure or two, but at that rate, all home values are affected.
We were starting to sense clouds on the horizon but had heard that Arlington homes would lose only 2% of their assessed value "on average." We could live with that. But we turned out to be above average and lost 10%--a distinction we could definitely have lived without. (No, county assessments are not the be-all and end-all in pricing a house. But they play a role. Banks look at them when deciding on approving a loan. Your price can't be too far afield.) The new numbers made it clear that after paying the $330K second mortgage, we wouldn't be able to build a house we'd want to spend the rest of our lives in, and at that point, that beautiful scrap of land whose picture you see at the top of the page became a liability. Paying for it became the obstacle to building on it. As much as we love everything about the place, the debt was no longer a manageable inconvenience, but a monster. In order to do anything at all with the profit from this house, we would have to retire that second mortgage, and the only way to do that was to sell the land. But that had potential problems, too.
The prospects for getting what we needed for the land were by no means bright; its value has diminished by one-third since we purchased it. We knew that selling it on the open market would be useless, but we had one possible place to turn. Our neighbor, whose land adjoins ours, had always wanted our parcel. In fact, just before we made our purchase in 2004, he had made a cash offer to the previous owner. The owner accepted--until his daughter-in-law, a real estate agent, talked him into putting it on the open market. He did, for a few dollars more, and we bought it at that higher price. (We of course had no idea of these dealings at the time.) Our neighbor was disappointed, to say the least, and told us repeatedly over the years that if "anything ever happened," and we decided we wanted to sell, we should go to him first. We kept that in the back of our minds, but never really believed we'd have to take him up on his offers, and they gradually subsided as our building plans firmed up and we shared them with him. He seemed to be resigned to never having the land; we had no idea if he was still interested, or what he would offer if he was.
Well. He offered us $300,000. He originally said he had $280,000 in cash and didn't want to go into any more debt but then, as he spoke and we merely listened, he talked himself up. I was flabbergasted. This was what's called grace, an unexpected, undeserved gift. I'd say it was from heaven if I believed in such a place. We will never be able to thank that dear man enough.
Still, all is not roses here at the moment. Steve is still dealing with the shock of losing this dream. He is, after all, the one who has been absorbing sucker punches for over a year: the loss of a good pension and then a forced retirement because of the loss of his job. When the job ends, so will his medical insurance, except for COBRA, which is prohibitively expensive. If our dear Barack doesn't change the rules and allow federal retirees to include domestic partners in their health coverage, Steve will have to get some kind of job just for insurance, but he can't think about that now. He's working hard at the office at a job about to end, and then working hard here at home, too. From his standpoint, the future doesn't look very bright, and he is depressed. I can only pray that soon he will be able to see the silver lining that I do, which is:
In about two weeks we will be clearing the better part of our huge debt. We hope to be able to restructure the remainder to improve our cash flow as Steve's job ends in June and we begin to live at about half our current income. The plan, at least now, is to go ahead and put the house on the market and see what the offers are. If they're high enough, we'll proceed, take full profit, and start looking for new places. If we deem the offers too low, we can take a breather from all this and stick around for another year or so to see if conditions improve. We feel like Delaware residents by now and would love to stay there, but we're open to anyplace that has nice land or nice homes on the waterfront that we can afford. Stay tuned.
We're selling the land in Delaware. We won't be building a house on Hopkins Prong.
The year 2008 was rough on a lot of people, Steve and me included. It began early, when we learned that Steve's company was reneging on policies in place when he was hired but changed without notice: his pension would be drastically reduced because of California state retirement programs they opted out of. We had no recourse, these programs were not part of any employment contract, just perks the company decided it could no longer afford.
OK. We could still make it on the new income, reduced as it would be. And we still had this little Arlington gold mine we're living in. We own it free and clear; a second mortgage against it was paying for the land in Delaware, but selling the house would clear that and build a dream house as well. If we had to take a little loan to make it work, maybe $50K, that would be OK. We continued with our plans and enjoyed our summer weekends in the trailer.
Then came the real estate crisis. DC and its close-in suburbs have taken hits with the rest of the country, but not as big. Well, at least in some places. It so happens in our Zip code, however, 50% of home sales over the past 12 months have been foreclosures. Fifty percent! Home appraisals are not supposed to be influenced by a nearby foreclosure or two, but at that rate, all home values are affected.
We were starting to sense clouds on the horizon but had heard that Arlington homes would lose only 2% of their assessed value "on average." We could live with that. But we turned out to be above average and lost 10%--a distinction we could definitely have lived without. (No, county assessments are not the be-all and end-all in pricing a house. But they play a role. Banks look at them when deciding on approving a loan. Your price can't be too far afield.) The new numbers made it clear that after paying the $330K second mortgage, we wouldn't be able to build a house we'd want to spend the rest of our lives in, and at that point, that beautiful scrap of land whose picture you see at the top of the page became a liability. Paying for it became the obstacle to building on it. As much as we love everything about the place, the debt was no longer a manageable inconvenience, but a monster. In order to do anything at all with the profit from this house, we would have to retire that second mortgage, and the only way to do that was to sell the land. But that had potential problems, too.
The prospects for getting what we needed for the land were by no means bright; its value has diminished by one-third since we purchased it. We knew that selling it on the open market would be useless, but we had one possible place to turn. Our neighbor, whose land adjoins ours, had always wanted our parcel. In fact, just before we made our purchase in 2004, he had made a cash offer to the previous owner. The owner accepted--until his daughter-in-law, a real estate agent, talked him into putting it on the open market. He did, for a few dollars more, and we bought it at that higher price. (We of course had no idea of these dealings at the time.) Our neighbor was disappointed, to say the least, and told us repeatedly over the years that if "anything ever happened," and we decided we wanted to sell, we should go to him first. We kept that in the back of our minds, but never really believed we'd have to take him up on his offers, and they gradually subsided as our building plans firmed up and we shared them with him. He seemed to be resigned to never having the land; we had no idea if he was still interested, or what he would offer if he was.
Well. He offered us $300,000. He originally said he had $280,000 in cash and didn't want to go into any more debt but then, as he spoke and we merely listened, he talked himself up. I was flabbergasted. This was what's called grace, an unexpected, undeserved gift. I'd say it was from heaven if I believed in such a place. We will never be able to thank that dear man enough.
Still, all is not roses here at the moment. Steve is still dealing with the shock of losing this dream. He is, after all, the one who has been absorbing sucker punches for over a year: the loss of a good pension and then a forced retirement because of the loss of his job. When the job ends, so will his medical insurance, except for COBRA, which is prohibitively expensive. If our dear Barack doesn't change the rules and allow federal retirees to include domestic partners in their health coverage, Steve will have to get some kind of job just for insurance, but he can't think about that now. He's working hard at the office at a job about to end, and then working hard here at home, too. From his standpoint, the future doesn't look very bright, and he is depressed. I can only pray that soon he will be able to see the silver lining that I do, which is:
In about two weeks we will be clearing the better part of our huge debt. We hope to be able to restructure the remainder to improve our cash flow as Steve's job ends in June and we begin to live at about half our current income. The plan, at least now, is to go ahead and put the house on the market and see what the offers are. If they're high enough, we'll proceed, take full profit, and start looking for new places. If we deem the offers too low, we can take a breather from all this and stick around for another year or so to see if conditions improve. We feel like Delaware residents by now and would love to stay there, but we're open to anyplace that has nice land or nice homes on the waterfront that we can afford. Stay tuned.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
May it all come true....
As I said yesterday commenting on numerous other blogs, we spent all day yesterday glued to the TV watching history being made. (If presidential inaugurations would be re-scheduled for the spring instead of the dead of winter, the thought of camping out on the Mall for a front-row seat would have been more appealing!) For a white Virginian who remembers the civil rights movement if the 1960s with both pain and pride, the inauguration of an African-American whom so much of the country could get behind was a promise fulfilled. Not, I hasten to add, a promise of the movement, but a promise of our country, which that movement forced us to acknowledge. We are finally living up to the ideals written into our founding documents. For that reason alone we can hold our heads high among other nations. For all our faults, we got this one right.
So yesterday was a time of justifiable pride. But it also signaled, for most of us, a time of enormous relief, and we can only hope in the long run that will be justified, too. For now, it appears the extremists who highjacked our national discourse for so long are in retreat. With the leadership of this extraordinary man, Barack Obama, and with our own diligence, may the unreasoned voices of extremism remain muted and may they become irrelevant. This crazy-quilt collection of disparate groups we call America, this experiment, can only succeed with understanding of and respect for our differences. If everyone is "right," no one can be.
"Hubris" is a word with which we've become all too familiar over the past eight years. Let's put it back in the dictionary of seldom-used terms where it belongs and replace it with another. It's from the same book. Tolerance.
So yesterday was a time of justifiable pride. But it also signaled, for most of us, a time of enormous relief, and we can only hope in the long run that will be justified, too. For now, it appears the extremists who highjacked our national discourse for so long are in retreat. With the leadership of this extraordinary man, Barack Obama, and with our own diligence, may the unreasoned voices of extremism remain muted and may they become irrelevant. This crazy-quilt collection of disparate groups we call America, this experiment, can only succeed with understanding of and respect for our differences. If everyone is "right," no one can be.
"Hubris" is a word with which we've become all too familiar over the past eight years. Let's put it back in the dictionary of seldom-used terms where it belongs and replace it with another. It's from the same book. Tolerance.
Monday, January 19, 2009
MLK Day
Most of today's post will be music in honor of Martin Luther King and the things he stood for and fought against. How fitting that the observance of King's birthday is today, the day before we inaugurate Barack Obama, who's jubilant elevation was made possible by King's work, among others. It's very satisfying to celebrate both men at the same time.
It was a good weekend. The stairs are refinished and stunning. We spent Sunday afternoon watching the spectacular concert from the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. We didn't wish for a single second that we were there among the crowds, as happy as they seemed to be. The show was made for TV and we had better seats than the Obamas, enclosed as they were in bullet proof glass. The show was extremely well done considering the short preparation time allowed, and it was a good mix of great celebratory music and civic religion. These things can be hokey, but this wasn't.
I had two back-to-back "what are we coming to?" experiences at stores yesterday. I went to the Home Depot looking for tack cloth. I'm sure you know what tack cloth is: cheesecloth impregnated with sticky stuff that you use to remove dust from surfaces you've just sanded. Well, the lady at the Home Depot, who even spoke English as her first language, didn't know what it was. I repeat: a harware store employee had never heard of tack cloth. Now, she had heard of sandpaper, and she was quite agressive in her repeated suggestions that I buy that, as she led me all over the store looking for this other item she'd never heard of. Maybe she wanted me to praise her for knowing about sandpaper? I finally found the tack cloth myself and showed her what it was. For all her concern for my welfare, in the end she couldn't have cared less.
From there I went to the grocery store, where I tried to get my customary amount of cash back at the do-it-yourself checkout. I wasn't allowed, the limit having been suddenly drastically reduced. I asked the cashier on duty at the DIY stand if this was some new policy or if, perhaps, there was a temporary cash shortage. This question was, however, apparently much too complicated. With great pride she explained to me all the wonderful services the store provides, never once understanding what I asked her, even in my best English for foreigners. The only way I'll get an answer will be to try again. Aarrrggh. I welcome immigrants. I was one myself in another country. I know their trials, I feel their pain. But please.........
It was a good weekend. The stairs are refinished and stunning. We spent Sunday afternoon watching the spectacular concert from the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. We didn't wish for a single second that we were there among the crowds, as happy as they seemed to be. The show was made for TV and we had better seats than the Obamas, enclosed as they were in bullet proof glass. The show was extremely well done considering the short preparation time allowed, and it was a good mix of great celebratory music and civic religion. These things can be hokey, but this wasn't.
I had two back-to-back "what are we coming to?" experiences at stores yesterday. I went to the Home Depot looking for tack cloth. I'm sure you know what tack cloth is: cheesecloth impregnated with sticky stuff that you use to remove dust from surfaces you've just sanded. Well, the lady at the Home Depot, who even spoke English as her first language, didn't know what it was. I repeat: a harware store employee had never heard of tack cloth. Now, she had heard of sandpaper, and she was quite agressive in her repeated suggestions that I buy that, as she led me all over the store looking for this other item she'd never heard of. Maybe she wanted me to praise her for knowing about sandpaper? I finally found the tack cloth myself and showed her what it was. For all her concern for my welfare, in the end she couldn't have cared less.
From there I went to the grocery store, where I tried to get my customary amount of cash back at the do-it-yourself checkout. I wasn't allowed, the limit having been suddenly drastically reduced. I asked the cashier on duty at the DIY stand if this was some new policy or if, perhaps, there was a temporary cash shortage. This question was, however, apparently much too complicated. With great pride she explained to me all the wonderful services the store provides, never once understanding what I asked her, even in my best English for foreigners. The only way I'll get an answer will be to try again. Aarrrggh. I welcome immigrants. I was one myself in another country. I know their trials, I feel their pain. But please.........
Friday, January 16, 2009
FOOD FRIDAY!
MAC 'N' CHEESE ONE DISH DINNER
I posted this one very early on, nearly a year ago, only to lose it last summer when I was trying to pre-post several repeat pieces for my vacation break and ended up deleting them instead. It's so good it deserves a repeat, especially since several of you are new visitors since I first started. (I've gotten a little better at food photography since I took this!)
The inspiration for this dish came from the fact that macaroni and cheese is Steve's favorite meal. It wasn't something I made much before I met him. I didn't dislike it; the traditional recipe was just very filling and replete with high-fat ingredients I always tried to stay away from. I decided if I was going to work it into our regular routine, it had to be thinned down considerably and that it also needed some meat and veggies to make it a convenient one-dish meal. Precooked smoked sausages were just coming on the market at the time I started experimenting. Smoked sausage and cheese are natural buddies, so I knew there was some potential.
I use the low-fat or non-fat versions of all ingredients except for the butter in the cream sauce. Real butter adds a smoothness that can't be duplicated with anything else. Of course, you can feel free to add or subtract calories any way you wish. A full-fat version would be delicious as an occasional guilty pleasure, but this de-fatted take is just as good on its own way.
1 lb. low-fat precooked smoked sausage or kielbasa, sliced on diagonal into ¼-inch discs
1 large green bell pepper, coarsely chopped
1 large yellow onion, peeled and coarsely chopped
1 10-oz. package 2%-fat extra sharp cheddar cheese
¼ cup (half a stick) unsalted butter
¼ cup all-purpose flour
2 ½ cups skim milk, heated
1 tsp. salt
black pepper to taste
1 tbsp. Worcestershire sauce
1 heavy tsp. yellow mustard
10 oz. dried pasta of your choice
¼ cup bread crumbs
Preheat oven to 350º F
Fill a pot with water for pasta, add salt to taste and bring to a boil. Add pasta and cook according to package directions.
Grate all the cheese into a large bowl and set aside.
Spray large non-stick skillet with cooking oil and add sausage, peppers and onions. Sauté over high heat until all ingredients are well browned, almost charred. Remove pan with meat and vegetables from heat and set aside.
Place butter in large saucepan over low heat and melt, taking care not to let the butter brown. When bubbling subsides, sprinkle flour over melted butter and whisk to combine thoroughly. Add warmed skim milk in a stream, whisking constantly to avoid lumps. Increase heat and continue whisking until sauce comes to a boil and thickens. Add salt and pepper, Worcestershire and mustard, switch to a large spoon and stir to combine. Add half the grated cheese and stir until cheese is melted and thoroughly incorporated into sauce. Stir in sautéed sausage and vegetables, turn off heat, cover and set aside.
Drain pasta and return to cooking pot. Stir meat-cheese sauce into pasta and combine thoroughly. Pour all into standard rectangular casserole. Cover with remaining grated cheese and sprinkle with bread crumbs. Bake in preheated oven for 30 minutes or until bubbly.
Remove from heat. Increase temperature to broil and move oven rack to the broil position. Place casserole under broiler for 2-3 minutes or until well-browned. Remove from oven and let stand on a cooling rack 10 minutes. Serve.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
My own vision thing
The temperature will plummet as today progresses towards a low tonight of 12 F, a high tomorrow only in the low 20s, and a low tomorrow night below 10. This is good weather to stay inside, but I must go out at least once because (trumpet fanfare): my new glasses are ready!
Oh, the little things that can make life worth living. I've been working with only one pair of prescription glasses for much too long, the ones for distance. The prescription is way out of date, but my eye doctor situation has been in disarray and I had been procrastinating at remedying it. (Cost is a major factor. I knew I'd be shelling out hundreds for all the glasses I need, and I had to wait for a hole in the budget.) My reading glasses, which I really need to do the work I'm doing at this moment, are long gone, lost somewhere. (I think they fell out of my pocket at the Rufus Wainwright concert at Radio City Music Hall a year ago. Thank you Rufus.) I've been making do with a series of drugstore glasses that are slowly blinding me, I'm convinced. And the prescription sunglasses I so dearly loved were ruined beyond compare when I...um....sat on them.
So today is a red letter day that warrants my stepping out into the frigid gale. I've forgotten what this site really looks like. Can't wait to find out. And out of all this I got a great new eye doctor, that one I told you about last week who plays the great music and whose office is a happy place to visit. Every cloud......
Oh, the little things that can make life worth living. I've been working with only one pair of prescription glasses for much too long, the ones for distance. The prescription is way out of date, but my eye doctor situation has been in disarray and I had been procrastinating at remedying it. (Cost is a major factor. I knew I'd be shelling out hundreds for all the glasses I need, and I had to wait for a hole in the budget.) My reading glasses, which I really need to do the work I'm doing at this moment, are long gone, lost somewhere. (I think they fell out of my pocket at the Rufus Wainwright concert at Radio City Music Hall a year ago. Thank you Rufus.) I've been making do with a series of drugstore glasses that are slowly blinding me, I'm convinced. And the prescription sunglasses I so dearly loved were ruined beyond compare when I...um....sat on them.
So today is a red letter day that warrants my stepping out into the frigid gale. I've forgotten what this site really looks like. Can't wait to find out. And out of all this I got a great new eye doctor, that one I told you about last week who plays the great music and whose office is a happy place to visit. Every cloud......
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
