As usual, I am back to the blog after months of absence with a pile of excuses. Of course, the last batch of excuses is, by far, the best ones I’ve had.
In the last year, everything has gone wrong.
Maybe not everything. We are all still alive. But since #2 Son got sick last October, we have been in a downward slide of expensive disasters and rapidly increasing bills. The broken refrigerator and lawn tractor, and the dying drier are par for the course around here.
But I have now taken to greeting people I haven’t seen in a while with “Have I talked to you after the house almost blew up, but before the dog almost died?”
The details on that, BTW are:
A 3:00 AM windstorm that damaged twenty or so trees on our property, rolled the propane tank and resulted in a driveway full of firemen in full gear, and immediate evacuation with dog (but not cats, who are really hard to evacuate). And also pictures of my lawn and an interview with my husband on the Milwaukee news…
Followed a few months later by a normally healthy dog that got gastric torsion and needed emergency surgery to remove his spleen.
The dog is fine, although he has a new seam down the middle. The house is mostly back together, although there are still many damaged trees on the property. I even managed to get a wood worker to take the majestic pear tree, which looked like it had been hit by a bomb, but had plenty of good lumber. But as far as I know, there is no one coming to get the mashed up stand of box elders.
And then, there is the dental implant I will be having replaced today, because the titanium pin that has fused with the bone of my jaw, just as it was supposed to, is now broken. It’s like Wolverine getting a hang nail. Apparently, my dentist has only seen this 3 out of 10,000 times.
No, really. I’m lucky. Because, unlike the dog, my mouth is still under warrantee! And I get to take valium and Demerol before the drilling. I’m normally a pretty straight arrow, except for enjoying Wisconsin strength cocktails. But after the year I’ve had, I have earned one afternoon of drug induced relaxation.
And did I mention my plan to sell the house and buy a renovated church? That’s still a work in progress. And I should be questioning the wisdom of living under a steeple of any kind since one of the blank spaces on the Merrill Disaster Bingo card is “Lightning strike.” Perhaps I should not be provoking God.
All the same, the heart wants what the heart wants. The poor DH is rolling his eyes. But I know how to manipulate him. When he tries to talk me out of it, all I have to do is say the words ‘secret room’. His eyes glaze over for a moment, and then he says, “There would be space for one. But what would we put in it? A man cave?”
Hell no. If we had a secret room, it would not be gender specific.