MissMeliss: Escribition

I'm stuck at work and am unlikely to be home in time for Buffy tonight. Anyone who could provide a tape of this evening's episode would have my undying gratitude. Or something.

So, this weekend we unpacked more boxes. I think other people sneak into our house while we're at work and add more boxes, personally, because no matter how many we unpack, there seem to always be more.

Since we bought a new TV (not big, or anything, only 27 inches, but it has built-in DVD and VHS), on Thursday when I replaced my smooshed laptop, we went looking for TV stands on Saturday, as a break from opening boxes. We'd planned to buy a basic black stand, but they were ugly, and anyway, no one had the model we could live with. Instead, we bought a corner stand made out of pear wood (which blends nicely with our collection of mostly-teak furniture) and steel tubes, and, while it doesn't have nifty drawers in which to hide discs and tapes, it does look cool in the living room, and only blocks a few inches of the front window.

We went looking for guest room furniture, because my mother is coming on the 23rd, and it'd be nice to have a bed for her to sleep in. Cort's clearance center has an entire Mission-ish bedroom suite for $500. And they deliver. Yay, Cort. (If you've never heard of them, they furnish corporate rentals and rent to movie studios and magazines, for layouts and such, then they sell off the used stuff. Inexpensively.)

Yesterday, I felt jet-lagged, and kind of unwrapped some of the pots and pans, stopping when I'd found my quarry: The peanut butter. And we gave the dogs baths.

We still don't have net access, hence the title of this. I feel so crippled without it. So much so that I actually signed up for a dial-up account, just to check mail, but the slowness was too aggravating, so I didn't stay online.

So far, wrt access, our results are this: DSL - too far, and our lines are weird. Ask . He'll explain that in technogeek. Wireless: Too many trees between us and the nearest tower, and we're too far from all the mountain towers. Satellite: The home solutions don't support networked computers (at least DirecTV doesn't, and Sprint no longer sells new access), and the corporate version is $1795 to set up + $119/month + extra if you want tech support, and they won't guarantee a speed. Cable: Not available in our neighborhood. Which leaves us with wrangling low prices for T1. Fuzzy says he might get $240 month as an employee at his company. I can deal with that.

As if everyone doesn't know that. So, I'll be nice. I won't bitch about the fact that the sellers weren't out by noon on Thursday as per our stipulation for not charging them two days of rent-back, and so, on Friday, we ended up paying three men to have lunch. And I won't bitch about the fact that we had to call them at 9:00 PM on Friday to make them come get their dogs (one was a wolf hybrid) so that our dogs could use our yard unmolested.

I won't whine that the termite work is going to stretch through the whole week, that we apparently have wiring for FOUR phone lines, and therefore half the house is not yet accessible by phone, or that we still haven't resolved some cable issues.

I certainly won't complain that we've been living there since Friday, and still haven't managed to go grocery shopping (though we have to tonight because we're out of dog food), or clean the jacuzzi tub to the point where I'm willing to sit in it, as opposed to merely showering, or actually swim in the pool (and I *so* want to swim in my pool).

No. I won't do that.

Instead I'll share that Kerry from Kilroy Pest Control is the most wonderful amazing man on Earth, is funny, and smart, and spent an hour capping off the feeder line from the seller's icemaker when they finally moved their fridge out, and also offered to turn both of us into expert caulkers, and helped move the appliances.

I'll admit that I'm still in love with our new Neptune washer and dryer, so swift, so silent, though Jacobine was right, and they do sound kinda funny.

And I love that almost every room has a ceiling fan, and the kitchen has so much cabinet space, and we have an abundance of closet space, and, and, and….

So, this week, we're s-l-o-w-l-y unpacking and rearranging. We're supposed to be done with the termite work by Friday (new floors in both bathrooms, and replacing the wood floor in one bedroom), and the carpet people have already measured the bedroom and dressing room for new blue carpeting to replace the scary pinkstuff.

There is a light at the end of the tunnel.
And no, it's not a train.

He's not technically related to me, but is the father of the woman who was dating an adult-friend of my step-brother before my mother and step-father met (is that convoluted enough for you?)

However, in the way of 'made' families, he and his wife Olive (who prefers to be called Olivia, these days), quickly became as surrogate grandparents to A. and myself, offering free piano lessons, hosting Thanksgiving, by turns, (I won't mention the stories of how, at one such occaision we all - including Walter and Olive's own children - admitted that none of us liked O's uber-midwestern jell-o salad, or how they used canned cranberry sause, and didn't even mash it so the rings from the can weren't obvious) helping my stepfather move a refrigerator once. Stuff like that.

Walter is an artist, and taught at Modesto Junior College. Their house, in Modesto, was filled with sculpture and paintings and abstract art that defies description. He designed the stained glass for Modesto's Unitarian Church, and his son like-named, also makes art.

My mother and I would always laugh when we visited, because invariably Olive would exclaim, in her shrill tones, that somehow were still filled with incredible diction, “Wal-TER! You just can't DO that! You must be COLOR BLIND!” Of course she was really just referring to his lack of attention to what he was wearing, or what napkins were on the table, or some such.

When I turned 12, three months after Mom and Ira married, and I suddenly had, not only a step-brother, but one who was OLDER, and (thanks to the movie), I still had Annie on the brain, Walter sat down and drew his own rendition of the entire cast of the comic strip on boxes and tags and things and he and my parents filled the boxes with things with my name on them. Rulers, pillows, pins, those license plates for bikes.) I think he realized before my mother did that I was feeling like I had no identity. Smart man.

When I was thirteen, Olive offered Piano lessons, and, since we didn't have a piano, I'd ride over to her house after school, and practice there. She got mad at me because I zipped through her beginning book too quickly. But by then I'd already had four years of cello. I knew how to read music, just not how to play the piano. Since we moved, soon after, this was never resolved, and I still don't know how to play the piano, and anyway, I sold my piano. I'm thinking of replacing it with a keyboard, and attaching it to the computer. But I digress.

The same year, at some political rally, Walter and I did a scene in a skit together. I don't remember it, really, just that it happened, and he made it fun.

When I turned eighteen they moved to Palm Desert, and built their own personal oasis. And that's when Walter suddenly became all-too-human. The man who'd never been sick a day in his life, worked for three days on his house with a cracked rib cage and broken arm, after falling of the ridge of the roof. And he never really completely recovered. (I vaguely remember hearing that Olive yelled at him for getting hurt and interrupting her writing.)

Recently, Walter developed back troubles, and had to have surgery. They sent him home, thinking he'd heal quickly, but he developed an infection. As of right now, he's paralyzed except for his hands and feet, can't speak, and is extremely disoriented. And I'm sad for him, for the terror he and Olive must be going through, and for the horror of such a vibrant mind trapped in a body that can't do anything.

My mother said, when she called me to tell me of this, that if she was in the same position, she would not want to live, and I had orders to shoot her, or something.

I completely agree.

RH called me this morning at eleven to confirm that our loan was funded and would record today 'on special'.

This means that as soon as it records, which it has done, by now, we own our new house. YAY.

We're supposed to be able to move appliances and small stuff in tomorrow, as the major street in our area will be closed on Saturday, so we need ALL DAY FRIDAY to move big stuff.

Though, in this case, 'move' means, 'pay the movers to cart stuff around for us'.

I'm sitting here looking at computer desks, because we need new ones and all. Well, okay, we don't /need/ them. But we want them. And since we have to take apart everything to move, it's as good a time as any.

(Btw, if anyone wants our old desks, just yell. They're free.)

The housewarming is planned, at this point, for Saturday, October 26th. But it'll be an afternoon thing - 3-ish or so - because it's the last Saturday before Halloween, and I'm sure there are other parties people want to go to.

We're still haggling over net access from home. Fuzzy's threatening to build a radio tower so we can get wireless. I think we should just pay for the damned T1. Suggestions, anyone?