My TV remote went dead.
It used to be that you’d change the batteries, and that would be that.
But no.
Nowadays, they’re rechargeable.
Which means you’ve got to recharge it.
And since none of my usual cables fit it, I borrowed one from my laptop and I plugged it into my remote, and I left it overnight.
Next night, it’s TV time. And the remote is still running on fumes. WTF??
I had – ahem – plugged the remote into the video, and it declined to press charges.
I finally closed on my new fixer-upper.
And I finally waited out the waiting period, when I was ‘storing her stuff.’
And now it’s mine. All mine!!
Ugh. I changed the locks and ordered a roll-off box.
I backed up the truck and took 18 antique wooden chairs and 2 sleds to the storage unit.
I brought home 30 very nice bottles of wine, and we enjoyed our dinner with a 1994 Marquis de Chasse Bordeaux Reserve.
We drank it. We ditched it.
Old as dirt
The Green house got it’s name because … it was green.
And it stuck: When I say ‘the green house,’ you know what I mean.
So now I’m looking for a name for the new house.
I floated the FU house (short for fixer upper) but ran into opposition.
So far, ‘Stowe house’ is what we mostly call it, but neither of us likes the sound of it.
Oh – and remember when I had a storage unit named Stu?
My new one is StuII.
So I got into the rhythm of spending a half day, almost every day, at the house.
Moving piles, bagging trash, sorting debris, and throwing most of it out the window.
Thirty three yards later, it’s as clean as it’s going to get, and I’ve got a big pile of leftovers I may or may not keep.
Light and airy
Thanksgiving happened, and I’m afraid I got tipsy and took a nap.
Thanks