In my saga of the last few days, reported in part in the previous blog, I forgot Ava! Smart Ava! House manager Ava! Our black lab, who keeps us running and organized, became ill on the day we viewed the house we are buying. Really ill. Throwing up and everything else for two days. To the hospital, i.v.'s, tests, prayers, hand wringing. Not only do we need her, our other dog, Timmy needs her. Ava is the alpha dog. Timmy can't eat without her. He waits patiently while she finishes her dinner before approaching the dog dish. When it's his turn, he methodically cleans his plate, just as she taught him. Without anyone to tell him when it was his mealtime, he was perplexed. His sad face was sadder than ever. He picked at his food, and with Ava spending the night at the vet's, he burrowed under a quilt and slept. He had no pal to offer the priceless gift of his beloved owl toy, or a friend for a bedtime tug of war.
A virus. No blockage, no cancer, nothing that medicine and a few days won't cure. Joyous homecoming. Ava slept on my feet, her four paws sticking up in the air in her posture of bliss. Timmy pushed his blunt little nose onto my pillow, snoring peacefully. The world was back on its axis. I clung to the edge of the mattress. There are more important things than a good night's sleep.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
I'm baaaack....
Actually, I have been back for about two weeks, but I guess life was just waiting around to pounce on me. Hence the long blogging delay.
London was fun, but so overbuilt and overcrowded that I hardly knew it. And we moved fast. No opportunity for jet lag. Did I say "move fast ?" Our "friends lunch" began the visit with 3 hours of food and conversation ( at the Grazing Goat Inn) followed by a flash cab trip (if 30 minutes can be called flash) to the Tate Modern to see the Edvard Munch exhibit. Then another race across London for another firiend's get together dinner before collapsing. More details about the England segment later, including Stonehenge and Salisbury. And photos, as soon as I learn how to insert them.
On to Ireland. Gatwick: patrolling phalanxes of police in body armor, bearing full automatic weapons and accompanied by German shepherds. Standard, we were told. Arriving in tiny Knock Ireland, a different story. We are ushered through the airport, not much more than a doublewide, as the lights are turned off behind us as we go. Customs? Passport control? Don't bother.
And then the drive to our hosts home, somewhere near Ballinifad (A bend, literally, in the road on the western coast). Let's just say our hosts are athletic. They ski. He bikes, they hike. Everywhere. South America, Canada, Taos, you name it. If I thought about a cozy chair by a peat fire was in my future, forget it. Also visiting at the same time, a pro skier who was off into the mountains for a couple of hours on a bike every morning. And these are lovely, kind, generous people. Just really, really energetic people. And the land... Beautiful and wild doesn't describe it. The mountains strewn with tumbled jutting rocks, the Atlantic, a fiord, of all things, and sheep, sheep, and more sheep. The wild ponies of Connemara. Details in the future.
I am finally getting to the point of this blog, about what held me up during these two weeks at home post trip. About a day and a half after returning home, we found that the property next door was for sale. We have suffered for years with a bad owner and a succession of worse renters. I longed and prayed to own this house and it's acre of woods. The seller had just dropped the price by a whopping amount. A bad sign, and a strong clue she wanted a bidding war, to pay off an unmanageable mortgage debt.
That Sunday (last Sunday, actually) we got our realtor and took a tour of the poor misused little place. Sunday we also wrote an earnest money check. Monday - no go. She wants all cash. There is already someone who will pay it. And they want to flip it. No! More headaches for us, guaranteed. Could we beat their cash offer? Of course no one tells you what it is. Could we pull that kind of cash out of our assets on short notice? And so close to retirement, too. I felt like I was being asked to ransom a family member. That property shares our property line on the south, with the house so close to the common fence that it feels related anyway.
Yeah, we gave in. I wonder if we are expected to attend the closing with a suitcase stuffed with cash.
Lots more to come.
London was fun, but so overbuilt and overcrowded that I hardly knew it. And we moved fast. No opportunity for jet lag. Did I say "move fast ?" Our "friends lunch" began the visit with 3 hours of food and conversation ( at the Grazing Goat Inn) followed by a flash cab trip (if 30 minutes can be called flash) to the Tate Modern to see the Edvard Munch exhibit. Then another race across London for another firiend's get together dinner before collapsing. More details about the England segment later, including Stonehenge and Salisbury. And photos, as soon as I learn how to insert them.
On to Ireland. Gatwick: patrolling phalanxes of police in body armor, bearing full automatic weapons and accompanied by German shepherds. Standard, we were told. Arriving in tiny Knock Ireland, a different story. We are ushered through the airport, not much more than a doublewide, as the lights are turned off behind us as we go. Customs? Passport control? Don't bother.
And then the drive to our hosts home, somewhere near Ballinifad (A bend, literally, in the road on the western coast). Let's just say our hosts are athletic. They ski. He bikes, they hike. Everywhere. South America, Canada, Taos, you name it. If I thought about a cozy chair by a peat fire was in my future, forget it. Also visiting at the same time, a pro skier who was off into the mountains for a couple of hours on a bike every morning. And these are lovely, kind, generous people. Just really, really energetic people. And the land... Beautiful and wild doesn't describe it. The mountains strewn with tumbled jutting rocks, the Atlantic, a fiord, of all things, and sheep, sheep, and more sheep. The wild ponies of Connemara. Details in the future.
I am finally getting to the point of this blog, about what held me up during these two weeks at home post trip. About a day and a half after returning home, we found that the property next door was for sale. We have suffered for years with a bad owner and a succession of worse renters. I longed and prayed to own this house and it's acre of woods. The seller had just dropped the price by a whopping amount. A bad sign, and a strong clue she wanted a bidding war, to pay off an unmanageable mortgage debt.
That Sunday (last Sunday, actually) we got our realtor and took a tour of the poor misused little place. Sunday we also wrote an earnest money check. Monday - no go. She wants all cash. There is already someone who will pay it. And they want to flip it. No! More headaches for us, guaranteed. Could we beat their cash offer? Of course no one tells you what it is. Could we pull that kind of cash out of our assets on short notice? And so close to retirement, too. I felt like I was being asked to ransom a family member. That property shares our property line on the south, with the house so close to the common fence that it feels related anyway.
Yeah, we gave in. I wonder if we are expected to attend the closing with a suitcase stuffed with cash.
Lots more to come.
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