I am out of boxes so I am up in the hotel, putting things away so I can drag the boxes home and fill them up.
Got the closet moved…goodness! Everything I was sick of but was still good, I donated. I threw out all of my truly ratty things, including my ratty shoes. (Goodbye black suede wedges with the straps; farewell silver stilettos; see ya, almond suede boots).
So here at the house? I have a couple of pair of jeans that actually fit, my red sweater and some white tops. Mike’s side of the closet is equally pared down. If I really need anything, I can drive to the hotel (I’s not as if I’m not there every day of my life.)
The only thing I can’t do is scramble up ladders if I’m alone. Just too much is resting on my shoulders to break my neck, hip or leg. I have my little boom box and I usually work thru two albums and then I scoot home to fix something for Mike to eat, make sure everything is running/washing/drying and then go back for another few hours. Sometimes I wish I had seventeen stevedores at my command….that and a lady’s maid, a cook and a laundress to take care of all the details.
Went over to the cute little rental and put up a sign and applications. I would sure like to get this rented before Christmas….to a decent renter. One who is quiet, doesn;t break stuff, takes out the trash and pays rent. That would be nice.
Meanwhile, the drama continues with the squatter. She’s dropped her price to $250. Give her the cash and she’ll move. I don’t her, since so far, she has proven to be a mentirosa. If she gets all her crap out by Thanksgiving AND writes me a letter, telling me she is returning the property to me….maybe $100. She has no keys, so I have to change out the locks (no big deal. I can even do that myself.) And I’ll have to use the heavy duty cleaners to get the stench out. Managing property is not my favorite thing to do. People are so random.