Responding to a six-page, single spaced, typed home inspection report issued, quite possibly by the most anal-retentive inspector on the planet, I returned to Colorado last week to oversee a ginormous to-do checklist so we can sell our house—although my initial reaction upon reading the report for our eight and a half year-old house was why not just condemn the place?
So I’m here, learning more than I ever wanted to know about check valves, water heaters, furnaces, sump pumps, concrete and caulking—lots and lots of caulking—and trying to understand things well enough to feel like I’m not being taken advantage of, at least by the vendors who bother to show up.
In the meantime, boredom lurks close by, so I’m fighting it every way possible in between phone calls, appointments, and runs to friends’ homes for Wi-Fi.
I browsed through some quilt catalogs
which were buried in the 10-pound bag of mail
our neighbors had collected for us the last six months,
read a book from the library
returned it for another,
bought a quilt magazine at the grocery store,
sprayed the dandelions,
borrowed a few back issues of quilting magazines from a friend,
and pulled some more weeds.
By far, the best thing about being back has been spending evenings with friends, walking the trails in the neighborhood and escaping Houston’s humidity.
Wish me luck in what I hope is the home stretch to selling our Colorado house.