After a series of mistakes, mishaps, and miscommunications I finally own my home. Kris and I met at 4 PM yesterday at the abstract office, and they didn't have the paperwork yet from my incompetent mortgage closer.
Despite that, we finished before five. Kris and I hugged outside in the snow and we both said, "Finally." I've lived here eight months already.
We're both very pleased. She's been a great landlord, don't get me wrong, but I want this tax help.
My little cottage was built in 1896, making it 112 years old. (I'll make it's birthday be 12/3/1896--that'll be easy to remember. The third of December is when I bought it.)
We both would have loved to have celebrated with nice dinner and drink, but I had to get to QU and teach the last class of the semester. It went really well.
Cindy did a great job with Gussie while I was gone. And, Cin, thanks so much for putting some salt on my back walk. I wanted to buy some, but couldn't carry it. Anyway, thanks a lot.
Gussie was at the groomer yesterday. I finally found one I like--Buttons and Bows and 24th and Spring. They're open from 6:30 AM until 2 or so. So it's easy to drop him off before work and pick him up on my lunch hour. They did a great job on the "face, feet, and butt" grooming. Yep, I left the rest of him long-haired for now. Figured he had a built in winter coat as a lhasa apso, so I'll take advantage of it. He not only looks like an Ewok, he blends in with the snow and it's hard to see him at night in the back yard.
Yay. I own my home. Love to all.
PS--don't forget to read my new Mental Health Column.