It has been lovely, having the man almost entirely to myself for a month. I had to share him a little bit, with that Jeep that is in sand-blasted pieces about fifteen miles from here, but other than that, I got to see him for more hours in any given day than I have in years, even when he was living here, before the overseas job kicked in. But all good things end, and today he went back to work, back to repetitive computer training that he has hated for years, and departments that never run as efficiently as he would like. Some things never change, certainly not over a short year and a half while he was on assignment.
I learned one thing very quickly by the end of the day. Murray is not to be left outside, out of his wheelchair, for the entire time the man is gone. I let him out with the other dogs mid-morning, and by late afternoon, he had worn his little rear end raw bouncing all over the Park. He was also filthy, and had to come in and be carried straight up to a bath once the man got home. I now spend many hours in a day wondering how we can arrange to move into a home with direct access to a patio, level with the yard, from a room that also has a convenient three-quarter bath adjacent to it. When I pondered that out loud, waiting for the man to finish drying off Murray, he added, "With a harness and lift over the shower, to hold the dog." Quite so. Perhaps it is time to consult with our realtor.
We already think it's time to pack up our more vulnerable belongings, in anticipation of a move. A certain tabby cat has forced me to move and hide my pottery and other breakables. Yesterday, I moved my greatest masterpiece, the masque "Buddha of the Americas," up to my bedroom where she rarely goes. The next house will have a built-in curio cabinet, with glass shelves and a lockable door to keep her out, even if I have to build it myself. Even now, I am serenaded by the sound of crashing from the piano bar part of the house. After she tried to walk on top of one of my stepfather's paintings today, spinning it on the wall, and knocking down photos and other art, I threatened to glue concrete blocks to each of Zoe's feet. I fear then she would just stomp around the house like a clumsy Godzilla, entirely unfazed by my attempts to curb her destruction.
Two days from now is the opening of the final Hobbit movie. I didn't see any reaction from the man until this weekend, when he suddenly couldn't take his eyes off of a trailer for it. Yesterday we bought our tickets for Wednesday night, and started watching the first two movies again in anticipation. I'm enjoying the antics of dwarves and elves much more in the comfort of my living room than I did in a theater, with no pause button, and a bathroom much farther away than mine is now.
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