Roast Beast

Inspirational song: When I Was Young (Eric Burdon & the Animals)

I need someone to back me up on dates. It is possible that today would have been my grandmother's 100th birthday. If not that, then it's the 101st. When I recognized the date, I decided to do what I frequently do to commemorate birthdays of people who were important to me when I was young: I make some sort of food that reminds me of them. I most strongly associate pot roast with gravy and green beans with my grandmother. Well, that and cantaloupe, but I can't stand cantaloupe, so I don't eat it. While Mr X was out helping me take care of the Park by clearing out plant debris from the alley, I snuck off to the grocery store for a chuck roast. I put it into the crock pot along with seasonings, and tried to play it cool. I knew we were planning to go to a movie this afternoon, and I sort of wanted to come back to the house smelling like dinner, and either have one or the both of us surprised (him for not knowing and me for maybe forgetting). Some boiled potatoes and carrots got dumped in once we returned, and I experimented with proportions of arrowroot and tapioca starch for gravy. As I sat down with a plate, I wished my grandmother a happy birthday aloud. Perhaps in three weeks when my great-grandmother's birthday rolls around, I'll make another grain-free chocolate cake, to give her some equal time.

It was the Harry Potter prequel that we went to see, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. I never did read that book that was auxiliary to the main series, so it was all new to me. I'm fairly certain Mr X also had no idea what to expect. The story was fun. The main character interesting, but demonstrating some odd mannerisms. He spends a lot of time with his head turned and his eyes averted from whomever is addressing him. At first I wondered aloud whether it was intended to be a hero who lands somewhere on the autism spectrum, which would have been fine and a somewhat novel approach, although no one seemed to address it in the script. But now that I consider it, maybe it was because of his life's work dealing with animals (specifically magical creatures). Looking them in the eye and facing straight on might be interpreted as aggressive enough to get a guy like that killed. Is that in the book? I might have to go back and read it to see whether it's mentioned or an invention of Eddie Redmayne in his character development for the movie.

The most important question I have after seeing the movie: Does this mean that dressing in 1930s clothes will now be cool? Can it be? Please? I love those styles more than I can possibly express. Maybe I'll just put together a few pieces that I design myself, and wear that stuff anyway.

While I was helping dispose of yard waste, I caught the collection of birds who live in my spirea bush sunning themselves in a row on my back fence. I tried to be silent as I pulled out my phone, but the little beasts who bark in my back yard scared them all off. With patience, I was able to snap a couple of photos as they reassembled along the fence.

Pledged

Inspirational song: I Dig You (Cult Hero)

Every single night for three and a half years, I've found new ways to talk about myself and my experiences. I've even read out loud the things I've written here in front of small audiences of eight or ten people at my writers group. I thought I was cool with living so openly. But when it came time to write a required speech all about me to give to the whole assembly at my Rotary group, suddenly I was a shrinking violet. I dragged my feet for months, too shy to stand in front of the crowd and give the story of my professional life. It didn't help that this entire year had turned my whole identity on its head. I had no idea how to describe myself when I had no idea who I was anymore. It took until the end of the summer or the beginning of the fall for me to feel clear enough about what I would say before I started really composing the speech in my head. It took me until October to be brave enough to schedule it. I had a one-month reprieve when we realized that the original date I'd chosen was actually the "Rotary Day Out" when we visited non-profits around town. Today, I ran out of excuses to stall. I had to give my vocational talk.

I wrote my rough draft by hand a week ago, and typed it up on Sunday, making a few edits. I gave a copy to the woman in charge of the red badge program, and she approved it, and made sure that I was listed on the schedule for the program today. I barely ate, while nerves got the better of me, waiting for my turn to stand up. I kept telling myself that plenty of other Rotarians have stumbled through prepared and off-the-cuff speeches, and some have really opened up and made themselves vulnerable in their story-telling. If they could do it, I could do it, I repeated to myself. And then it was time. I tried to start with humor, like you're supposed to. I knew that I didn't have to explain what I did as a real estate agent. I spent my time telling them why I chose the profession, and how I got to the brokerage I did. In preparation for the speech, I counted how many times I've moved since birth. As a military brat and a military wife, plus a few trips back and forth to college and around Boulder, I have moved a grand total of thirty-three times. If this doesn't give me freakishly good house-hunting skills, nothing could. I also told the Rotary group how much I have focused my career on jobs that helped people directly. The big focus, though, was on how much I love volunteering. That's why I chose Headwaters Realty (where we are required to volunteer, and have plenty of chances to do so), and that's why I gravitated to Rotary.

I didn't stop shaking until after I'd sat back down and had a full cup of coffee. Several people gave me hugs and told me I did just fine, that they couldn't tell how nervous I was. I am so glad to have it done. Next week I will finally graduate to wearing a blue badge. I'm no longer a pledge. I'm a full member of the fraternity.

Inevitably

Inspirational song: Blue Monday (New Order)

Well. Yep. Inspection was another spanner in the works. I lobbied so hard to keep things together. In the end, I couldn't do it. There were scary words uttered, like "mold" and "negative drainage." For people who move as often as we do, these are just annoyances to be dealt with. For people who have lived for decades in the same home, these sound scary and expensive. I still believe in my heart that this house is a fantastic property, but my sellers have decided to walk away from it. Dammit. If you are keeping score, that means I have now been doing this job a full year with no income. I'm not abandoning my clients. I know they are really buyers, but they only want to do this one time ever. I get that. I just wish that one time would happen soon. I need to keep drumming up other business while I wait.

Filling out termination notices and calling to deliver bad news wasn't fun. It was only hard while I was agonizing over doing it before I got down to it. I did have my usual Monday blues for part of the day. Maybe that's just a product of doing as much as I can on weekends. It meant taking it slow to the point of not leaving the house. I'm so lucky I have the ability to work from home, so that these regularly occurring days don't get me fired. I just wish that I had more energy to drum up more of that from-home business. Of course, that would just make me more tired. It's a death spiral.

Running Men

Inspirational song: Incomplete (Fish)

My undergraduate degree is in the humanities. Sure, a lot of the impetus behind getting it in that field was that I love studying art, music, and literature, but more than anything, it was because I loved studying humans. I still do. I am particularly fascinated by the way they behave in crowds. My neighbor and I took public transportation down to the Broncos vs Chiefs game, and as we made our way, I couldn't help but notice that humanity in its most primitive state was on display. I always feel that sporting events bring out the most basic impulses in our biology, and I have yet to attend a game that changed my opinion on that score. NFL games are purely tribal, with complex rituals that prove to the crowd who belongs and who is an outsider. I felt like an outside observer, even though I was there to watch my home team. The rituals have changed since the last time I got to go to a Broncos game, way back in the late 1980s. The very first time the opponent's receiver dropped a pass, and the announcer said something like "Smith's pass, intended for number 87 Kelce was..." the entire crowd chanted in three hard syllables, "In-Com-Plete!" I was thoroughly creeped out. Between that and the flashing graphics on the high definition screens surrounding us, I felt like we had been dropped in the middle of a dystopian-future science fiction movie. The feeling remained throughout the entire game. I can't put my finger on why it seemed so much more sinister than college football games do to me, but I was quite overwhelmed by the feeling. Maybe it was just the altitude. We were only six rows from the top of Mile High in our section. It took until the end of the first half for my fear of heights to settle down. By the fourth quarter, all thoughts of heights and dystopian futures was pushed out of my head by the cold. The only time I was warm was in the split second when flames would flash on either side of the rearing bronc statue, just before the fireworks went off, when the home team scored. I was sufficiently dressed for the weather from the knees up. By the time Kansas City won in overtime, my feet were so cold that I had numb spots that felt like I had four or five lumps of chewing gum stuck to my shoes. I had to sit on the bus for twenty minutes at least, while we were waiting to go back to the Park and Ride, before those spots warmed enough for feeling to return. 

All in all, I must say I am quite happy that tickets magically fell out of the sky and into my lap last night. Okay, a friend with season tickets sold them to me, but it still felt like magic. My neighbor and I were glad we went.

Party Day

Inspirational song: Celebrate (Kool & the Gang)

I told my niece this morning that this morning I wished her and her husband great joy (on the occasion of her baby shower). This evening I wished her husband crushing disappointment (as his Utes faced off against my Buffaloes). I got both wishes. Well, I assume. I haven't checked to see whether he's particularly upset about the loss, or just mildly disappointed that Utah did not play spoiler like Colorado did for them the first year they both joined the PAC 12. My football-loving neighbor came over to watch the game with us, and get fed a steak dinner for being in the right place at the right time. It made it more like a party (and with all of us, it was as loud as a party). We were pretty nervous through the first half, but we started having a whole lot more fun as the game started to break our way. And now my favorite team is off to the conference championship, and my years of remaining faithful in the face of heartbreaking losses one after another is starting to pay dividends. I stuck with these kids through thick and thin, and it's nice to have a little thick again after years of thin. There are an awful lot of smiles around here on Saturdays. It makes my county much more fun to live in.

The baby shower brunch that kicked off my morning was pretty special too. I don't want that to get lost in my ravings of a crazed football fan. The baby-to-be is the first member of the next generation-- the niece who is pregnant is the first of my daughters' cousins to reproduce. I'm pretty excited for this couple. I adore all of the nieces and nephews, but I have to say that this particular nephew-in-law is awfully lovable himself. (All the kids who have paired off have done well.) These guys are going to be the fun parents, with great nicknames and stories to share at family gatherings. Since they live in another state, it will be months before I get to meet little Zoltan or Zoltana (their baby's code name; there will be no gender or name reveals until the big event). By then, the stories that will follow Z for his or her whole life will already have begun. I can hardly wait.

I am utterly exhausted from all the celebrating I've done today. I was never a hardcore partier in my day, and the festivities started more than thirteen hours ago. You know, if ever there is a good way to wear yourself down to a nub, this would be it. Go Buffs, and Hey, Baby!

Pain Relief

Inspirational song: Gimme Some Lovin' (Spencer Davis Group)

It has been years. I'd totally forgotten what a hangover felt like. I remember now. And I think I remember why I stopped consuming more than a single adult beverage in an evening (and putting as much distance between those evenings as possible), as a habit. Once upon a time, I was a champion binge drinker. Could put away more whiskey than most men. My cousin said he used to win bets with his friends that they couldn't drink me under the table. It wasn't just age and health that got the better of me. I stopped being interested in consuming that much of any substance, be it alcohol, sugar, meat, ice cream, or pretty much anything. It's not quite "all things in moderation" all the time, but I just can't bring myself to binge anymore. I didn't really think I'd had that much yesterday. I don't even think I finished my third glass of red wine. I think I walked away from it and forgot where I left it. This morning I had a straight up headache--not a migraine, just a "don't turn quickly" sort of headache. My breakfast consisted of coffee and Tylenol. My late lunch was a little cottage cheese and Tramadol. For afternoon tea I had a one-hour massage. And I'm still feeling a little gimpy. Maybe it wasn't just the wine. Maybe it was me pushing myself too many days in a row with not enough sleep or recovery time. At least by the time I climbed off of the massage table, I had a fuzzy-happy feeling that lasted almost two thirds of the drive home.

I keep trying to find ways to help me sleep through the night, and so far nothing has worked. The massage therapist (aka Slow Hand) suggested I keep a diary for a week of how much I'm waking up and why. He says to make it easy on myself and create a shorthand, like every time I put covers on, write the time and "+" and then when I get hot and throw them off again, time and "-." This means that I need to get a lighted clock so I don't have to reach over to check the time, and hope that I can keep the cats from sleeping directly on top of any notebook I keep next to me on the bed. I think the idea has merit. I know that I wake a lot of times for this, but I have never gotten a good count. It's possible that I'm going through half an hour of constant changes, and then an hour or two of sleep, and then back to the cycle, not realizing I'm sleeping as long as I am. Or it could be the opposite, that I wake far more often than I realize. Slow Hand suggested I keep at least a week of this, so that I have good data to present to my rheumatologist in January. I may expand the scope of the study, and keep track of how often I fluctuate during the day as well. As I sit right now, I've shoved off the fuzzy lap blanket I had on so that my feet are exposed, and from the beginning of this paragraph to now, I'm already cold again and needing to cover up. I write fairly quickly, even when I delete and edit a lot. As I cover up now, I am betting that by the time I get this post illustrated with photos, published, and the links shared, I'll be overly warm again.

I've seen an awful lot of common wisdom flying around the internet claiming that a lack of magnesium is responsible for a lot of the aches and pains we humans encounter on a regular basis. This could be as faddish as any other supplement or superfood that has gripped the nation over the last thirty or forty years. Or it could be something that makes me feel better, and I won't care if it's just internet bunk. I bought a big jar of magnesium flakes, which I have been told are somehow better than Epsom salts, and I'm going to soak for a while before bed. If this makes me sleep the night through, I'll do it again tomorrow. And if it does it again, I'll put off acquiring a lighted clock for the bedroom and sleeping with a notebook on my pillow. But for now, the plan is still in place.

Thanks

Inspirational song: Lucky Man (Marillion)

One would think that as bad as my 2016 has been, I would be bitter and cranky at Thanksgiving rather than grateful. Not the case, not at all. I have had a rather wonderful day, and had several opportunities to look around me and consider myself quite lucky indeed. My basic needs are covered. I have a solid, safe home. I am well-fed. I have a large family who love me and who are assured that I love them. I have health insurance that pays for regular visits to two doctors who know enough about me personally to provide comprehensive care for my abundance of medical issues. I am able to appreciate art and beauty in the natural world and in the world created by humans. I have a platform from which to exercise my voice, and people who are interested enough to listen to me and give my writing a fair evaluation. And through the most difficult few years of my life, I am still able to laugh and forgive and find true joy. I am absolutely grateful for all of this.

Once upon a time I thought I wanted money. I thought lots and lots of money would solve so many of my problems, and compensate for deficiencies I perceived in my level of love, respect, safety, power, whatever. Even in my lottery fantasies, I imagined I'd get a large pile of seed money, and turn it into an empire with me as the CEO. I'd run lucrative businesses, change the world with technology, start a foundation providing scholarships to thousands of college students, and feel good about myself. I'd be famous and important. I'm not sure when that dream went away, but it is the furthest thing from what I want now. (Except the notion that I could provide college scholarships--I still think that would be cool.) I have hit a point in my life where I don't need stuff, and I don't need more money than I could ever spend in order to get stuff that I no longer want to acquire. There are still things I think are neat, that I enjoy obtaining, but they're little things. There's a big difference between having a little addiction to cheap, solid color, ladies cut t-shirts and thinking that if I don't make enough money to buy a new car every other year I won't be happy. I also don't crave that sort of power or influence anymore. I am much more content to live a slower life, and I do not intend to speed it up again if I can avoid it.

Thanksgiving with the in-laws was a renewing experience. The food was wonderful (and enough of us are now gluten-free that I was able to eat almost everything!). The wine flowed freely, which in itself represents a sea change from the teetotaler holidays of years past. All of the kids have grown up into impressive adults, and they give me hope for our future. (One niece in particular gave me specific hope, listening to her insider talk about the sausage-making level of government, and how the non-political crew will do what they've always done to keep the country going. And that's all the politics I will mention for today.) I promised I would report on the "saw it on Facebook" recipe I tried this week. The custard baked into a pumpkin shell was interesting. The pumpkin was a little stringier than I expected. I thought it was a pie pumpkin (or sugar pumpkin, as some call them), but it appeared to have just been a smaller version of your standard jack o'lantern variety. The custard was good, but how do you go wrong with just eggs, cream, sugar, and spices? I might buy a tiny pie pumpkin and try one more time to verify my results. It was definitely the most unique dish I could have brought. I suggested to the family that it was apropos for such an oddity to come from me.

Either Way

Inspirational song: I Am the Walrus (The Beatles)

Ever have one of those days when you can't figure out exactly how you spent the last 12-16 hours, but you're pretty sure it went okay? I honestly don't know how I got to this point in the day. I think I might have rested. Pretty sure I played on the computer a little bit. I know I cleaned house some. And I know I listened to music. Beyond that, nope. Not much is standing out. It's possible that I'm missing out on something important I was supposed to do. It's possible that the important thing was to unwind and let myself relax a little bit. How about we go with that? I am feeling somewhat relaxed, if not actually tired. The best part is that my physical pain is minimal. That's always a welcome relief.

I don't know about you, but I'm looking forward to gathering with the family for Thanksgiving more than I ever expected to. With everything that happened this year, I worried that I'd be on my own, feeling jealous of everyone posting happy things on Facebook and Twitter. But in a year of unexpected plot twists (and you haven't heard all of them, by far!), I am still invited to the in-laws, and I'm truly thankful for that. I promise I will behave and keep the peace, so that no one questions the wisdom of having me along. My sister and I might kick back an extra glass of wine, but it should all be okay.

You're not supposed to try new and unusual recipes to share at parties, but I couldn't help myself this year. We saw one of those videos that claims that pumpkin pie actually originated as a custard baked inside of a pie pumpkin. So at the last minute, I had Mr X acquire a carton of heavy cream, and away I went. We had four different pumpkins in the kitchen to choose from, and I found one that held about 5 cups of liquid. I pre-baked the shell, and after a quick trip to Oskar Blues for dinner, I came back and whisked up a custard that is baking inside of the pumpkin right now. This could be one of the coolest things ever, to grace my Thanksgiving table every year for the rest of my life. This could be a raging disaster, and end up a dog's dinner. I'm honestly excited to find out which way it goes.

Home for the Holidays?

Inspirational song: How Deep Is Your Love? (Bee Gees)

A lot of people have sayings that say things like "you get back what you put out," or more simply, "karma's a bitch." I'm having another one of those moments when I am on the receiving end, and it makes me send out little prayers of apology for the things that I've done in my life. This week, karma is reminding me how difficult I've been as a home purchaser when the time comes around for inspections. When I bought this house, we had a heart-wrenching experience with the inspection, and for a week I was pissy, swearing that the deal was dead. I will not put too fine a point on it. I was horrible. We gave our realtor such stress. She deserved every penny of her commission for having put up with us that week. We were so convinced that we would never buy this house, we even put in an offer on another house before the contract was officially canceled here. (I'm really glad that other offer was lost in the swarm of higher bids it received, honestly.) In the end, our realtor said something I will never forget, and plan on using in my own career: "Go sit in the house, and see how you feel. If you want to live there, you will know." That is exactly what we did. We came to the house, walked around a little bit, and then sat on the floor in the living room, right where my piano sits now. I said out loud, "Is this my house?" Then I sat and waited to hear my heart. When it came down to it, I knew that my initial feelings were correct. This was my house. It's my forever house. I'll be here until I die or am so feeble that I can no longer live alone. We went back to our deal, negotiating to have the seller fix the catastrophic problems with the rafters over the garage (cracked in two from something very heavy, like the old air conditioner unit, falling on it). There are still things that we are finding that weren't done properly the last time human hands touch them.  But now there is very little that requires urgent repair. The electrical panel is upgraded, the big front window replaced with an energy efficient model, and the sagging garage ceiling is braced up with a huge beam. When I can afford it, I'll tear out the back patio and regrade it, and put a new covering over the top. And my number one priority for when I get a little cash is to install a new air conditioner unit. From believing this house was marked for demolition to believing I will live here for the rest of my life seemed like an impossible hurdle, but it actually was a tiny hop.

Now I'm on the other end of that process. My buyers had their inspection today, and I was not present (as instructed). I got a text that said almost the same things I said last year, that the inspection was a crashing failure, and they were thinking of walking away. So I sat down and read through the entire report. Mrs Buyer had said tens of thousands of dollars in required repairs. As I told Mr X, I don't know where she's getting that figure. I barely saw more than a bottle of Clorox and a tube of caulk. There were a couple little things that I am certain I could get the sellers to fix before closing, like having a plumber make sure there's a proper air gap in the vent from the dishwasher. It's a tiny thing, in the grand scheme. There are some "budget for this in the future" boxes checked, but nothing that said that this was a disaster of a home. If I had received this inspection report, my reaction would have been ecstatic, and I'd have to be reminded to ask for the minor repairs like the above-mentioned plumbing issue. I'm really baffled by the "we may walk" language. So here is my big test. Can I hold this deal together while making my clients happy and making a good impression with the other agent and my boss? How good a counselor am I, really? If ever there was a time to step up my game, it's now.

But tonight was not about stressing over inspection reports. Younger child and I went shopping for a baby shower, and we had a blast being out together. We sighed over baby items that made us both remember the past and wish about the future. We snuck in a few items for ourselves at the stores where we went. We found things to laugh about, like the prices that the local grocery store chain thinks are appropriate for Christmas trees. And then we got overly excited about the fact that we are less than a week away from putting up those trees in our own homes, assuming that we find trees that don't cost three or four times what they ought. Or at least we find a small business or good fundraiser that makes those prices worth the expense. The holidays are coming, and for the first time this year, I'm getting excited about them.

Smart Home

Inspirational song: Imagine (John Lennon)

A month ago, when I had my good friends come stay with me, so that we could all go to the Marillion show as planned for almost a year, my regular schedule was slightly disrupted. I was supposed to go on a tour as part of the "Rotary Day Out," when the group split up and visited different non-profits around the community. I had signed up to visit the Imagine Smart Home. But I allowed myself to focus on my out of town guests, and we ended up in downtown Boulder when I was supposed to be showing up for the tour. A Rotarian called me, to find out if I had gotten lost, and I had to apologize for rearranging my priorities last minute, but I wouldn't be there. One of the leaders in Rotary, who was instrumental in paving the way for this home to be built in town back when she was our mayor, continues to volunteer and work closely with the group. She let me know that they give tours once a month, and she reminded me last week that I had a chance to make up what I missed. I took my chance for a mulligan today.

I didn't know a whole lot about the program until I got there this morning. There are two of these Smart Homes in Boulder County, as part of an advanced system that serves something close to 700 developmentally disabled individuals locally. (As an aside, there was a discussion in the tour about terminology, and why it was important to use positive, inspirational language like "Imagine Smart Home" rather than anything that focused on the more negative implications of "disability.") This particular home has six full time residents, and they are allowed to stay there essentially for life, until/unless they reach a point where their medical care requires more aggressive intervention. The integration of advanced technology, accessible design, and nurturing care was inspiring. The home began with wide hallways, accommodating appliances and spaces, and warm, inviting common areas that other group homes like this have. Then they integrated computers to keep the caregivers in touch at the same time that they provided an astounding level of independence to the residents. There are large touch screen monitors, and iPads that integrate with wheelchairs for people with extremely limited mobility. They have everything covered, from voice-activated apps to assist those without fine motor skills, down to step by step visual instructions so that the residents can feed themselves independently (using an induction stove-top so that they don't burn themselves). The Smart Home has partnered with students at CU, so that the students benefit from having real world experience rather than just theoretical situations from a textbook, and the home benefits from the innovation from fresh minds. They mentioned that the CU kids designed a special laundry hamper that adds a new level of independence for the residents, and that is good enough for them to have a product that may be salable to a broader market.

There was no part of the tour that didn't impress me. Even all of the art in the entire house was done by residents, and it was frankly brilliant. There was a preponderance of abstract art with a striking use of color, but some representational pieces were as cool and cutting edge as any modern art you could find in a gallery. There were several pieces I would have hung in my own house. On the tour, I learned that many of the things they are doing in this program, and in Boulder County as a whole, are on the forefront of this field. They are teaching the rest of the country and the rest of the world how to enrich the lives of developmentally disabled people. There is a group heading to Ukraine next year with the Open World program to bring their methods to a group there that has been stuck with methods that have barely advanced in a hundred years. Imagine what a revelation that will be for people who had been institutionalized just because other resources were never available? Welcome to the future.

Zero or One

Inspirational song: Hot n Cold (Katy Perry)

I have decided I am binary. Definitely binary. I'm not talking in a cis-gendered versus genderfluid sort of way, even though I know where I am on that spectrum, and I'm fine with it. I'm talking about temperature. I am either a zero or a one, freezing or boiling, and nothing in between. My body hasn't been at a comfortable temperature for most of this calendar year. It's most likely the reason I haven't slept well all year. It's definitely the reason I'm not happy when Rabbit insists on sleeping on top of me or pressed up against my side, because I can't cool off when the little fission reactor is touching me. As soon as I convince her to move, I find that I'm freezing, and I have to drag blankets on top of me. And then, three or four minutes later, I'm back to on fire. I wish the little toddler who is flipping the light switch that controls my body heat would get put in a time out. I am sick of this. Back and forth, all day long, all night long, for most of a year. The best I can find from internet research is that it's possibly a malfunctioning autonomic nervous system. Can't find a single thing that suggests there is anything to be done about it. I've asked both of my doctors, and they look at me like I'm crazy, that such a thing either doesn't exist or couldn't possibly hurt or lower my quality of life if it did. What will it take for someone to take me seriously?

Rather than spend the entire space tonight complaining about things I can't change, I may make this a very short post. I've been watching how light plays around my home, and have started a series of photos that are only intended to describe light. I'll post the first few, and worry about being more verbose tomorrow.

Black and Gold

Inspirational song: Paint It Black (Rolling Stones)

There was another open house scheduled for the property that I have under contract. It was supposed to be today from one to three, but the listing agent canceled it when we made our agreement on Thursday. Several people had already seen the announcement, however, and a few people wanted to see the property. I pulled up for a second showing to my clients about five minutes after one this afternoon, and a van slowly rolled up behind my car. While I sat in my car, quietly texting and waiting for my buyers, I noticed the passenger in the van leaned out and grabbed a flyer from the yard sign. I watched them in my rear view mirror and mumbled, "Move along, folks. This is under contract. You can't have it." Before we were done with our scheduled hour, another two cars drove up, looking for the open house. My buyer was heading out to his white pickup truck, tape measure in hand, looking for all the world to be a worker in the trades. So when a couple in a sedan asked him about an open house he said, "Uh... I think it's under contract." We got a good laugh over his calm deflection.

When I saw the photos on this listing last week, I was underwhelmed. So was the dad of my family of buyers. I thought there was no way they were going to want it. Mr Buyer admitted he almost didn't even come to the showing. The photos did not do it justice. This house is wonderful, and even the man came around once they got a good look at it. I knew their daughter loved it, as she and I had a good conversation about the house on the first tour. On the second showing, mom and daughter had their feelings confirmed, and the boys got a chance to see their new home. Watching everyone plan furniture layouts and paint schemes made me so happy. It was a long search, but I know in my heart that they've found a winner. The older son wanted to be in charge of doing all the painting, and the younger one suggested colors that would appeal to an avant-garde young man. I've waited a long time for this payoff, and it's everything I wanted.

I alerted my buyer family that I'd be super distracted, because they wanted to view the house right as the CU game kicked off. As I was sneaking off to let them measure the house by themselves, so that I could listen to the game on my phone, Mr Buyer asked me a whole slew of important, relevant questions regarding home warranties. Didn't he realize how big this game was? I was a good little realtor, and gave my best answers to his questions, without saying that I'd check on it, but kickoff! I'm proud of how well I managed to be a grownup about it. Once the tour was over, it was all football, all the way home. I'm lucky I didn't do anything stupid on the interstate. At least not much. Halfway back, as I was totally focused on listening to the work of CU's defense, culminating in a quarterback sack and an involuntary fist pump by me in the car, I looked up, and someone in a giant black Chevy pickup was waving at me out the open passenger window as he/she drove by. I wonder whether it was someone I knew, or did I do something stupid with my car? I thought I was maintaining proper following distance in the cruising lane, and driving the proper speed. From then on, I was a little more aware of my driving, but only a little.

Peace Cats

Inspirational song: Holiday In Cambodia (Dead Kennedys)

We've all seen it. Ever since we moms were allowed to sign up with Facebook accounts, there have been posts saying things like, "Sixteen years ago today, my life changed forever. I'm so proud of the young man/woman my baby is turning out to be." Hell, I've done that sort of thing several times myself. I even considered throwing out another one tomorrow, but I think I need to step up my game. My daughter about whom I was going to brag stepped up hers. She's a grown up now, older than I was when I had her and her sister. I got busy with work this week, and failed to plan ahead for her birthday tomorrow, so I texted her at noon today and asked her what she wanted as a present from me. At first, all she wanted was for me to make progress on the cookbook project she asked me to undertake, because she lives in a tiny apartment and doesn't need extra stuff crowding it up. Then she wrote back, with a much bigger request. She wanted me to make a specific donation in her name. I told her I would be happy to do it. And then I raised the stakes.

We here at Smith Park West are masters-level animal lovers. When the news came out of Syria this week that a cat sanctuary had been bombed, we were understandably upset. This is not to say we have not been watching in horror as human civilians have had their lives ruined or taken in the ongoing conflict. But like the children who are caught in the crossfire, the animals have no part in this war. They aren't responsible, and they can't plan an exit from the country to find safety. There is a man they call the cat man of Aleppo -- "Il Gattaro d'Aleppo." His name is Mohammed Alaa Aljaleel. He stayed behind in the city when he could have fled, to take care of hundreds of innocent cats, and a dog named Hope who was part of the colony. He did all he could to keep safe strays and dozens of pets who were abandoned by refugees who had to leave them behind. This sanctuary was internationally hailed as a place of peace, a haven for animals and a place where children of the city could escape the horrors of war and spend time with the cats. Now, twice this week, the sanctuary has been bombed. Multiple cats and the dog Hope have been killed. They have no choice but to move to a new location to try to keep everyone who remains safe. That is going to take money. This is where my daughter's request comes in.

There is a Facebook group dedicated to Il Gattaro d'Aleppo. It's a closed group, and you have to join to get information on how to donate to the sanctuary. It's run by an Italian woman, and as I write now, my request to join the group is pending. There is a page in English run by a member of the group called Cats of Aleppo that directs to the Italian group. As soon as I am allowed to join, I will be instructed to read the pinned post at the top, that details how to donate to the cause via PayPal. This is what my daughter asked of me, to donate in her name. My challenge now to you is to do the same. Donate if you can, in the name of Allie Reynolds. Do it for her. Do it for the cats. Do it for peace.

I hesitate to put direct links to the stories of the bombings. I saw one thumbnail picture of a dead cat, and it was too much for me. I have been told that the Twitter links do not hold back at all. If you look, be prepared. But you get to Google it for yourself. You have to really want to see it. I'm not going to do it for you. Me, I would rather look at my little Rabbit sleeping peacefully at my feet.

Long Awaited

Inspirational song: Superstition (Stevie Wonder)

All modesty aside, I consider myself a reasonably intelligent woman. I'm well-educated, and a lover of science and logic. I live happily in an evidence-based world. Yet there I was last night, terrified that by even admitting in my blog that I had spent all day working on another offer for my clients, I would jinx it. I thought about the one we tried a couple of weeks ago, and how badly it failed. (Okay, it was a very risky lowball offer, and that is why it went down in flames. But still. I wished I hadn't said anything about it at all.) I wanted to do all kinds of superstitious dances to make this offer work, kind of like how I've worn my "lucky earrings" watching every single CU game this year, except for the loss to USC, when I put them on at halftime, and they played better, but it was too late by then. I didn't care if I looked stupid. I just wanted to win. Turns out, what I did in addition to writing one of my best offers to date was spend a lot of time on the phone with the listing agent, and THAT, folks, was my key to success. As soon as I gave him a heads up voice mail that an offer was coming, he called me back, and asked whether my buyers had to sell their own house first. After three people in three days asked to make contingent offers, the fact that we were coming in clean with no contingencies put us in the front of the line. There were dozens of little details that kept making it better and better, and once I submitted our official paperwork at 08:30 this morning, we were sliding smooth as a curling stone, right into the target. Less than three hours later, we were under contract. When I first looked at the pictures of this house online, I thought that there was no way my buyers were going to go for it. Boy, was I wrong. The moment we walked in the door, I knew this was a good house. I tried to play it calm, but inside, I was saying, "PICK THIS ONE!!" I was so happy that they did.

We still have to make it through inspection, which is where my last contract fell apart. But maybe I shouldn't mention that part. Shall I knock on wood? I already know one big, scary defect that has to be evaluated. I will not be present for the inspection, but you can bet I'll be home thinking happy thoughts, and maybe lighting candles to chase away my doubts.

Colorado has been warm and dry for far too long this year. We went months with only trace amounts of rain, and either tied or beat latest first snowfall records all up and down the front range. The report was for a high well above freezing this morning, with drizzly rain for hours, and then a tenth of an inch of snow by evening. Instead, around noon the first tiny specks of snow showed up, first down in Denver, then reported by my friends in Arvada and Boulder, and after an agonizing wait, they made it over my house. Not only did we get a dusting, we got several periods of huge, fluffy flakes coming down by the bucketload. Not a blizzard, no. But a solid first effort. I took photos when it first started to collect around Smith Park West, and then again out the back a couple hours later, when it got serious. In the middle of the afternoon, as I drove in soggy, wet snow between lunch and a matinee movie (FTR, Arrival was as good as they say), I mused aloud, "Am I giddy because I finally got another contract, or is it because it was finally overcast and gloomy all day like I like?" I don't know or care which made me feel happier. They both were welcome after long droughts.

Little Details

Inspirational song: Teacher, Teacher (Rockpile)

I feel like I keep learning new things every time I dance the realtor dance. Each new offer shows me nuances I missed in each previous iteration. I can't quite figure out why there is still so much to learn about this contract. Okay, it's eighteen pages long. It changes every few years (including the beginning of this year). And I haven't filled it out so many times that I'm casual about it. That might explain it. I still get pretty freaked out each time I approach it, but I'm an anxious type when it comes to details. I spent much of today writing another offer, and as I wrapped it up, I went through it line by line with my former teacher/now boss, and he finessed a ton of things I thought I had all figured out by now. There is an elegance to this, and I am slowly learning the graceful moves.

Today's offer involved a whole lot more research than I usually have to do. I keep telling myself I'm learning important career skills. So far it's working. At least it got me over my usual reluctance to use the telephone to make actual phone calls (quelle horreur!).

No amount of work could get me to skip a long-standing date I had for today. It has taken me an entire year to make it to the Cheese Importers with my girlfriend. I walked away from my offer just long enough for a long lunch and shopping trip. My friend was as amused by the store as I expected her to be (as we all are when we first go there). We had a great time looking at all the girly French chachkies, smelling the fancy soaps, and sampling the unusual imported cheeses. We spent way too much money, and we didn't regret a second of it. Hell, we would go there again in a heartbeat, and probably will do so at the first opportunity.