I love lobster raviolli, with corn and basil…
Celebrating a birthday at a nice restaurant. But it was not the best time:
bad news whichever way I looked.
I fell in love with this house.
I pictured us in this house.
Curtains, furniture, plants inside and out, cozy in front of the fire & hot pot meals in winter, sun and breezes in summer (hmm, those windows won’t open…)
Casual dining area, Formal dining room, huge living room, a foyer so folks can take snowy boots off, a bedroom for us, a bedroom for whichever of us can’t sleep, a room for my sewing and computer stuff, a room for J. to have an office,
a bright (windows) and comfy basement with bath and wet bar for guests to visit and have privacy (obviously I’d put a bed in there), private access or come up for breakfast in the great kitchen…
And if that’s not enough, there is a 5 foot tall safe, in a closet behind the furnace. Someone might even know the combination. How cool is that?
But just don’t fall in love with something that can’t love you back!
At the end of July, J. had a mole removed, bad news: melanoma. Surgery: 3 September. The day after this celebratory dinner, we’d begin to learn about radioactive dye, gamma ray cameras, crystals which react to make an image, beds sliding into machines, gowns, girls (mostly) petting and arranging and examining, beds on wheels, groggy anesthesia wake-up, pain pills, how a double-ended dart looks sewn on an arm, rainbow bruises, waiting for results…
I was more frightened at the prospect than the patient.
And falling in love with someone who loves you back—
oh painful, frightful, life…
And the house, after inspections and tests, we know the furnace was emitting carbon monoxide, the sewer is made with Orangeburg pipe (bituminized fiber pipe), and that very day, the final blow: a structural inspector told us about all the work we’d need to stabilize the foundation. Killer: the sunroom is shifting and sinking… It’s taken me more than a week to admit that we don’t want that house.
And a week while we are still waiting for the prognosis.
(Obviously I am back-dating this post.)
That night, I just drank the wine.
Leftover lobster raviolli…