Thursday, May 26, 2005

You can stop running to your mailbox like Charlie Brown on Valentines Day

If you’ve known us personally for any amount of time you know that right about now is the time you should be expecting a notice, either virtual or physical, stating that we are packing up the duck nest and moving. Every six months to a year we have this animal instinct that indicates it's time for our migration. Amazingly enough, for the first time in five years we’ll be able to actually use all of our address labels for the current address. We’re not moving.

But that almost wasn’t the case.

Last Wednesday I received a phone call from Landlord who was responding to Papa Duck’s request for an extension on our lease.

“Ummmm, yeah, I’m just gonna need another $300 a month and we’re good to go, that is unless you’d like to buy the place.”

Seeing as the same Genius (covered nail holes in trim work with caulk, used expandable foam in cracks on the limestone fireplace, forgot a spacer in the corner of the kitchen cabinets which prevents one of the drawers from opening, etc., etc.) who worked on our house in Austin, apparently worked on this house (“fixed” the second floor decking, but failed to actually nail the railing to the support post, didn’t complete the casing around the newly installed windows, used aforementioned caulk to patch nail holes, and the list goes on…), I thought about the half million dollar price tag on the house and started laughing. Hysterically. Unable to control myself.

“I’ll go ahead and pass that information on to my husband and have him get back to you,” I said as I pulled it back together and wiped the tears from my eyes.

So, for the better part of the next week there was the familiar feeling of upheaval as Papa Duck and Landlord negotiated our new rent payment for a year. One year. On top of the six months we’ve already been here. That’s a total of one and a half years. The LONGEST time I’ve lived in one dwelling since 2000 (house in Houston…two years) and Papa Duck since 2002 (condo in Westmont…two years).

I would also like to state for the record that I was so desperate to stay in one place that I declined a raise in my allowance (the difference between this place and a potential condo we could have moved into) that over the course of a year would have allowed me to finally save up for my much desired and drooled-after diamond earrings.

More later on where we live and why I love it…think The Hamptons meets the resort in “Dirty Dancing.” And yes, you read correctly, there is something I like about Wisconsin.