The question should be: can anything please go RIGHT!!!
Moving Day was on a Friday. Plumber’s Hell was on Saturday. Sunday I had a chance to breathe and start looking for stuff. I also had time to calm down and ponder the consequences of driving back and forth over the asswipesonofabitchexhusband with a steam roller until he resembled Flat Stanley. On the Thursday before D-Day, I had received an email from my lawyer containing details for the closing of the sale of the Dream House, which was to take place the following Thursday. As casually as a cat might swipe a paw out to slash at a passing mouse, he had added: by the way, I assume you know about the lien on your house. It has to be cleared before the sale can go through.
What lien? What for? Who, why? And why was I only finding out about it a week before the closing date?
Well, it seems there was a bank going after the sonofabitchratbastardexhusband for moneys he owed them, and because he has fallen into the habit of merely ignoring the rest of the world around him, doesn’t answer mail or honor his debts and responsibilities, the bank had to seek a resolution through the courts. And because, foolishly, the Dream House was still in both our names, they slapped a lien on it which *I* would have to pay out of the proceeds. Now…ten thousand would have pissed me off. Twenty thousand would have made me want to see a horny elephant backing him into a corner. Thirty thousand would have made me furious enough to stab his body full of holes with a fork. Sums above that would have made me call up rental companies in search of that steam roller.
Apparently no one rents steam rollers to hysterical ex wives.
What recourse did I have? In four days, none. I basically had to pay off the lien or the sale would not go through.
Breathe. Just breathe.
Lawyer’s advice: clear the debt, let the sale go through, then sue his crusty ass for the money. Great. Meanwhile my cash flow is dramatically cut in half, I still have a house full of boxes and contractors and half-finished construction.
Did I mention my car died? Not my every day car, but my beautifully well preserved, not a scratch on it, 1994 sporty little Precidia MX3 (110K km on it, so almost like new) that was to be moved out of the DH garage and driven to the Clone’s house, there to snuggle warmly in *his* garage until the grandson comes of age to zoom around in it. Halloween night we met at the DH to give her a boost and get her started, but despite cables and soft words of encouragement, she didn’t make a sound. Not even a click. We had to push her out into the street and leave her parked in front of a friendly neighbour’s house until the Mechanic Friend who had been tenderly looking after her for the past 18 years could drive out and take a look at her. He would know what was wrong. Over the phone he suggested a fuse, or something electrical, and to me, the way things were going with everything else, I translated that to mean a whole new engine, new transmission, new seats, new tires, new roof, new fenders….*sob*. He said he would be out Monday or Tuesday to have a look at the problem and hopefully fix her.
Sunday night I get a call from his wife. He’s had a mild heart attack. I nearly have one myself because he has been one of the Constant Friends in my life for the past nearly forty years!!!! I’m panicking, his wife is panicking. Her son is waiting to take her to the hospital, where she finds himself sitting up in bed holding court, regaling the nurses with a litany of his bad jokes. On the one hand, thank God he’s feeling so much better. On the other…I would not have put it past his wife to have had Flat Stanley thoughts of her own. It brought back memories of the day Austin was born. The Clone wanted desperately to propose to Imelda before their firstborn was actually born, but the ring he had bought was at a downtown jeweller’s in Toronto being sized. I lived in Ajax at the time, the halfway point between Downtown where the ring was ready to picked up, and Newmarket where my grandson was ready to be born. The son pleaded. I raced Downtown like a madwoman and picked up the ring, breaking all speed records (in my sporty little MX3, by the way) to make the hour long drive up to Newmarket, hopefully in time for the birth, which I was certain I was missing since she’d been in full hard labour since 9am. Close to noon I ran into the hospital, screeched for directions to the maternity ward, ran up the stairs cuz the elevator was too slow, then barrelled through the ward like a linebacker shoving everyone out of my way. An owl-eyed nurse cringed against the wall and pointed to the room I wanted and I burst through the doorway out of breath, panting like a lizard in heat, hair askew, mismatched shoes (which no one ever did notice)….only to find the Clone and Imelda sharing a joke with one of the nurses. Baby? There was no baby. Labour had stopped. No rush. The Clone looked at me with a big grin. Hey mom, you got the ring, that’s great, thanks.
So yes, I know how my friend Helen must have felt with panic flushing through her veins only to see himself sitting up and entertaining a captive audience. Kudos to her for not tipping him out of the bed, wires and all.
And here we are, a week after the day of closing on the other house. Tile Guy showed up last Thursday and Friday to tile the shower in the new bathroom. He was supposed to come back Monday to finish it but…his wife had a baby, so he may or may not show up this week.
No further sightings of the Kitchen Guy since last week, although his mom and I had a lovely visit Monday and Tuesday. My first overnight house guest. Apparently the heating vents work well on the second floor, cuz she spent most of the night on top of the blankets. I guess that’s why she woke up full of vim and vigor and decided we had to unpack another 20 boxes and clear a large enough space in the family room to actually see the floor and walk around without bouncing off of boxes. We also cleared a path to one of the patio doors so that the extraneous couch, which is still standing on end in the middle of the room. It can now be carried out the door and transported to another abode.
Did I mention the racoons? I guess they thought twenty or so bags of garbage was worth a close inspection. Thankfully the Clone and mini-Clone had showed up Monday night to bundle up the mountain of flattened boxes and drag them down to the road for recycle pickup. The old toilet which had been sitting prominently on the deck made it down to the curb as well, and I’m actually kicking myself that I didn’t take a picture before all the debris was hauled away. I honestly looked like a prime candidate for Hoarders.
Glass Guy’s were here yesterday to measure for the shower doors. Bathroom Guy has promised to come back today to finish sanding the three coats of mud on the drywall…which sorta kinda hints that an end might actually be in sight. He has also promised to have the terlet installed by Friday, although I think I may have pushed my luck when I whined that it would be nice to get the washing machine and dryer out of the front foyer where they have rested for the past three weeks. Would be even nicer to actually be able to USE them. Silly me. Doesn’t everyone wash their bloomers in the kitchen sink?
When they do get moved, Electrician Guy has to come back to connect everything up. He discovered on his last foray that the bathroom, which also houses the aforementioned washer and dryer, is on the same circuit as all my office equipment and lights. Not good.
And capping off a sterling week, there were snow flurries the last three mornings. Little sparkly white flakes that didn’t last long, but still…harbingers of worse to come. Meanwhile down in Florida, the vanguard of the snowbird klatch is down there sending the rest of us cheery little emails saying she was in the pool, swanning on the deck in 80 degree sunshine, hitting all the bargain sales that she KNOWS will get our fingertips tingling. Bee-atch.
Thus endeth the saga so far. I’m taking the day off today to have lunch with my good friend Jill Metcalf, so if anyone actually does show up today to do anything, it will be a pleasant surprise when I come home. I also got the call that the Mazda is purring happily again and can be brought home. Cable TV still isn’t working right, but WTF. I’m going to rip it out of the walls before I head south then go back to satellite when I come home. It’s simply not worth another hour long call to my “personal moving concierge” just to end up frustrated and tearing out my last few hairs.
In the coming days, if my luck turns and things actually start to go right, I’ll be sure to blog about it and share my wonderment and surprise. I’ll share pictures too, of before and after. Until then…keep your fingers and toes crossed for me. I think I have one nerve left and it’s stretched pretty tight.