I gotta hand it to my husband. He's surpassed every milestone he set for himself. Well, okay... no really, he did. I'm quite proud of him. He finished the stucco. You can see the design of the stucco in the picture. We even stamped some sea shells into the stucco to give it more of a beach feel.

At this moment, he's outside priming the wall preparing it for painting. He even got one of those spray paint thingies that you connect to the can o'paint and it sprays evenly in a horizontal direction.

Ah, the reason I know it sprays horizontally, is because hubby tried to spray the top of the wall by holding the spray thingie vertically. Wouldn't work.

So, it was my job to find a paint brush (any brush will do, just find one) so that hubby could paint the top of the wall.

Of course, I wanted the wall to match the color on the house. Funny, no argument from hubby. We agreed on something. Yay! Now, the only container left with paint from when the house was painted more than ten years ago was in a large bucket with its label nearly worn off. Good thing Home Depot can read their own labels. They had the right color and mixed up what we needed. Couldn't get easier than that.

We're so close to finishing I can't wait. I've already called the screening company and they're putting us on their schedule for next week. Hopefully. If not, the week after that. Then when the screening is done, we get new patio furniture and new French doors to replace the sliding glass doors. It's going to be so awesome.

I can't wait to take my laptop out there and work. Bug free. Leaf free. In cool comfort with my bird and my dog playing while I work.

Ah, I'm almost there...

Labels: bird, dog, Home Depot, home improvement. remodel, husband, laptop, paint, patio, romance, screen, stucco, women's fiction author, work

For more than five years I’ve had the greatest hair stylist in the world. She got me. She got my hair. She’d been through the long spiral perms and suffered with me during my Grave’s Disease and the temporary loss of my hair. Once I was in remission, we worked together to make my hair healthy again.

I was there during her pregnancy and helped celebrate the birth of her first baby. She was there when I got my puppy. Our “babies” grew up together. We shared pictures. We shared stories. We shared life. Every five weeks.

She moved last week.

I’m devastated. I have four weeks to find a new hair stylist. I really don’t like looking for new people to provide me a service. I get attached. I like consistency. I don’t do well with change. Not in service providers anyway. Okay, I don’t do well with change in general.

I’ve been with the same doctor for over ten years. I followed him when he moved his office twice. He has my entire medical history. When I thought I was having a heart attack, I went straight to my doctor instead of the emergency room. That’s how much I don’t like having to deal with someone new. I couldn’t possibly go through my entire medical history again with a new doctor. I have too many diseases, disorders, and dysfunctions to count.

Did I tell you I don’t like change?

We bought our new Town & Country minivan from a Chrysler dealership on Kennedy Boulevard. I had a routine set up for maintenance. I planned the route in my mind and managed to work through my anxiety by getting familiar with the service department. They knew me. They knew my car. It worked.

They closed.

Panic attack. We received a letter from the old dealership telling us that we’d now be serviced by the new dealership on Florida Avenue. A whole new route to learn. A new service provider. They didn’t know me. They didn’t know my car. I’ve been there twice now. I’m learning the route. It’s almost familiar. The anxiety is still there. I’m working through it.

I’ve had the same vet all my dog’s life. Almost four years. They know Jack. They know how he’s wary of strangers and how he needs to be muzzled if they’re going to give him a shot. They know how protective he is of me and how they have to take him to the back area if they want to examine him. They even know all about my quirky boarding instructions and have them on file.

Then we got a parrot. Well, actually the parrot got us. But, that’s a different story. So I had to find an avian vet. Jack’s vet didn’t take care of birds (at the time), so I took Bailey to an avian vet close to home. I really liked Bailey’s vet and we’ve boarded him there a few times and he’s enjoyed it. So, my husband says, if you like Bailey’s vet, why don’t you take Jack there too. (They also care for dogs and cats.) But, I couldn’t. It would be like starting over for Jack and I wouldn’t want to put him through the stress of having to get used to new people.

Plus, my anxiety level skyrocketed when I considered my husband’s proposal. Now, Jack’s vet has expanded to birds. My husband suggests we move Bailey to Jack’s vet.

Right.

Did I mention I don’t like change?

Labels: anxiety, avian, behavior, bird, change, dog, hair, hair stylist, life style, panic, people, service, service provider, vet