... has come and gone. (Arrived almost two hours after he was originally scheduled. It seems he had to break into a car way up on the north side of town and then fight heavy traffic to get over here in the far southwest.)
While we were waiting, my daughter and I did a walkthrough of whatall *I* wanted him to look at and then we came in here to take a look at the printer. It's making dirty-looking copies. Just recently started that routine.
She tried every which way she knew how to get it to make clean ones, but it was a no go. The upshot of this whole story is that she took the printer with her. My son-in-law will take a look at it, but she thinks he'll end up taking it to a professional. More later, if and when.
But getting back to the locksmith ... boy, I think we got a really good one. An amusing incident occurred when he first came into the house, tho. (I must add that it's only amusing if you have a really weird sense of humor, which I have.)
Those of you who have read my blog more than just a few times know how far down the list housekeeping chores are. In fact, they're so far down the list they don't even make the list, ok? I would rather brush my teeth, go to the bathroom, sit out on the back patio and walk the dog (I don't have a dog) rather than dust or scrub ANYthing!
And as for filing? Give me a break, will you please? Filing??? What the devil's THAT?!?
[Kind of a funny side story here. Julian Barr and I play duplicate bridge fairly regularly. He NEVER remembers our card and a few times - except for the most recent one - I was unable to find ours, which seemed to tick him off. ("Well, tuff titties," as my mother would have said. If he was that ticked, he should have brought HIS, right?) Anyway, when we played Sunday evening I brought our card with me. Guess where I found it? I had filed it, and in the proper place! LOL]
But getting back to the 'amusing incident' with the locksmith. When he came in the front door, he took one look around and asked, "Recycling?" Rrvit! My daughter ignored the question and quickly took him on the tour, showing him the problems that existed.
ALL outside doors, including the garage door - which I recently described in one of my posts as having a mind of its own and coming open whenever it felt like doing so, were in need of attention. However, it was my opinion that nothing could be done about ANY of them w/o incurring major - and I do mean major - reconstruction costs. (The house is coming ever closer, inch by inch, to falling down around me. Think that's a fairly true statement.) Hence the *I* in the second paragraph above.
I had already given my roflol (altho I used different lettering) opinions to my family, trying to get all of the sardonic laughter out of my system before said locksmith arrived, and - I might add - was surprisingly successful.
To make a long story shorter, and without going into whatall is wrong with my house - quite a 'downer', actually, so I'll not bore all y'all with it, I will just say that we had a locksmith extraordinaire. He thinks what he was able to accomplish will 'hold' for the next few months, until I'm out of here. Good news.
Not so good news is that while my daughter and I were sitting out on the patio visiting, my next door neighbor came over to tell me that he is leaving Houston next week. He has sold everything and is relocating back to Florida. While I am not terribly fond of my neighbor, that means I'll have a vacant house next door. He said he's having trouble finding a realtor who will even list the place! Gives you a little better idea of what has happened to this neighborhood, doesn't it?
Meanwhile, I'm sitting here unafraid. Really and truly. I don't like some of the things that have been happening and the direction in which they seem to be going, but I've never been one to sit around shaking in my boots.
I thought more than once that I should have a weapon, but just can't bring myself around to purchasing one. A couple of questions present themselves. 1) Would I use it? Probably yes, if I felt that my life was in danger. 2) Where would I keep it? On my body? That question is almost unanswerable. I need a Clint Eastwood-type around. Any volunteers?