Thursday, February 10, 2005
Supposedly, the first pour went in today for the walls, and I can't wait to go home and see.
I've started mailing out the Galusha brochures, and yesterday I got my first call, from a real estate agent who had looked at the yellow bungalow last summer. (I saved the cards of all the agents I liked.) He asked all kinds of questions, saying he had 2 clients from the Bay Area who were looking for 2 houses that, if not joined, were adjacent to each other. Voilà Mabel and Galusha. He seemed a bit dispirited when I mentioned Mabel was meant for me. His clients' budget, tho, is a million, so -- uh -- all is negotiable.
Of course, I keep my expectations on low, having learned from the Nicole fiasco. I keep shaking my head over that, wondering if I'll learn to trust my instincts every time.
The excavator's Bobcat kicked up the cutest little teddy bear that had been embalmed in the dirt for decades. After a bath, he's still kind of smudged and you can tell where the family dog did some gnawing, but it's just another reminder of what a play haven the land used to be. I mean to keep that tradition going.
Meanwhile, I probably have enough discovered trinkets (including Dennis's rifle-cleaning instructions) to make a neat Joseph Cornell-style box.
I've started mailing out the Galusha brochures, and yesterday I got my first call, from a real estate agent who had looked at the yellow bungalow last summer. (I saved the cards of all the agents I liked.) He asked all kinds of questions, saying he had 2 clients from the Bay Area who were looking for 2 houses that, if not joined, were adjacent to each other. Voilà Mabel and Galusha. He seemed a bit dispirited when I mentioned Mabel was meant for me. His clients' budget, tho, is a million, so -- uh -- all is negotiable.
Of course, I keep my expectations on low, having learned from the Nicole fiasco. I keep shaking my head over that, wondering if I'll learn to trust my instincts every time.
The excavator's Bobcat kicked up the cutest little teddy bear that had been embalmed in the dirt for decades. After a bath, he's still kind of smudged and you can tell where the family dog did some gnawing, but it's just another reminder of what a play haven the land used to be. I mean to keep that tradition going.
Meanwhile, I probably have enough discovered trinkets (including Dennis's rifle-cleaning instructions) to make a neat Joseph Cornell-style box.
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