what you can't plan for redux

So, the back starts feeling good and I'm back to scooting up to the studio like a gazelle. An old gazelle. An old gazelle with bad knees. An old gazelle with bad knees and enough extra weight to slow an Amtrak express. But scoot I do. Stuff is getting made.

That lasted 2 days.

Open letter to the swamp dweller who smashed our car window: Dear SD, when we saw that our van window had been smashed, we assumed you were after the GPS gizmo and congratulated ourselves on bringing it in at night instead of stowing it under the seat like the cell phone you ripped off a few years ago. But, no, apparently your "prize" was not electronic at all. It was our inspection sticker. We just noticed that it was gone. I have a show next week and I need to drive around a lot. Do you know what it takes to get a replacement? Oh, silly me, of course not. You just smash into people's cars and take what you need. Well, let me tell you that we had to go to the DMV and wait a half hour to be told they couldn't do anything, it had to be mailed. But first we needed a police report. And we had to get paperwork from our mechanic. Did I mention I have a show in a week? So, we are gathering up all these things and then we will have to wait until it gets mailed back. Oh, yeah, that should be speedy. Or we could have the car inspected again. That would have to happen sometime between trips to the paper supplier and the display rental place and the craft store and the art store - risking being stopped by the police at any given moment for not having an inspection sticker because you stole it. Did I mention I have a show in 7 days? Why is that important? Because it is my job. Oh, there I go again, referencing something you have no experience with. There must be a x-rated blog site somewhere in which I could explain to you in simple terms just what you should do with our inspection sticker. But I have a show in a week, so I don't have time.

So, we are driving about with all the paperwork on the dashboard and praying for mercy.

Then, yesterday, I scoot gazelle-like down the stairs to do laundry and stepped in ankle deep water. Surely this was not good. And what was that sound of rushing water? Oh, the hot water tank acting like Vesuvius. Lovely.

I have a show in a week and it better be profitable.

Open letter to the angel across the street: When we were house shopping, we came really close to some other places that were in better shape and had more to offer, but something put us here. A few months later, you moved next door. There are no coincidences in nature. Letting me shower at your house in the morning was just the beginning of all your kindnesses yesterday. You were on the phone to someone who knew about this stuff before my hair was dry. And it continued all day. This was not a one day random act of kindness. You and Marie have been there for us every day. Sometimes with food or a beer, most often with broad shoulders and a listening heart. But not once have I said to you guys "I need a favor" and worried that it wouldn't be granted. Love you guys.

Well, back to the attic. Got a water tank to pay for. And probably a new inspection.

Nothing else could possibly go wrong. Right?