I have an Amazon box with Northanger Abbey and Mansfield Park sitting on my desk, because I am still craving the genteel comfort of AustenFest 09, but on Monday, after I pay my hefty fine, I plan to order this from the library: Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.
The realtor came last night to give us house advice, which can be summed up thusly: Get rid of everything. Fix it up. Sacrifice small animals by the light of the full moon to the gods of real estate, and we might have a shot of selling this house. Maybe. Assuming that there truly is a fool born every minute in the greater Chicagoland area.
The girls played downstairs while the realtor was here, and after he left, a bone-tired Ellie asked, utterly serious, when the team would arrive.
"What team?" we asked.
She flopped down on the couch, exhausted by our dim-wittedness. "You know. The team."
She was crushed to hear that "the team" was not coming over first thing in the morning, thereby cheating her out of her chance to do some much-anticipated demo work.
We are watching our neighbors' pets while they are in California. Typically, we feed the cat and they send the dog elsewhere, but this time they couldn't use their regular dogsitter, so we agreed. I love dogs, and I like this dog very much, but to be honest, she is old and unwell and on a variety of medications, not entirely in control of her bodily functions, and accustomed to a great deal of human company. Every time I go over there, I am relieved beyond measure to find that she is still alive. This may be the first time in my life that I am anxious for a Monday, when they return.
I have done practically no preparations for Easter, obsessed as I am with packing up stuff. I am utterly stumped, as well. We don't want to give the girls a ton of candy, and we don't want to give them books and toys I'll be packing up soon anyway. Under such circumstances, what does one put in their baskets?