Two random people in week 15, we'll start with Shawn. Shawns are always hard because I never know if they are really Shauns. For all I know they could even be Schawuns. . . . anyway, one showed up at rugby practice last week. He seemed like a nice guy, a tall and somewhat reserved history teacher. We joked with him about how his profession must get harder every year. . . har har. He seemed eager to learn the rules and get familiar with the rough and tumble sport, hopefully he won't flake out like a lot of hopefuls.
I think I've mentioned the 100+ year old house that we're living in right now. We have half of the upstairs and that makes for a nice sized one-bedroom with an office and spacious living room. The only thing that makes it not worth the rent is the fact that we don't have a range or dishwasher in the makeshift kitchen. We're going gourmet with just an electric skillet and a toaster oven.
Up until last weekend I was free to tip-toe down a very tight spiral staircase that leads from our apartment to the first floor and use the oven in the full-fledged kitchen down there to bake bread. I can't remember the last time we bought a pre-sliced loaf from the store, but it looks like my rougue baking days are over, we now have a full house.
The owners of the estate didn't give us notice. On Wednesday night, while moving back and forth between our apartment and the backyard in preparation for some steak-grilling with our upstairs neighbors, we ran into a lady walking through the back yard with a leashed pekanese, and assumed she was a next-door neighbor. . . . until she continued all the way up to the house. We struck up a conversation, and met Sam (the lady) and Gizmo (the mini-chow chow from hell.)
Sam was really nice. She and her husband, who I still haven't even seen, moved here for work from Indiana, but they also lived in Mt. Pleasant, TX, Garland, TX, and Arkansas. I initially thought they might be stalking me, but will give them the benefit of the doubt and assume the small-world theory.
Our downstairs neighbors leave the house at 3:00 a.m.on weekday mornings- it turns out they work together as DJ's for a morning show on the radio somewhere around here. Gizmo must have a bad case of separation anxiety, because he loves to vocalize his discontent in yaps, whines, and howls when his humans aren't in the house. He's already brought an early end to my peaceful dreaming twice. I can live without an oven, but a good night's sleep is imperative. I've thought about sneaking down the spiral staircase with a roll of duct tape and giving him a silver muzzle. . . . .*sigh* Don't worry, I won't.