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There are probably a lot of people who would consider 10 days in a suite in a hotel as luxury.  

Not me.

I’m stir-crazy.  So are my cat, Pepper and my dog, Sunshine.

While we have a tiny patio-it’s not fenced in and it has no table or chairs, plus it is no where near where the sun’s shining, so it and our suite are so dark that I have to have every single light on.  

I haven’t had to use a laptop unless we‘re in a hotel, so I’m getting mighty irritated at writing away only to find that the arrow has jumped a line or disappeared and therefore everything that I thought was brilliant and in a file for safe keeping-WASN‘T ANYWHERE AT ALL.

Give me a desktop anyday.  But as any of you who read my musings know by now-I am very old-fashioned and still not sure about this whole fandangled thing called a computeYer.

This week has been a trial.  On Monday, I went to the house to let the installer in and was greeted by a puddle of water coming out of my refrigerator!

Yep-all over the just laid floors.

After using a fair amount of curse words and drying off what I could-I went behind the fridge and found that the installer hooked up the ice-maker but neglected to plug in the fridge itself.    

Realizing it had now been unplugged for over 36 hours, I opened the freezer door and found that all my food was defrosted.

Grrr.  Plus a box of my Enbrel was warm.  Grrrr.

Result-I chewed out the installer.  I called the salesman and the insurance adjuster.

The installer, rather than be sorry, admitted it was his fault and spent the day calling and yelling at me that he was taking all the spoiled food and donating it-“since I have to pay for it I should be able to take it and your medicine and do what I want with it all”

Oh, this wise man ALSO called his doctor and his wife, a nurse, and discussed my meds with them!!!

That was the final straw-guess who was NOT going to be finishing the job?

Wednesday-a new installer began.  I’ll be posting this early, because if all goes NOW as planned, we will be busy moving back into our home.

Cross your fingers for us-I may be declared officially a MAD WOMAN of Chaillot if I don’t get a good night’s sleep in my own bed and a meal made in my own kitchen by Saturday evening.

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