Anniversary

We moved into our house exactly one year ago. Around noon that day, I took the dog for a walk and the wind, which was gusting at 60 mph, blew my left sunglass lens out, never to be found again. Little did I know that it was an omen of things to come.

That night, we discovered that the upstairs heating didn't work. It being New Year's weekend, we were stuck with the cold for days. (After the first night, I slept on the pull-out couch in the living room while hot-blooded Darling Husband toughed it out upstairs.) We subsequently learned that there was a Potemkin thermostat in the hall; instead of being connected to the basement boiler, its wire ended in a closet just 6 feet away.

Since then, we had to get the heating redone, including all new thermostats; the leaky gas hookup to the range repaired; the kitchen waste pipe replumbed (it was slanted uphill); the downstairs toilet reinstalled; 28 windows replaced; the fill at the sides of the house regraded; storm doors installed; plus various "extra" carpentry and plumbing jobs. Now our concrete front steps are crumbling and must be replaced as soon as the snow clears. I'm praying that the roof stays OK.

And yes, if you can believe it, we had the house inspected before we bought it. We'd be throwing lawsuits around, only Darling Husband and I agreed that we've had too much tsuris already with my medical woes. Still, I refer to the seller (read: speculator) and the guy who did most of the work on the house as "those wankers." It's scant comfort, but it's something.