Sunday, June 27, 2010
Moving in July
Our open house this weekend brought some real prospects alongside the nosy neighbors. Not that I was waiting around to be annoyed by either — I shot out of here like the house was on fire. But after three months on the market, I'm ready for some interest to come out of all this housecleaning. It's difficult to live when I can't be as messy as I am. I haven't made my bed voluntarily for months, just to compensate for keeping the rest of the house shipshape. It's an easy fix if someone calls for a viewing and it makes me feel more empowered.
Also, I'm nearly seven months pregnant and dying to get out of the Kansas heat. Literally dying, like melting away. Janelle and I went to the dog park at Shawnee Mission, and Poppy got such severe leg cramps from the heat that she screamed like a pig, something I've never heard any dog do, much less this particular dog who makes zero noise at all even when hurt. We turned to look for the noise and found her flat on her back in the grass, legs pointed up to the sky. When Janelle wasn't looking, I cried a little. I never knew dogs could get leg cramps, much less from my absolute neglect to shield her from the formidable heat of racing through the dog park in 87º weather. The vet visit was more of a verbal spanking, though I was so relieved she wasn't dying that I didn't mind. He said that dogs can't cool themselves by panting when it's this humid out — like no lower than 85% for weeks — then he prescribed that Poppy can't walk, climb stairs or play for a week. She's driving me crazy, and I'm sure I've explained it to her a dozen times.
Every morning when I leave work at the bakery, I load the dogs into the car and drive out to the south trailhead, hoping to beat the sunshine at the most shaded part of the trail. But nowdays it's at least 85º, even at 7 am, and so miserably humid that it's hazy. So, yeah, I can't wait to get back to the dry Denver heat, especially with the views of my Evergreen rental tantalizing me from its website (George saw it in person, not me). Even the black raspberry bushes I discovered trailside last week don't tempt me to stay longer, and if you knew of my raspberry obsession you would know just how bad that is.
We're counting down the days until the movers can come — haven't actually scheduled a date yet, pending our assessment this week. Much as I've loved this sweet little house and the bountiful farmers market produce, I'll be glad to skip part of a Kansas summer.