09 September 2018

Happy Belated Birthday to me - I looked 62 square in the eye a few weeks ago, and WOW did I get a super birthday present (keep reading)! 

Today would have been my father's 97th birthday. I do wonder what he would have been like had he not died young at 64. I still miss him - he wasn't exactly even close to 'Father of the Year' candidacy but all things considered he was a pretty damn good dad and I wish my children had grown up with him in their lives.

Another anniversary falls today...19 years ago today at exactly 0909 (9am US Central Time) the judge signed my divorce from Crusty into officialdom. Odd to think we've been divorced longer (just, by a year) than we were married. Odd and wonderful. Yes - the divorce was well and truly final at 0909 on 9 September 1999. Odd and wonderful and I can honestly say without hesitation despite the difficulties, the last 19 years of my life have been the best yet.

Especially the last eight. Paul and I are still bumbling along nicely, thank-you, and wowsa have things bumbled along even more nicely the past four months. Long(ish) story ahead, so put the kettle on, drop some tea bags into the pot, and settle in, dear readers...

Regular dear readers will recall:

*I 'met' Paul online at a current affairs 'doomer' site (now sadly defunct) in late 2008 and after two years of exchanging posts, messages, emails, and telephone calls, took the decision to meet face-to-face (f2f) eight years ago (mid-August 2010). After a few months of really getting to know the persons behind the emails, etc, we married and I went back to America on 'VisaQuest', returning in June of 2011 with a settlement visa that became permanent residency in 2013.

*We set up housekeeping in the house he'd bought in 1996 and quickly realised we're not getting any younger and the way the house and gardens were laid out did not nor would ever work for us as an ageing couple. Too many stairs, and for me with my stoopid little heart thingie, too steep streets to make getting out and about easy - every time I walked down to the shops, I'd have to stop several times coming back up from the shops and in all honesty was starting to have chest pain in the process. I could make it down but not back up and Paul didn't much appreciate me ringing from the supermarket begging a ride home (I don't have a full UK driving licence, just the provisional one for 'learners'). I was becoming housebound...

*2 March 2016 I took a fall so terrible, so catastrophic, the consultant said the quickest way to describe the damage was to say I'd wrecked everything on my dominant side from fingertips to collarbone, and my left knee as well. I became very nearly completely housebound as our entry-exit and access to the back garden (where my washing line stood forlornly staring at me through the kitchen window) meant negotiating three flights of narrow riser concrete stairs. Just getting me out to the doctor and physio meant ten-twenty minutes of agonisingly painful and extremely careful use of the two flights at the front of the house. Getting me back in was the same painful and careful 'exercise'. 

*So began for what we came to call 'the Hunt For Red October' (red being the sense of urgency after I fell in the front hall nearly three years ago, and October being somehow presciently the timing of the settled in hopes we had for 'the perfect home'. And yes, I loved the book and the movie:)

Property after property after property came close, not close enough, not nearly close even if we'd had thousands of GBPs to drop on a money pit...Over the past six years I must have looked at thousands of properties, and after I fell the search became the all-consuming pastime.

About a year ago a one bedroom semi-detached property in the town we wanted to move to (about six miles north-east and about six million miles difference in attitudes) popped up on my preferred search site. Ok, not the two bedroom/one bath+water closet (read 1/2 bath, meaning powder room, if you're an American reader) we were really determined to find, and certainly not the detached house we wanted.  

But something about it seemed near enough to perfect I showed it online to Paul. Who immediately (and who would know better than the local council retired historic buildings conservation officer?) identified it as ex-council housing, and without looking closely at the location, deemed it smack in the middle of a council housing estate and refused to investigate further as the near-by council estate we were enduring was too close for our comfort, so close to another council estate was not a place we EVER wanted to live.

I knew just what he meant (although I suspected he was wrong about it being near 'social housing'). It was bad enough having the loud, often rude (oh wow, the language penetrating the double-glazing) as they passed our then current house on their stumble home from the pubs at the weekends, but they often came to blows, and also thought 'watering the hedges' the natural thing to do as they went down our street to cross the school grounds and park. The motor traffic came from our neighbours...not so bad, but the yummy mummies blocking the street as they awaited their Precious to emerge from the school between the park, council estate, and our street were a daily nightmare.

Peace? Quiet? No. Both must-haves for an Asperger's person. And forget going out to the back garden as it was overlooked by surrounding homes - and the friendly folks thought our coming out to the garden (when I could struggle up the steps) an invitation for a visit. Usually a lengthy visit particularly if I had the BBQ fired up. Heh.

I continued searching. I'd find properties close enough to our 'wants list' to make a viewing (at least from the outside) a doable. Paul shot down so many properties I honestly began to give up hope...the little one bedroom property remained listed. I looked at it over and again, dismissing it from consideration and going on to the next one.

Paul also ruled out flats (we did want a garden, we didn't want anyone overhead - a ground floor flat was a no from the get go) but I managed in late April 2018 to convince him to go look at the outside of a first floor flat (second floor for the American readers) with extremely close convenience to the supermarket and a wide enough private stair case we could fit a stair lift - at that point we were both desperate enough to consider giving up the dream of a small garden. Of course once outside the property we realised the building was not in a good state of repair and what repairs had been done had been bodged - badly so.

But we were within walking distance to the little one bed property and somehow I managed to convince Paul a quick look would be a good idea...

Because by this time I'd realised the little one bedroom was just about the perfect (read that 'the perfect' in all caps as yes, I'm shouting) property for us - I'd done a bit of an online sat-map search and put that together with what I remembered of a years earlier visit to that little lane on a different mission. I knew if Paul could be got back there on that little pony track, he'd immediately see what I'd seen - no council estate, and only complete and utter blissful privacy.

And so it was.

Now, I love my husband. But between his natural personality (Mr Curmudgeon) and his Asperger's, he can be, uhm, a bit, well, grumbly. And he grumbled all the way to the head of the wee lane leading to the wee lane (better known as a pony track) the property sits on.

Until we turned onto the pony track and I pointed out the barely visible property peeking through the shrubbery of the adjoining National Trust property garden. The grumbling ceased. His step quickened, he reached the footpath leading to the one bedroom property. He got a look at the garden and patio and veranda...he took in a sharp breath, turned to me and said 'We have GOT to buy this cottage!'.

And so we did.

We took possession 31st August. Close enough to my birthday to make it my 2018 birthday pressie:) We're still unpacking (and will be for a while yet, downsizing ain't for the faint hearted!) but LOVE our new home. The cat LOVES our new home. We not only have a small garden (two postage stamp beds in the front, a patio and bit of space big enough for a shed - 6x7 and it should be delivered sometime in the next week or so) but we also have a lovely little veranda off the living room! Hidden from view thanks to the shrubbery on the National Trust garden, no foot or motor traffic passing our cottage as we're the side of the semi-detacheds the far end. Somehow we've lucked out and once again have great neighbours (the only 'thing' we'll miss about the old place are the wonderful neighbours) who mind their own business but are friendly and helpful at the same time.

The local library is up the lane and across the street, the local butcher is AMAZING as is the baker and the small supermarket has such good fruit and veg I'm calling it the green grocer. The townsfolk are friendly and welcoming, local activities for all ages and interests abound. The area around our house and into the shopping square is level, flat enough for me to get around easily and I know I've lost at least a half stone already.

Happy Birthday 'up there', Pop - I KNOW you're in Heaven.

Super Happy Divorce Anniversary to me!

And Super-Super-Super Happy Birthday to me!