I’m still anxiously waiting the unveiling of my new toe.  It’s still hidden beneath a few hundred yards of gauze.  The first inkling I had that the post-op Gods weren’t smiling on me was the raging fever I developed 24 hours after surgery.  But hey, that’s what antibiotics are for.  Me?  I’m more bummed over the nail I chipped navigating my trusty walker around the room.  The antibiotics knocked out the fever, only to have it replaced by the other kind of fever – cabin fever. 

 

I think I’m getting a little squirrelly being housebound.  And just to keep me on my toes (9 out of the 10, of course), my daughter has strep.  My dh has stepped up to the plate, foregoing softball to wait on us – a huge sacrifice for him. 

 

Oh, and on top of that, my house went on the market this week.  The poor realtor had to wait patiently for me to shuffle from room to room so she could take photos.  This isn’t the greatest time to sell a house in south Florida, so I’m not stocking up on boxes and packing tape.  My only hope is that we can relocate before the kidlette starts middle school.  Not that we’re relocating very far – 11 miles north to be exact. 

 

I don’t like moving.  Probably because I haven’t had much practice.  Excluding college, I’ve moved exactly 3 times in my adult life – 5 times if we go back to birth.  Obviously, I like putting down roots and am reluctant to move unless and until it becomes necessary.  I’ll miss my office.  Not only is it exactly what I’ve always wanted, in the correct colors and swimming in flamingos (bad metaphor since flamingos aren’t big swimmers), I have killer views of the sunset over the lake. 

 

But as I’ve dipped my toes (9 out of 10) into what’s out there, I’ve decided that it won’t be too hard to find a house with an office I can learn to love.  It does remind me of the old days of space sharing.  The first seven years I was published when my office was also the guest room, the store-it room, and the stuff-we-can’t-find-anyplace-else-to-put room.  I won’t be doing that again, but there’s a uniquely Florida thing when it comes to house design. 

 

The formal living and dining rooms.  One of the reasons to live in Florida is the casual lifestyle.  So why, I keep asking, would I want a formal anything?  When we entertain, it’s always a casual half-in, half-out affair.  When it’s in the low 80s in February, why would you want to eat anywhere other than on the lanai?  So we have two rooms that we basically walk through to get to the rooms we use.  I did see a model house where they’d turned the formal dining room into an office.  You walked into the foyer and smack into the middle of the neat as a pin office.  Fine in a model, hardly practical.  When I’m deep into a book, my office isn’t tidy.  I can’t imagine having everyone traipse through my office to get to the kitchen.  I’d probably start thinking percussion mines – at least discourage some of the foot traffic.

 

The Demerol is kicking in, so I’ll stop droning about house hunting.  Oh, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t tell you to zip over to Romance Novel TV (http://www.romancenovel.tv/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=4)  to see Beth Coitta and myself at the NJRWA Conference.

 

Have a great day!

Rhonda

You've earned a "poor baby" for the post-surgery fever and need for Demerol. You'll have to get a custom-fit toe ring to show off along with the new bionic toe.