My title
refers to several items, one of which is that I haven’t meant for this update
to be so late. All I got for Christmas, actually a week before, was terribly
sick with the flu which has morphed into something the doctors don’t know what
it is (bronchitis, pneumonia?) which keeps me coughing and so lacking in energy
it’s all I can do to make it through the day without spending half of it in
bed. I never get the flu so it was surprising this year when Marc got it and
promptly passed it along to me a couple days later. Even the tough guy landed
in bed and missed work. All I know, is that it seems since arriving in Yuma
I’ve been nothing but sick. Can one be sick of being sick??
Given
diligent advertising this season and managing lots of looky-loos, the miracle
finally happened that a buyer came forth (finally) for our lot. A week later it
was closed and all the worry and expense of that is off our backs. We’ll hope
all goes well on that since we are carrying the financing for up to ten years
but at least by offering non-qualifying owner terms I am convinced it helped it
sell. Once this project is finalized, our ties to Yuma will be gone and I for
one, do not wish to ever return. I am tired of the heat, the dust, unending
desert and the lack of green and water. Put me back in the forest where I am
most comfortable!
The project is making leaps and bounds to being finished and Marc is hopeful that can occur by late January. I still have yet to start any of the punch list portion of my job so I’m still just the clean-up as my depleted body will allow me. I suspect it will be February sometime when we make our move to the next project, in Mesquite, NV. Somewhere in there, Marc is due a vacation but we don’t as yet have a time frame. We intend to take the small RV somewhere along the coast and do some clamming and crabbing, our favorite pastime. By the end of March I should be up to my mother’s in Bend until I head my buggy east for WI in late April. 
I miss hearing downpours on the roof and against the windows, dark clouds scudding across a low sky, the fresh taste and utter quiet of a newly fallen snow. I miss hearing crickets at night, and frogs, and the feel of humidity in my nasal passages and against dry skin. I miss my flower garden, my veggie garden and watching the 30 or so birds that come to visit the feeder and bird bath daily. I miss porch sittin’ with a cold drink watching the traffic go by—often farmers on their tractors. I just wish I could stay home. As bad as it is for me I know it must be ten times worse for Marc, who never gets a day off, a break from the stress of the project, or to see home for any appreciable length of time.
