What Rusty knows about welding: More than I do. And I say that while absolutely refusing to acknowledge that my husband has any expert welding experience. Does he awake in the night and skulk away to some secret society of welding husbands? I've never seen the man with a welder. But weld he will, because his brand new welder is leaving, as I type, on a pallet, on a truck bound for Miami, to board a ship bound for the Port of Limon. I'm still shaking my head about the welder. The battery charger, I get. The saws and drills, I understand. Even the new air-compressor, I understand -- I sold his old air-compressor at a garage sale. Whoops, sorry honey.
Here's the more bizarre part of the welder tale -- Rusty seems to have men in Samara lined-up to play with a welder. This is a trick . . . a trick, I say. One that will result in an announcement to wives that, "honey, we'll be at Tom's welding a new [insert inanimate object name here] . . . see you in a few hours" . . . and in fact they'll be down at a beach bar . . . or off riding motorcycles. In truth, this works for me. Because I've got a Neiman's card and I know how to use it. And as of today we have a new expat address in the U.S. to which packages can be shipped . . . and then those packages can be forwarded directly to my closet in Samara. Oh, that's right . . . I don't have a closet.
I've previously stated in this blog that I get the power-tool-thing and even own a respectable collection of my own. Yes, I get it. I'll acknowledge that men and their power tools are like some women and their shoes (or make-up, for you gals who wear make-up). I'm a collector of rare and unique perfumes . . . and a shoe aficionado . . . a purveyor of colored gemstones . . . though I rarely wear any of these. So I understand that we each have things that comfort us. But a welder? Really?!
This is brilliant! Or it could be. Can Rusty weld a similar machine that will wash a dog? When that happens, I'll embrace the welder.
Today little Nut-Meg the cat and Jill-the-Pill (our terrier) had their well-pet exams by a United States Department of Agriculture certified veterinarian. Then the paperwork was processed and overnighted to Austin. It must return to me before Friday so that copies can be faxed to the airline. To say that I'm nervous about the timing of this process is a gross understatement. Meanwhile, Nut-Meg behaves as if her vet trip was a simple, minor interruption into her napping time. Meg, when you were loudly meowing in your crate this morning, it certainly seemed more than a minor inconvenience.
So things are moving along, literally. We already have the preliminary HUD on the sale of our home; and we're not even closing until a week from today. My car will be sold on Thursday. The Y-Girls farewell party is next Sunday; and shopping/pedicure day is a week from tomorrow. Our purchase of the Costa Rica Land Cruiser finalizes today or tomorrow. Residency work continues. Et cetera, et cetera. At some point, I suppose we need to ascertain how we'll get the keys to little Mil Colinas. Maybe Rusty can weld an entrance into the home. Lo que hay.