Tuesday Hash

NFS at estate sale

I just wrote "Berkeley Bowel" on my calendar for tomorrow, instead of "Berkeley Bowl." The living room, where I am sitting,  is a strewn-newspaper zone.  Jerry has started his own personal collect of folded-up paper towels on the coffee table (you never know when you need a napkin).

The plumber's arriving in less than an hour, and I'm still in my jammies.

The dishwasher's broken down (never buy a Bosch!), and the kitchen's full of  dirty dishes.  Once a day, we wash and dry them--and complain.  Like this is a Major Life Problem.

We made another recipe from the South Beach Diet Cookbook that was a dud:  Chicken Capri.  Chewy chicken, tasteless crushed tomatoes, a slice of mozzarella.  Almost as bad as Lawn Soup. (But most of the recipes from that book are good.)

High point of the weekend:  The Ortman house on Thousand Oaks Boulevard is for sale, and realtor Ann Plant let us in to see it, though it's listed by the Grubb Co.

Wow!  I can see why the Ortmans stayed there for decades (they ran a neighborhood ice cream parlor on Solano Avenue, now a plain old Starbuck's).  There isn't a single dreary room in the house!  The light is wonderful throughout.   Four bedrooms, 2-1/2 baths.  We slobbered over it.  I wanted to move.
(Especially since it's very clean and the dishwasher probably works.)

Or maybe I just need this item from an estate sale we went to last weekend:

Head massager?

                                                   (The red wall-to-wall was for sale, too.)