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Digging into new digs
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As we are in the process of making our 15th move in 13 years, it’s come under my “to-do” list to find suitable accommodations for Hubs, who will remain in the current locale whilst The Kid and I hasten away to our humble new abode.

Since Hubs wouldn’t be able to find the same kind of work at the same rate of pay where we are moving next, he’s going to keep the job he has for a little while longer.

This means we’ll be living apart.

I’m actually kinda looking forward to it.

Woot! Woot!

I’ve been packing up boxes and containers for the past six months, but we’re now getting down to the wire. I’m at the point where I just want to hang a sign outside the house that says, “If you can carry it, you can have it!”

Hubs, meanwhile, has been pooh-poohing the whole idea of me finding him a place to live.

“I can just live out of my truck!” he bellows.

Yeah. Right.

“And where are you gonna park your truck?”

“Right in the parking lot at work. I’ll be behind a locked gate and I can use the shower at work in the morning.”

It is more laughable than you can possibly imagine.

Hubs is one of those people who is always cold. Always. Even in the summertime. I’ve never once heard him complain about being hot.

It can be as hot as the blazes outside and he will say, “Man, it’s hot!” but I have never heard him once utter, “Wooo! I’m hot!"

So for him to say that he wants to try sleeping in his truck? What. Ever.

He sleeps with about eight pillows and seven blankets. He won’t have room for all that in his truck. He’ll have to start wearing his longjohns again just to stay warm. It gets quite chilly at night here. He does not like being cold. At all.

Also, he is up in the middle of the night to make himself toast almost every night.

He bangs cabinet doors, knocks stuff over, makes all kinds of noise in order to feed himself. He gets really crotchety when he’s hongry!

He’s gonna miss those late-night cheese toasties.

Most nights he walks around with a big fluffy blanket wrapped around his head and shoulders, and half-sleeps in the recliner.

He has shoulder problems so he’s always looking for a more comfortable place to sleep, which at this point would be a bed of nails.

He’s all about saving a few dollars, you see. He doesn’t want to have to pay for lodging when he feels he has a perfectly good truck to sleep in. Not the bed part of the truck, but the passenger side of the truck. All his clothes and uniforms will be in the bed part.

He has this innate need to martyr himself. It drives me nuts.

“I can pay off our debt faster if I don’t have to pay rent anywhere!”

I asked him what the dollar figure would have to be for him to consider renting a room.

“Four hundred dollars. That’s all I’d spend.”

Well, we live in one of the most expensive places in the country, and people are asking $800 a month just for a space wide enough to throw a twin mattress down on a floor. And forget about having a private bath. That’s another $400 a month on top of that.


If you persevere, something always comes up.

And it has.

This time, Jesus really is the answer.

I saw an ad online for a room to rent.

Four hundred fifty dollars a month.

Hmm. That’s a genuine possibility.

I know the area that it’s in, and even though it’s an extra five miles on the work commute, I think it’s something Hubs can handle.

I called the number on the ad and Jesus answered.


“Do you still have the room available for rent?” I asked excitedly.
“And it is it $450 per month?”
“In La Babbalita?”
“Si. You know this La Babbalita?”
“Si! Pour mi esposa!”
“Oh! Si! Si!”
“Can he call you later to discuss it? Para espanol?”
“Gracias, Jesus.”

Salvation comes in all forms.

This time it may be in the form of a small bedroom and shared bath.

But at least Jesus won’t mind someone making tortas quesos in the middle of the night.