“Can we rent?” I asked Dave after yet another house expense popped up like a prairie dog in a field. This time it was air filters. Earlier, it was a handshake on a $3,500 deal with the owner of Skinner Tree Services to take out three trees and limb up another.
Once Tony—the tree assessor—shot down my hope that the red oak might put out leaves next spring, and further warned me about that one limb (as big as a tree itself) that could fall and kill someone, I went straight to the tree referral guy. The same guy who, just this morning, had asked our neighbor Dan who lived in “that new house” (our house)… and here he was meeting us.
I don’t really want to rent. Not yet. But when you swing from skipping merrily along on a tight budget—saving, controlling—to plummeting into a deep, cavernous setback, your mind can’t help but wander to what living in a van down by the river might look like.
Still, when my dad told me about their friends Jerry and Chrystal, who faced a $250,000 repair bill after a tree fell on their house, I instantly saw our price tag as an investment in risk prevention.
Day two of making bagels pumped them up to about 75% capacity—a big improvement from yesterday. Still, I’m not there yet. Even though my masterpiece isn’t complete, I can’t make another batch. I’ve eaten more bagels in the past two days than I have in a year, and no matter how much I love them, I cannot sustain that level of consumption.
The hardest part is getting them smooth. Rolling them into a ball is where I’m subpar, and that smooth-as-a-baby’s-bottom finish is crucial. Because once they hit that boiling water bath, any blemishes get baked in like a kiln. So maybe instead of practicing with another batch tomorrow, I’ll take out Play-Doh or clay and practice my rolling finesse.
Scrolling TikTok earlier, I saw someone rate Dexter a 10 out of 10. I only watched a few episodes, but what really stands out is a night I played poker at the Hard Rock in Vegas. I got completely blackout drunk, even lost my phone. But the most painful part? David Zayas—the actor who played the detective in that show—was sitting right next to me. My fragmented memories tell me I kept pushing all my chips in, annoying the other players, and calling him Dexter. Probably sloppily. Definitely annoyingly. From the bottom of my ever-loving, more-mature-now, and not-even-close-to-ever-doing-something-like-that-ever-again heart… I apologize. Sincerely.
Okay—now that confession’s out, I can go back to my sinning ways. Just joking.
Love,
Jaclynn
Going On 40 