passports.

I thought I'd changed my name to "Evans" on everything of consequence and had peacefully put the thought out of my mind. However, due to the fact that the Fickers/Adams/Evans clan will be sailing out of United States waters in May in honor of Kyle's graduation, I realized that my passport still says "Virginia Leigh Ficker."

Tuesday after work at 1:00 I drove straight to CVS for new passport photos ($6.99), then on home to find my marriage certificate. Tore the flipping house apart, couldn't find it. Literally sweating, with papers out of every file in the filing cabinet, I sat down with my head in my hands and asked for grace to find the piece of paper. Had the sudden idea to look in the glove box of my car...where I found the certificate. Eureka! It's 2:45.

Drove to my office to fill out the Passport Renewal form after realizing the one I had was not completely printed and I needed to photocopy the marriage certificate. Also needed to print draft two of my novel. Nilla, bless her, the administrative person told me that a photocopy would not do, that I would need to drive to the courthouse for a certified copy of the thing. Ten bucks. So what can I do but go?

Drive downtown, park on the street a block from the courthouse only to realize...I don't have a quarter to feed the meter. Ughh.... oh wait! There are 35 minutes left on the meter. I get out of the car and speed-walk (Olympic style) to the courthouse. Get up to the right office, walk in, get everything in order and then... "Cash only," says the nice lady behind the counter.

"What?"

"We only take cash."

I even brought my checkbook dang it.

"Where is the nearest ATM?"

"Three blocks down Second Street."

Off to the races again...run/walking to the ATM to make it back to the courthouse and to the car in what is now 22 minutes.

Pay the $3 fee at the Wachovia ATM and run back to the courthouse. Get the certificate. Get a second one for good measure. So far we're up to $29.99. Take it all, look at the clock: 3:47 p.m. What time does the post office close? 5:00? Okay. To the post office.

Standing in line at the post office where the clerk always flirts with me in this kind of cute way, saddened by my rings, he is waiting on a woman who, suddenly, falls to the floor and has a full blown seizure. True story. Who calls 9-1-1? Me. I do. Captain Ginny Bug. Deal with the woman having the seizure, mail my passport to Philadelphia ($3.74) along with a $75.00 check made out to the Department of State. $108.73 simply to change my name from "Ficker" to "Evans" on my stupid passport.

This.is.the.story.of.my.life.

a little tour...

Welcome to our house! This is the writing room, graciously named so by my husband who believes I really am a writer...

And the living room...

And the last remaining piece of the first Claire-a-Bell's Chocolate Chip Cake ever baked at 2337 Walker Ave. Things will never be the same...

And the bathroom. Look at that...shower curtain!

usually i hate rain.

I do. Not even the writer in me can make lemonade out of rain. Every time the sky is cast gray and the air is unusually damp and the whole day passes without ever showing the light of the sun, I am depressed. I believe this is called "Seasonal Affective Disorder" but I call it Rain Makes Me Blue disease. It is so real, in fact, that on gray days Mark calls home a few times just to make sure I haven't jumped. My mom will see that the forecast in North Carolina is dim and call to make sure I'm okay. Usually I'm not.

So today when I woke up to a dismal sky above, I had that feeling in the pit of my stomach assuaged only by the sheer fact of waking up in our new house (which I would rather frolic about inside of and never leave). The high of living in this house carried me through the day, along with a good long walk. By four-thirty I was surprised I didn't feel the rain angst.

Here's the amazing thing: When it started to rain at 4:45, I was strangely... delighted! It's warm in here, and all the little table and floor lamps are turned on against the windows and the crisp, pretty walls. It's warm and cozy in here and even in spite of the chaos of boxes, it is very charming and the bricks have me fortified from the weather. Mmmmm, I love my house.

just in case you weren't tired of hearing about the...

NEW HOUSE!  We've moved in, water is turned on, power is on, bugs/rats/ants have been baited and poisoned, washing machine and dishwasher christened and all is well on Walker Avenue.  Not that there haven't been bumps, like the water main bursting down the street yesterday and the fact that the power at the apartment was turned off before I had emptied the fridge and freezer. Yikes.

The actual epic transfer of oversized furniture from one itty-bitty upstairs apartment to our bungalow took place Sunday after church.  Returning around lunchtime after teaching Sunday school to a husband who had cleared out almost everything small from the apartment, we exchanged a quick kiss, then parted ways to pick up pizza and beer, make a few Home Depot runs, dump trash and pick up laundry.  Our hired help (unpaid, that is) was to arrive at 2:00.  At 1:45, as Mark was running out the back door and I out the front, he said, "Hey, hang on a second. I have a house warming gift for you."  My first thought was that if he has bought me a puppy I'm not going to be happy camper.  He went out to his car and came back in with a hilariously wrapped box too small for a puppy.  

It was a Nikon D-40 Digital camera which I have been saving for for several months and still had quite a distance to go before purchase could be made.  "You had to have it to capture this day," he said.  I cried. It's in these small moments between us that I remember we're just these two little people and I'm so so grateful for him. Love him.