The beginning of the end, one year later

I love Facebook memories. I get a notification every day that I have memories to look back on. Sometimes they are funny. Sometimes there is a video of Bella or Wags or one of our fosters. Often they remind me of something sweet Vic did.

For example, from 2017: Love is ... when your husband turns on American Top 40 on Sirius 70s on 7 KNOWING that you are going to sing at least one song (and almost certainly more) as if you were the artist—and then compliments you when you sing said song. (Today's song: Paper Roses) #grateful #TrueLove

Or this one, from 2015:

Me, at Hobby Lobby: See, this is the yarn for ...
Vic: The Dusty Snowflake.
Me, jaw dropping to the floor: What?
Vic: It's the yarn for the snowflake blanket.

Reason #1,386,452 why I love my husband—he knows the names of crochet patterns I'm thinking of making.

There are usually a variety of memories: a meme I have posted, a meme someone tagged me in, a picture someone tagged me in, posts about work or food or something that annoyed me.

But today, every memory was the same: 11 years of Vic's rebirthdays. That's right, folks. Twelve years ago today, Vic "died" in the Apple store. But for the swift and expert actions of doctors and police officers and firefighters and paramedics, he would have stayed dead. But it turned out he was only mostly dead, and Miracle Max (and all those other people I just mentioned) brought him back to life.

Last year I wrote a light-hearted post about how he was now old enough to go to Hogwarts, but I knew something no one else knew—at the time I posted that, he was in the hospital emergency room refusing treatment for his pneumonia.

So although today was his second birthday, it was also the one-year anniversary of the beginning of the end.

Perhaps that is why I locked myself out of the house today. I was never very good about locking the door at the old house. It was a quiet neighborhood with no through traffic, and I felt safe there. I feel safe here, too, but there is a bit more traffic, and there is a lot of construction going on across the street, so there are people in and out of the neighborhood who don't live here—meaning that a stranger doesn't stick out as much. So I have been steadfastly locking all my doors. Even so, when I take Bella out for a walk ... I usually leave the front door unlocked.

Except ... tomorrow is trash day, so I took Bella out through the garage. I even popped my head around the corner to make sure the front door was locked. So proud of myself. Safety first! And I have a garage code, so I knew I could get back in.

Except ... yesterday or the day before, I was messing with the garage code, trying to change it to a new code. Everyone in the neighborhood has this garage code, so I've been told. I followed the instructions on the PIN pad, but they didn't take—the new code didn't work. I never checked to make sure the old code still worked. As I found out today, it does not.

I know the neighbor has the garage code; might she also have a key? She does not. She thought the former owner's sister might have a key. She did not. She sent her partner over to see if he could figure something else out. Any windows open? No. Can you get in through the basement windows? No—the cover is locked from the inside ... and so are the windows. He walked around and checked all the doors. No joy. Did my Realtor still have a key, or another suggestion? He did not. My sister has a key. In Littleton. She started driving up. In the meantime, I called a locksmith. 20 minutes and $150 later, I was back in my house, feeling about as stupid as could be. My sister turned around. I'm still gonna have to buy her dinner.

So, yes, I will deposit a key with my friends who live 0.3 miles away. I will put a house key on the keychain with the key that I take to the mailbox every day. I will fix my garage code this weekend. I can fix stupid. I don't know what to do to fix sad.

Except ... there's a little birdie outside of my office window sitting on a nest. I have named her Ladyfinch. (I am very creative with my naming. My first doll was named Dolly.) Vic would have loved this. Our first year in the old house, we had a robin nest under our deck and a finch nest in our hanging planters. He loved watching mama birds sit on the next and then feed the baby birds, and then he loved watching baby birds fledge. I still have a picture of one of the baby robins nestled in the branches of our Scotch pine. I think she is here for me, even though I know she is not. Still, it's a nice thought.

So I will leave you with a picture of Ladyfinch (not a good one—I don't want to scare her off). I also would have included the baby robin, but I just finished moving and the hard drive the photo library is on is still packed. I hate moving.

Sorry this post was less positive than previous ones. I am very tired from the move. I hate moving. And also I had COVID two weeks ago, so I am still very tired from that. I hate COVID.