Forget the house. Hallelujah for home inspectors who spend three hours poking into every nook and cranny. Cracked pool, cement driveway incorrectly installed that has led to leaking under the house, cracked foundation. And--this is kind of funny--no heat in the upstairs rooms. I loved the old screw-in fuses, but the inspector noticed several 15-amp fuses that had been replaced with 30-amp ones. They didn't anticipate flat screen tvs in the 1920s. 

So, the house hunt is still on. In the meantime is an apartment, a lovely apartment that looks north towards mountains, and overlooks a daycare center with tiny giggling preschoolers. One boy practices lion roars as he pedals his trike madly around in circles.

I'm thinking, this will be a year of interesting poems.