We rolled back in here to our little Island a little before 3 PM yesterday and the temperature was 74 degrees F.
Sorry, but I just have to gloat a little.
You got to love it if you live here and have spent the past week running around with a jacket and long sleeves in foreign places--it was 27 Thursday morning and 40 when we left Vinings yesterday morning.
We ended up wandering over to our local watering hole about 5 PM in my short shirt sleeves to meet my real estate friends Bruce and Ski, and then we promptly ran back home to hide from eating out for the zillionth time in the past week.
I actually skipped dinner because I'm so full of grease and pasta and meat that I think I could hibernate until April and not eat another bite.
That's the only bad thing about traveling is the inability to just eat a little something--every plate seems to contain 1-1/2 to 2 times as much food as I'd ordinarily eat, so I end up dragging styrofoam boxes back to the hotel and then stinking up the place microwaving stuff in the middle of the night when the munchies set in.
If I stayed gone a month I believe that I'd have to buy a forklift or at least one of those stupid "mobile chairs" to move me from the sofa to the car and hire a legion of "home caregivers" to manage my blood pressure/colesterol medicine and wash the hidden folds of my bloated carcass.
Any way, I woke up about 1:30 having gotten my obligatory 6 hours worth of sleep and daaannngggg...it had cooled off a bit. I cranked on the heat and checked the weather channel, and it was 34 DEGREES OUTSIDE.
What happened to my order of tropical weather?
I absolutely have to wander over to the "job site" and get a few hours of work done and take a look at the schedule for the next couple of months. I've reluctantly decided to break down and hire myself some help in the roofing, electrical, and plumbing department because I'm getting pressure from potential buyers that don't want to wait until the return of Christ to move in.
Some people just don't appreciate