Ahh, it's getting better. There's been a lot to do -- there was a small lake around the pool pump and we had to have both gaskets (seals) replaced, they were crumbling away. Reconnecting the cable (to be able to post on this blog, for example, or do grading online) also required a technician visit from Comcast -- apparently when the previous owners switched to satellite, the cable was disconnected over at the box -- well, that never occurred to us last weekend when we were trying to get it working and couldn't. It was a cable coming out of the ground, we had no idea where the other end was connected. Now I know where the box is, anyway :-)

And speaking of boxes, the living room was full of empty and broken-down boxes, and more large wardrobe boxes stuffed with packing paper, waiting for Wednesday. Around here, Wednesday is Recycyle Day. On Tuesday night, therefore, Derek dragged and carried boxes -- packing boxes -- broken down for the most part (a lot of those), but also standing tall and full of white packing paper, along with some truly mammoth bags of white packing paper, to the curb in our driveway. It made an impressive pile. Then it started to rain. It thundered, it poured. Our recycling was started in its journey toward becoming paper pulp again. Wednesday morning, therefore, Heather went out to check the pile and was immediately told by two dog-walking neighbors and the lady next door (Hillary! Thanks!) that the trash/recycle company would refuse any box that was not broken down. What???!

Back inside to call the company. Yes, all boxes must be broken down, and, unbelievably, packing paper is not recyclable, it's trash. Are you kidding me??!!!

Back out to the mountain of white packing-paper stuffed boxes, with a small knife and some trash bags. A 13-gallon trash bag is nothing to these mounds of sodden but clean white paper! Drag the mammoth clear plastic bag stuffed with packing paper (it once contained a large TV) back up the driveway, this paper is going to have to wait in the scant shelter of the house wall until next Monday's trash pickup, apparently. And start breaking down boxes with my trusty knife... Derek, already dressed for work, even comes out and starts helping in this hurried effort (the recycle truck is coming! It's one street away -- we can hear it). Then finally we have to give up because there is just too much white packing paper and we'd need 100 of those 13-gallong bags to hold it -- we drag the upright wardrobe boxes back up to the wall to await Monday, and Derek, a bit hot and annoyed at the non-recyclable-white-packing-paper policy, drives off for work. I finish up with the boxes and go back inside.

Ten minutes later, doing laundry in the garage, I hear the truck in our street, and I race out of the garage. The truck is loading recycling from next door. I say hi and apologize for the huge mound of flattened boxes, and I say we were surprised that the company would not recycle packing paper, so that's why there's a huge pile of boxes and bags of packing paper at the wall by the house. I must have been babbling a little, I guess. The driver seems to be listening, then he gestures to the boxes he's picking up and tossing into his truck. He says, "you should tie." Then he gestures up our driveway to the boxes full of paper, the giant bags of paper, and he says, "Bring all. I take." Oh my goodness!

This guy is seriously getting a great Christmas present!

So I dragged all the bags and paper-fulled soggy wardrobe boxes back down the driveway while the recycle guy continued working on the pile of broken-down boxes at the curb; when he switched to the wardrobe boxes full of paper, he got the truck's little arms to pick them up and drop them into the hopper, then he'd crush them into his truck, returning an empty hopper for more bags and boxes of paper. He gestured to the boxes and bags now at the curb, and said, "Six feet." OK, got that, please put all recycling and trash within six feet of the curb, even if that means it blocks the entire driveway :-)

After a cheery wave (no reindeer), he rumbled off to the next house, taking at least one quarter of BoxPocalypse with him! Bless that man. I was hot and sticky and I still had to vacuum the pool, so I headed out back to hook up the hoses to the pump and start that.

Slower is better in pool vacuuming, you will just roil up the debris if you go fast, and it won't get sucked into the hose if that happens. So I Zenned my way around the pool, vacuuming in slo-mo, until I got to something in the shallow end. It was brown, elongated, looked like a small stick, but it moved, and where it had been was a red-brown stain. A nail! OMG, what was a nail doing in our pool?! I walked over to that edge and stepped on -- another nail! At least that one wasn't in the pool... it only dented my heel, as I had stepped on the side of the head rather than the pointy end. It hurt, but not too badly. But how was I going to get the nail off the bottom of the pool? Yeah, I know, I'm standing there all overheated from moving BoxPocalypse Jr., and Zenning my way around the pool, and finally (!!!) I realized that we HAVE A POOL. D'oh! So I shuck down to briefs (hey, they don't call 'em bikini briefs for nothing, right?) and walk in to fetch that nail.

Oh, wow... we have a heated pool! This was delightful. I was cooling off and (fetching the nail) and every time I passed one of the return vents, a blast of warmer water went past -- how fun is this, in December! I could definitely get used to this!

And that is how the first swim in our pool came about. It took a rusty nail to get me in there. But that was so much fun, I'll be doing it again soon :-)