What?!! I’ve been a home owner for five days now, but PacoBella is lucky she made it to the church, er closing, last Friday.

First, I grabbed the Navigator, and picked from recently selected trips an address on Tennesse, the state, vs. Tennyson, the poet, where the realtor’s office was located. I knew it wasn’t the same way I got to the office before, but the enticing mechanical (and British) voice of ‘Blaine’ convinced me. Too late—bumpy construction on I-25, a non-existant turn to Federal Blvd, then construction, construction, construction.

Meanwhile, ‘Blaine’ keeps calmly telling me to “Turn left.”

When I finally did turn left, I had no brakes. As in one’s sinking heart follows the sinking brake pedal to the floor – far too easily. I managed to turn right into a parking lot and left a message with the realtor about a “semi-emergency.”

So . . . the realtor rescued me, I arrived at the closing a half hour late, but still signed papers and handed over the money.

Of course the house, though beautifully done, had a few surprises. And while Obama hands over $8K for first time home purchase, I get a chance to activate the economy at Target, Bed, Bath & Beyond and the Home Despot (sic).

There’s hardwood to put in, movers to pay, a lawn mower to buy—and maybe then I can get a dog.

Finalizing the mortgage loan. I scrounged and came up with dough.

Here’s a mystery graph of interest (light blue) and principal.  Speak to me in 30 years.