WHAT I DID ON MY SUMMER VACATION

Since I took the summer off from blogging, I had to fill my days with interesting pastimes, such as snooping on Zillow to find out what our new neighbors paid for their condo. One afternoon in late July, as I was tumbling down the Zillow hole marveling at the absence of Feng Shui in Midwestern homes, my heart suddenly skipped a beat. "Honey?" I shouted. And, just like that, we bought a new house.

Don't worry, George. I've already sent you the new address.

Obviously, we wouldn't be taking on this venture if it weren't worth it. In fact, we are thrilled that this opportunity presented itself,  because this is the home that can take us into our golden (or,  in my case, sassy brassy) years. Actually, our last home could have taken us into those very same years, but the journey wouldn't have been quite as roomy or stylish. Dare I brag that after after 33 years of home ownership, I finally have my own bathtub?

The thing is, the last time we did this, we were four years younger. Scoff to your hearts' content, but it's an alternative-science fact that the human body begins to mature in dog years after the age of 55. Therefore, my husband and I, the equivalent of 98 and 91, respectively, maneuvered through the real-estate system as end-stage geriatrics! And, wow, did we ever need our walkers and orthopedic shoes to steady us through the process!

"We aren't signing until we read every word. We aren't reading every word until we get our bi-focals. We aren't getting our bi-focals until someone fetches our Hoverounds."

After we signed enough paperwork to account for the destruction of three forests, it was time to move our stuff. Fortunately, as you all know, we'd already proudly downsized, so I was sure we'd only need a handful of shoe boxes to transport our items. I was wrong. I forgot about the attic.

First of all, just to get to the so-called attic at our former condo required super-human feats of strength and fearlessness. The only access was a pull-down ladder which, I will swear in court of law, was constructed entirely of toothpicks. Let me explain the challenge: After tugging on a thin string attached to a 500 pound hatch, one must be ready to "catch" the Stairway of Terror as it catapults at one-zillion MPH from the space above.  If this stage of the mission is accomplished concussion-free, the ladder is then ceremoniously unfolded, and it's time to make "The Climb."

This is the part where my size 8 1/2 shoe barely fits on the steps designed for the foot of a toddler. Yet, climb, I did, clinging to both sides of the ladder and repeating the mantra, "Mind over mountain. Mind over mountain!" Then, came the perilous section where the wooden hatch meets the steps, leaving nothing but toe room (toddler toe room!) Despite the danger, I refused to quit, and with one last burst of adrenaline, I pulled myself onto the plywood floor.  Safe at last, I took a moment to hydrate and up my protein intake with a Cliff Bar.

Artist's rendition of me making The Climb.

Surveying my surroundings, I spied several unbreakable items that could be tossed through the hatch: a suitcase, our plastic Halloween pumpkin, a box of family photos. If I were a far more clever girl, I'd have zipped those family photos into the suitcase which would have spared me the chore of having to pick them all up after the box exploded on impact, sending approximately one zillion pictures scattered throughout the garage. I blame altitude sickness for my lack of judgement. Nevertheless, my next chore was to actually carry items down the ladder. This involved me holding the item with one arm while clinging to the ladder with the other hand, all the while managing to get my oversized feet to fit on the rungs.

I made that trip exactly twice. Each time, upon successful descent, I kissed the ground. Finally, I made the executive decision that anything else stored  in the attic would be our gift to the new owners. Fortunately, my husband overruled that choice, and our attic was left clean and clear.

Now that we are happily settled into our new environment, my attic days are over.  We are using a spare bedroom for storage space and leaving the attic to a couple of old window screens and the ghosts of climbers past. The plastic Halloween pumpkin will never, again, endure the indignity of being tossed down a ladder.  Now, if only we could take care of the new mortgage that easily!