There Are No Accidents

Last Sunday night, I wrote my previous blog. I actually didn't know what direction I was heading with it. Only that I feel the need to justify Kirby's existence.

On Monday night, my left foot went in three distinctly directions all at once. I have the x-rays to prove it. The result was my short-lived kick boxing hobby is now on hold for the next four to six weeks.

There seemed to be a decent metaphor there: I equate this to my life prior to Kirby. My foot was going in three directions then too. Except it didn't physically hurt as much.

On Tuesday, I caught a mind-numbing cold/flu/pleurisy/Legionnaire's disease that has left me flat.

On Wednesday, I was whimpering on the couch, handling real estate calls, making a voodoo doll of Ms. Kathy when Kirby called. The Fultondale home has an electrical issue. By any chance did I have an electrician I use? Yes, yes I do. Call him. Tell him to fax me the bill.

I also asked Kirby to give me a fair assessment on what I can get for rent on Ms. Kathy's home next time he was out towards Leeds (the houses are three miles apart). Speaking of Leeds, he has had several showings. I haven't thought much about it actually.

On Thursday Kirby e-mailed me. The Fultondale home has a bad potty in the master bath. It amazes me Artie and Candy never once mentioned either of these issues. Ever. Nonetheless, please call Mr. 114 or my new plumber friend. Have them send me the bill.

And on Thursday, I felt well enough to say I can't quantify Kirby. What Kirby affords me is freedom. I have had the freedom to work on other things: like being a wife, mother and real estate agent. My hobbies have transitioned from full time landlord and blog writer, to taking up kickboxing, watching baseball and reading. Yes, I write the check when something breaks, but there is some safety and sanity in hearing news second hand.

After years of going solo (with Carolsue's help), I am realizing the price of freedom is never too high.