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If you're a regular reader of this blog, you know, just by the sheer number of rants and fiery hot diatribes about our president, our industry and even our current pandemic, that I don't spend a lot of digital ink talking about the great things that have happened to me.

Mainly because they don't.

But also because I haven't spent enough time and energy to appreciate how lucky and blessed I, and my family, have been.

Recently I told readers here at R17 how I've been working on a long term freelance project, which couldn't have come at a better time. And now, like a lightning bolt from a blue desert sky comes even more good news.

My uncle's house in Palm Springs, which he recently vacated to move into an assisted living home (his second in the span of 6 months) has been rented. Scooped up in a fast and furious deal that literally took shape over the course of 4 days.

This may seem inconsequential to you, but the house has been a bit of an albatross to us, requiring weekly schlepps, cleaning, cleaning and more cleaning, and the crazy disposal of my uncle's vast collection of measuring cups, extension chords and enough unopened packages of drill bits to last the crew of Maine Cabin Masters a lifetime or two.

It also necessitated a fair amount of remodeling, which was conducted via FaceTime and video clips.

As house fixer uppers know, re-doing an entire house is stressful. Compound that with the 120 mile geographical divide. Not to mention a very tight budget. And you've got a stroke laying in wait.

BTW, here's a huge Fuck You to Wells Fargo Bank for denying us a tiny cash out refinance to purchase toilets, countertops and cabinetry. My next project will be to migrate all my Wells Fargo business (33 years worth) to a smaller, more caring bank. Like Murray's House of Bucks or Eddie's Greenback Emporium.

Is this sudden leap in landlording cause for celebration?
Yes, yes it is.

But it's also bittersweet. When my daughters were toddlers we'd often go to visit my uncle and stay for the weekend. They'd put on their bathing suits before we even left Culver City so that when they arrived they could jump out of the minivan and right into the 87 degree bathwater warm pool.

And more recently, we've been escaping LA and the relentless cabin fever, by jetting out to the house early in the morning to enjoy blissful, warm afternoons in the desert sun.

It was peaceful, serene and nourishment for the soul.

Even with the inescapable yappy barking of one of the neighbor's toy dogs.