My Perfect Day

Do you ever fantasize about the perfect day? I'm not talking about winning the lottery, lying on a tropical beach sipping Coronas, or watching Yankee Stadium fall into a big sinkhole. I'm talking about the kind of day where everything in your mundane little life simply goes right for once, and nothing goes wrong.

Below is my list of the routine events that, if they all came to be, would constitute my perfect day. At the end of each event is the precise, documented success rate that I currently enjoy for that item.

• I successfully get myself up in bed (usually between 3:00 and 4:00 AM) without Kim's assistance, pee, and lie back down in bed without Kim's assistance, thereby not interrupting her sleep. 20% success rate
• After the previous, considerable exertion I'm able to fall back asleep before Kim's alarm goes off at 6 AM. 50% success
• In the morning, I'm able to get out of bed and get into my wheelchair without Kim's assistance. 50% success
• It’s not a shower day (shower days are more work). 50% success
• When I let Phoebe outdoors for the first time in the morning she doesn't bark incessantly and wake up the whole neighborhood. 75% success
• I have some interesting e-mail awaiting me when I open up my computer, instead of just a bunch of crap. 25% success
• As I'm listening to the Today show in the background, there's not some story that pisses me off because of deficient reporting or clueless people (I keep watching, though, because there are often segments that inform me, entertain me, or otherwise make me happy). 10% success
• I do something that significantly improves another person’s life. 25% success
• Our cat doesn't walk on a countertop, sun herself on the kitchen table, or puke somewhere (Kim likes the cat). 50% success
• At no point during the day do I become frustrated because I couldn't reach something important, or I dropped something important, or I had to forever stop doing something that I've always been able to do before. 8% success
• It’s a nice enough day that I get to leave the house and go somewhere in the neighborhood on my own. 14% success in the winter, 95% in the summer
• I do something truly productive during the day (like publishing a blog post or digitizing old photographs). 50% success
• I remember to tell Kim that I love her (I like to make it special, not routine…) 25% success
• I learn something, maybe in a book, an online article, a blog post, or a video, that genuinely helps me see the world more clearly. 25% success
• When Kim gets home we do something interesting, either inside the house or outside the house, instead of sitting in front of the TV and/or our computers all night. 50% success
• A friend comes to visit. 10% success
• Something good happens during the day to make me smile or laugh. 99% success

I learned in statistics class that the probability of a group of events occurring simultaneously is the product of their individual probabilities. So, in order for me to calculate the odds of experiencing the perfect day, as described above, I just need to multiply all of the success rates and see what I get.

So, what do you think my odds are of having all of the above items occur in a single day? Is it one in a hundred, one in a million? Nope. My odds of having a perfect day are one in a billion!

Fortunately, it's not important that I have any perfect days. It’s only important that I have some good days, which I do.

Preserving My Identity

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I've been asked how it is that I maintain my identity – how it is I keep MS from defining who I am.

To a large extent, I don't.

Earlier in my disease progression, MS was a minor player in my life. It was an afterthought, an asterisk, a postscript. It rendered my identity a bit more interesting than it otherwise would've been, but that was all.

As the disease began to have a profound effect on my daily activities such as walking and using my hands, it became more and more difficult to keep MS from shaping my personal identity. So I didn't fight it. I embraced it.

I am a husband with MS, a friend with MS, a brother and a father with MS. I am a blogger with MS. Note that MS doesn't supplant my identity; it enriches it. Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that having MS is a good thing. It absolutely sucks. But embracing the fact that I have MS doesn't.

Granted, for some people with MS it may be important to keep the disease out of your public identity, often for reasons having to do with career preservation. I get that. The only advice I have for you, if you need any, is this. Be passionate about what you do. But when MS needs a chunk of your time- whether for doctors’ appointments or naps- give it what it demands, then return to your primary interests without apology or guilt. I did that for quite a few years, and I think I was largely successful.

I'm not only a guy with MS. For brief periods of time I’m able to put the disease out of my mind. The best distractions are television and movies, books, conversations, or any task requiring concentration (even though my ability to concentrate is diminished). Sleep? I’d say my dreams are a mishmash of walking Mitch and wheelchair Mitch, often switching back and forth indiscriminately.

I'd like to think that people I'm interacting with, at least for brief periods of time, can also forget about the disease. But to imagine that it's ever far removed from who I am would be an act of denial.

Please consider the notion that accepting these changes to your identity does not represent failure or defeat. It may simply be the best way to deal with a new reality.

I'm now that guy with MS, and being identified as such is not a bad thing. It's just a thing.

My Pet Peeves

If the video does not play for you, go to this link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1diQG2Fz474

When Spouses Become Caregivers

Keep in mind that it's not only me. It’s Kim too. We’re both suffering from the effects of MS.

Sure, I'm the one who has the disease, the one whose central nervous system is dissolving day by day. I’m the one who can't work, who sits in a wheelchair, and who grows more dependent on others each day. But I'm not the only one suffering. My wife has decided to come along for the ride, and that makes me question her sanity just a little bit.

Make no mistake about it; this is a choice. Many marriages break up in the wake of an MS diagnosis. I prefer to think that MS either accelerates the inevitable, or becomes the last straw, in marriages that are already flawed. In strong marriages like ours, it seems inconceivable (but yet I know it isn’t) that a tragic medical diagnosis would drive a wedge between committed partners. My point is that Kim remains with me by choice, and for that I am grateful. I’m also in this marriage by choice. But let’s be realistic. If I wasn’t happy I wouldn’t exactly have other options. I don’t feel trapped at all, but I’m sure that others in my situation or in Kim’s situation do, and that is a sad thought.

We shouldn’t assume that all MS breakups are about heartless, healthy spouses leaving helpless, sick ones. Those of us with MS need to work hard at being easy to care for. Maybe I’ll ask Kim to author a future post about just what easy entails. I’m guessing I would get a passing grade in that regard, but not an A+, perhaps a B-.

Here are a few practical examples of how Kim's life has been affected by MS:

She no longer spends even a single night away from home. I need help getting into bed. I need help in the middle of the night. I need help getting out of bed. We should formulate a backup plan in case she becomes suddenly ill, unexpectedly injured, or just temporarily misplaced.

Kim is on her own when it comes to maintaining our household. All the chores, all the seasonal activities such as raking leaves and shoveling snow, all the minor repairs, everything that needs to be done to keep our house in good order, is accomplished by her. She is so damned frugal (cheap) that she won't hire anyone to help. She is so damned conscientious (anal) that she won’t do anything half-assed, even if she is exhausted.

In some marriages the opportunity exists for at least one spouse to consider risky, more fulfilling, or even more altruistic career paths at some point. Also, other couples enjoy at least the fantasy of one day picking up and moving to another part of the country or another part of the world and starting over. But none of those options are available to us anymore. We rely so much on Kim’s income and benefits that she is essentially restricted to her current employment situation, or only the most circumspect growth opportunities therein. It’s a good thing that she loves her job.

And here are a few, more intangible examples of how Kim's life has been affected:

She must, on occasion, wonder what my continued progression is going to mean for her. Is she going to be able to handle it? What will be expected of her? What if she falls short of what is required?

I may appear to be well-adjusted and content, and to a large extent I am. My physical needs are being attended to. But Kim must sometimes wonder if I’m not hiding something from her due to pride, shame, or concerns for her happiness (who, me?).

None of us knows what lies ahead in our lives- lightning strikes and cancer diagnoses come to mind- but for the spouse of somebody with a chronic disease like MS, this level of uncertainty is amplified, and so is the level of associated stress.

Disability introduces some interpersonal communications challenges. I'm guessing that Kim has conversations with herself like these:

• Should I offer to help with what he is struggling to do right now, or should I leave him alone so that he can accomplish it himself? Is this a time to intervene or a time to observe from a distance?
• If I dare to go out and have fun without him, should I feel guilty for leaving him behind? Is he really okay at home with Phoebe tonight?
• Mitch is capable of independently accomplishing what he’s asking me to do for him, although it would certainly be easier for me. Is this one of those times when I should push back, or would life just be simpler if I do what he asks? (From my perspective the identical situation might be viewed like this. I know I can probably accomplish this task by myself, but it will take a lot of energy and may cause significant frustration. Should I ask her for help or should I just suck it up and do it myself?)

So, the next time you see a couple where one partner is handicapped, I suggest you reserve as much or even more admiration and compassion for the caregiver as you do for the disabled person. One of them may be stuck inside a bottle, unable to escape. But the other one is peering into that bottle through clouded glass, trying to figure out what the heck is going on in there, and wishing she could slip her hand inside to help.

And how do I feel about this situation? I am so fortunate to have a life partner with as much empathy, energy, patience, courage, and love as Kim. You might think that having my wife become my caregiver would drain the romance out of our marriage, but I prefer to look at it this way. I am head over heels in love with my sexy caregiver, and we are embroiled in a steamy love affair. How cool is that?

The Health Impact Fund - An Innovative Approach to Medicine or a Pipe Dream?

(Photo credit: epSos.de)

“No problem can be solved from the same consciousness that created it. We must learn to see the world anew.” Albert Einstein

Governments, political bureaucracies that they are, simply are incapable of providing most goods and services effectively. That’s why capitalism has been relatively successful and communism hasn’t. I cringe whenever it is suggested that more government involvement is needed in order to solve a problem.

I'm a free-market, small government, minimal regulation guy, but only to the extent that said free-market serves the needs of the populace. The pharmaceutical industry isn’t doing that, not by a long shot.

The failure of the pharmaceutical industry to meet our needs is not due to evil people or evil corporations. It would be so much simpler if it was. It's because of a broken system. The story goes that by maximizing profits and shareholder value pharmaceutical companies provide the most effective, lowest cost drugs, and make them available to the widest number of people. This model works for industries like computer hardware and athletic socks. Does it work for medicines? No.

I’ve railed here before about how our system of developing, testing, pricing, and delivering drugs is an utter failure. But my friend, Wheelchair Kamikaze, says is so much more eloquently. Please give his post a read, but then come back here for more!

Thomas Pogge, of Yale University, recently gave a Ted talk about this dysfunctional model. He does a credible job of describing the failings of the current system, and articulates the goals of a new one. He points out that most drugs are relatively inexpensive to manufacture. The significant income that the pharmaceutical companies generate from their patent protected drugs does make the shareholders wealthy, but it is also wasted on marketing, lobbying, litigation, and other non-value added activities.

Pogge suggests that if we were to redesign the pharmaceutical industry from scratch, we would have the following objectives:

- Patients would have access to important, existing medicines regardless of their country and income.
- Research and development investment would target the innovations that promise the largest health gains, not necessarily the greatest corporate profits.
- The entire system would be cost-effective so that money spent on medicines would achieve as much as possible for human health, as opposed to squandering money on non-value added activities.

The current system does a poor job regarding all three of these objectives. Pogge makes the point that it is unrealistic for us to simply pressure pharmaceutical companies to adopt more altruistic business strategies. They are operating in a free-market system, and have no choice but to meet their fiduciary duty to their stockholders within the constraints of the law. Otherwise they would go bankrupt.

Pogge proposes a solution called the Health Impact Fund. In a nutshell, this would be an endowment financed from tax revenues (can you see me cringing?) which would reward pharmaceutical companies based on the health impact of their drug on the global population. Pharmaceutical companies would sell the drug at cost, and would be rewarded from this fund rather than realizing profits as they currently do. Please watch the video below and visit their website for a more thorough explanation.

I like the theory behind the Health Impact Fund, but I'm afraid that it is fraught with logistical nightmares, too many to go into detail about in this post. But I hope that they prove me wrong, and I commend this group for offering a solution and for actually trying to raise money for a pilot program.

If not this idea, then what? How can we overhaul the pharmaceutical industry so that it serves the needs of the human population, without having it become a bureaucratic nightmare and just another failed government program? I don't think minor tweaks are the answer. I definitely don't endorse socialization of the pharmaceutical industry. I'm sure other proposals have been made on how to repair the pharmaceutical industry. If you know of any, please share them with us in the comments section.

What’s so damned frustrating is that we can’t seem to get out of our own way. We have a clear and urgent need. We have abundant talent in both the public and private sectors. But while we debate, posture, blame, and politicize, incalculable human suffering continues.

Trust me. I know.

Losses and Gains 2011

As you know, I try to strike a balance here. I don’t sugarcoat my condition, but neither do I wallow in self-pity. As such, it seems appropriate to render an honest assessment of what I’ve gained and lost in the past year, and what changes may await me in the next couple of years.

Note that with my type of MS, the losses are not transient or reversible, but rather constant and permanent. Frankly, I hadn’t realized how rough a year it had been until I compiled the list.

And the gains? They can be fleeting or, with luck, they may last forever.

2011 Losses

• Driving (click here)
• Getting into bed unassisted
• Dressing myself, including footwear
• Reaching above my head (click here)
• Almost anything with my left hand (click here)
• Reading hardcopy books, magazines, newspapers
• Preparing my own meals and cutting the food in my plate
• Some washing/grooming tasks
• Most handwriting tasks
• Any hope for CCSVI success for me (click here)

2012 - 2013 Potential Losses (I’ll make a progress report in 12 months)

• Operating zippers
• The rest of my washing/grooming tasks
• The rest of my handwriting skills (signing my own name)
• Sitting up in bed, unassisted
• Transferring to and from my wheelchair unassisted
• Feeding myself
• A few things that I can’t even imagine (the devil you don’t know)

2011 Gains

• About 10 pounds (5 since Thanksgiving)
• A much more accessible neighborhood (click here)
• A wonderful new home (click here)
• Kindle e-reader (click here)
• Great vacation to western U.S. (click here)
• Long term disability benefits secured until age 65 and Medicare for life (click here)
• More new friends

2012 Potential Gains

• New power wheelchair for primarily in-house use (delivery this month)
• Saving the iBot (click here)
• Trip to Bahamas (February)
• Still more new friends
• Entire summer in new, more walkable neighborhood
• Stabilization of disease progression (unlikely, but possible)
• A few things that I can’t even imagine (like a Powerball win or an appearance on Ellen?)
• Another year above ground

Ralph Waldo Emerson once wrote, “We do what we must, and call it by the best names.”

So what do we call this? Life, I guess.

It’s still way better than the alternative.

Happy Holidays 2011

(Photo credit: paparutzi)

This little blog brings me great joy.  I’ve been able to connect with so many wonderful people who I otherwise would never have come to know.  The notion that my writing has helped a few folks in any way is the icing on the cake.

So, thank you so much for stopping by and reading my posts and leaving your comments.  I wish you all a happy and (relatively) healthy holiday season and a joyful new year. 

Please check back in 2012 for more useless drivel, sarcastic nonsense, blatant self-pity, amateurish videos, and (I suppose) the occasional hidden nugget of wisdom.  I’ve got a few surprises in mind already. 

I tried to compose a new Christmas poem this year, but it was beyond awful.  I guess the verse I came up with last year was a one time flash of creativity, such as it was, so I’ll share it with you again.  Enjoy. 

Merry Disabled Christmas

Image via WikipediaThis year I endured disabled surgery

And read disabled books
I contributed to a disabled charity
And thwarted disabled crooks

I sailed on a disabled cruise
And piloted my disabled iBot
I sat for disabled interviews
And the good disabled fight, I fought

I starved myself on a disabled diet
And took a disabled shot at a deer
I appreciated nature, and disabled quiet
And quaffed many a disabled beer

I hand-peddled my disabled bike
And hand-drove my disabled van
I spent disabled time with people I like
And I was a loyal, disabled, sports fan

I spent too much money on disabled wheelchair parts
And I made many a disabled friend
I touched a few disabled hearts
And a thousand disabled emails, I did send

It’s not that life is unfair
As you know, I’m not one to complain
You play the cards that are dealt you
If you live in the jungle, you better enjoy the rain

So during this holiday season
I urge you to seek out contentment
Don’t spend time searching for a reason
To feel self-pity, jealousy, or resentment

I’ll end my cryptic verse right here
And offer this sentiment to those most dear
I wish you a Merry Disabled Christmas
And a Happy Disabled New Year!

My Arms are Growing Shorter

Of course my arms are not really growing shorter, but they might as well be.

My MS progression has not been random, but has instead followed clear patterns. For example, the flexion muscles in my legs (those that allow me to bend my legs at the knee) grew weak before the extension muscles (those that allow me to straighten my legs). My neurologist told me that this is typical of muscle control loss due to central nervous system failure. How interesting.

In my upper limbs, I’m losing strength in the fine motor area (muscles that allow me to write, type, and snap my fingers to big band music) before I lose strength in the larger muscles. Again, apparently this is typical. How nice.

But this blog post is about the muscles around my shoulders. I'm losing control of them in such a way that I can no longer reach things up high, but I can still reach things down low. This is the functional equivalent of my arms growing shorter.

I'm having difficulty shampooing and brushing my hair. Yesterday, I reached for the mouthwash, but I couldn't raise my arm high enough to grasp the bottle, which was at chin level. I can’t high-five anymore. A gentle fist bump is all that I can manage as a shared, celebratory gesture for a Patriots win, a beautiful sunset with cold beer and close friends, or a cost of living increase in my Social Security check. Ya, that’s right. I got 3.6% this year.

When I first settled into a wheelchair, the height of my reachable world shrunk from around 7 feet to maybe 5 feet. Now it is down to about 4 feet. I’m like the mime in the invisible, shrinking box.

But I'm all about silver linings. For example, if it was my decision to make, I would definitely choose to relinquish the use of my hands at a higher level before I would at a lower level. Strength and dexterity for tasks above my shoulders is so much less important to me than below my shoulders.

In this regard, I feel fortunate.

On an unrelated note, isn’t it weird how we can accurately identify sarcasm in the spoken word, but struggle doing so with the written word?

Adventures in Public Transportation #1

Not so long ago, even during my first year as a wheelchair user, I was a proficient traveler. I could get from one part of the country to any other part of the country, quickly, comfortably, and economically. An ice storm has shut down O’Hare? No problem. I'll reroute through Atlanta. In fact, I accumulated so many frequent flyer miles that I was routinely upgraded to first class. “Complimentary beverage, Mr. Sturgeon?”

For some first-hand accounts of my solo wheelchair travel adventures, click here and here.

Contrast this with my current level of mobility and independence, where I can't so much as leave the neighborhood without asking someone for a favor. I am by no means homebound, yet I'd like to be able to move about of my own volition.

Enter…public transportation.

One option in greater Portland, Maine is the Regional Transportation Program, or RTP, which is a subsidized agency that provides low cost rides to folks with various types of disabilities. A couple of weeks ago I had a dentist appointment and made use of this service for the first time.

My appointment was for 11:00, and I let RTP know I would need a return ride at about noon. The driver showed up at my house promptly at 10:00. She was pleasant enough, but certainly not talkative. My wheelchair was carefully strapped down to the floor of the van, and I was secured to my wheelchair with a seatbelt. She dropped me off at my dentist at about 10:35. No problem though. I had my Kindle with me.

As expected, I was out of the appointment at about noon. I sat in the waiting room, with a watchful eye on the parking lot. Nobody showed up. I didn't know how long I should wait before checking in with the dispatcher, so I called him at 12:15 just to make sure that I had not been forgotten. He indicated that someone was on their way.

12:30 came and went. I waited graciously, but with some anxiety.

At 12:45, an RTP vehicle finally pulled into the parking lot. This driver was not pleasant, not apologetic, and not talkative- all business. As we began the drive toward my house there was no friendly chit chat. There was only silence. Perhaps when I become a more seasoned RTP rider, I'll enjoy and appreciate these moments of solitude. But I wanted to engage this guy in conversation, if for no other reason than to answer some of my basic questions about how this whole system worked. I am an engineer after all. I need to know how things work.

Then, out of nowhere, a car hurled itself in front of us from a side street. I was well strapped in, so even though my driver stepped on the brakes firmly, I didn't get tossed around at all. We sat there while the elderly lady in front of us tried to remember how to drive. Eventually she pulled away, nearly clipping another vehicle in the process.

I saw an opportunity, and I went for it. "I guess that lady shouldn’t be driving," I observed out loud.

That opened the conversational floodgates. For the remainder of the ride home the driver regaled me with all sorts of stories of idiot drivers and all the close calls he had endured. Since he was on a roll, he complained about two or three other injustices in his life too. I was able to squeeze in a couple of basic questions about how the RTP and public bus systems worked, and my driver gave me thorough, if overly cynical, responses.

Last week I made my second excursion with RTP. I had a 10:00 doctor’s appointment. My understanding was that they typically pick you up about an hour before an appointment, so I was gearing up for a 9:00 ish arrival of my driver. At 8:30 my phone rang and it was my "5 minute notice” that my driver would soon be arriving. I was surprised and taken aback. Not knowing what else to say I only countered with a feeble, "This is for a 10:00 appointment, right?"

The dispatcher shuffled some papers, and replied, "Yes," and that was the end of my halfhearted protest.

Sure enough, the driver arrived at about 8:35. He strapped my chair to the floor and me to my chair, and then headed out. He informed me that I was going to ride along with him while he did one other pickup and drop off. Okay. That explained the early arrival.

We traveled all the way across town and picked up a little boy from his mom and delivered him to some sort of daycare. I ended up arriving at my appointment 15 minutes early, which is just about what I like to do anyway. My appointment was a quick one, and I was out by 10:15. The driver was scheduled to pick me up at 10:30, and showed up at 10:25. I was home by 10:40.

So far, I must admit that I am less than enamored with my public transportation experience. But really, what should I have expected? The drivers of these handicapped accessible vehicles are not volunteers teeming with boundless compassion for the passengers. They are more like taxi drivers or bus drivers. This is how they make a living. The only difference is that they are servicing disabled passengers rather than the general public.

I guess I had this fantasy in my head that an agency which deals specifically with disabled people would be staffed by drivers who were more like, well, grandmothers. They would be friendly, empathetic, talkative, and always on time. They would bring cookies and milk, and gently remind me to sit up straight and wash behind my ears.

So the RTP is not shaping up quite like I had imagined, but I'm not complaining. I'm just saying.

Home Improvements – Installment #2

As I mentioned in Home Improvements – Installment #1 and in my posts about moving, here and here, not long ago we relocated from the picturesque but boring suburbs into the urban and walkable (and therefore wheelchair-able) city. The house we found was one story and fairly accessible, with wide doorways and an open layout. This is the second blog installment describing how we've converted this potentially accessible house into one that is well-suited for my current disability, and hopefully for my future levels of disability as well.

Previously I wrote about access improvements to the house for the front door and the back door. Inside the house, though, the least accessible area was the master bathroom. It had a traditional tub surround that required an elaborate (and almost dangerous) procedure for me to get into and out of it.  The bathroom also had a conventional vanity that was impossible for me to get close to with my wheelchair.

We considered several alternatives for the tub. The obvious option, and the one that we employed in our previous house, was to hire a carpenter to build a custom tile shower to replace the tub enclosure. Another option was to use a company called Bath Fitter.  We chose Bath Fitter for a couple of reasons. First, the one-piece acrylic shower enclosure is lower maintenance than a tile enclosure. It is easier to clean, and it will never leak. Second, the Bath Fitter shower, as you may know from their commercials, can be installed in one day (more or less).

The Bath Fitter product was not inexpensive though. We paid about $5400 for the unit, installed. A similar tiled shower quote was approximately $1000 less, but it would have taken 7 to 10 days to install. I'm not sure what I would have done during that period.  Although Kim could have used our small guest bathroom, that shower is not accessible to me. Kim informed me, in no uncertain terms, that my going without a shower for a week or more was not an option!

How did people live with one another before modern plumbing?

When I consulted with the Bath Fitter salesperson in our home, prior to signing a contract, we came up with a configuration of plumbing hardware that would work for both Kim and me. As you can see from the photos below, we now have two shower heads, a stationary one that Kim will primarily use, and a hand-held unit for me. There is an easy to operate switch which diverts the water from one head to the other. We also decided on a couple of shelves, one for my soap and shampoo, and a corner shelf for all of Kim's girly stuff. And of course I needed a couple of grab bars to help with transfers.

We couldn't be more pleased with our new shower enclosure. It actually took two days to install instead of one, but that's no big deal. I wasn't happy with how the shower floor drained (it turns out that my concrete slab is a little crooked), so Bath Fitter came back later and re-leveled the shower floor at no extra charge.

All the controls work well for me. Transferring is going okay, although as my MS continues to progress we’ll need to come up with other adaptations to assist with transferring.

Tub Before

















Shower In Process












































Shower After













































Next- the vanity. We hired a carpenter to gut most of the cabinet and to install some open shelves, with a large space in the middle for my wheelchair. Kim installed an easy-operating faucet for me, and lowered the mirror. Again, this project was a clear winner, and we couldn't be happier with it.

Vanity Before
















Vanity In Progress



















Vanity After

































The last project I'll mention is not accessibility related at all, but I can't help sharing it with you nonetheless. Here are some before and after pictures of our master bedroom. Kim replaced the ceiling fan herself. We purchased a new carpet and had that laid professionally. Kim chose some new artwork, curtains, and bedding, and of course she painted the walls in the bedroom (and bathroom).

Bedroom Before (previous owners)



















Bedroom After

















So now we’re out of money.  But luckily we don't have much left to do. Kim plans to lay a brick patio outside our back porch in the spring. I'll report on that in Installment #3, if Kim and I both survive another harsh Maine winter; if Congress doesn't eliminate both Social Security and Medicare in order to balance the budget; and if we don't win the lottery, hire a butler named Jeeves and a nurse named Destiny, and simply move to Hawaii instead.