Drinkin' Beer 'N' Makin' Jelly

That's what I have to go do as soon as I finish writing this (I promise not to drink too many beers and burn myself -- that would not be a very me thing to do, now, would it?). But first I had to pop in and let y'all know how things are going around here.

First of all, the Clerk Magistrates are MUCH nicer in Boston than they are in Plymouth. I only went to one wrong building yesterday (I went to the big, old, imposing county courthouse that you see on The Practice and probably also Boston Legal but I've never watched Boston Legal so I don't know -- when what I needed was the big, new, imposing municipal courthouse a half-a-mile away, cross the tumbleweeds of Government Center Plaza). But the Clerks at County double-checked to make sure they were sending me to the right place, and then wrote down directions for me. The security guard at the door of the other courthouse scanned my bag and asked me "Do you know where you're going?" When I said no he asked me what I needed, I told him, and he said "Sixth floor. All the way down the end of this hall, the elevator's are on your left.

And damned if they weren't.

And damned if, when I stepped off on the sixth floor, there weren't signs posted like for Alice in Wonderland saying "Erin, go this way --->" and "Erin, turn right." I swear, when I almost turned in to the wrong room, there was a sign on it saying "Not this one, two doors down."

So I went two doors down and a Very Nice Lady gave me the printout of the docket that I needed, spit-spot, just like that.

We went back to Plymouth this morning, and even the Very Busy Lady wasn't quite so mean. She only made us wait an hour before she, too, gave us exactly what we needed, spit-spot, just like that. She even certified it for us, for $2.50/page, because she said Immigration always wants things certified.

Oops.

So I went back to Boston this afternoon and the Very Nice Man there, when I explained I'd been there yesterday but now I guess I need these papers certified, told me these were not, in fact, the papers that I needed for USCIS at all. I thought the ones we got from Plymouth looked different from the Boston ones, but I thought maybe it was just jurisdictional. (That's not true. I knew as soon as I saw the papers from Plymouth that I'd gotten the wrong thing from Boston and that it was my own damn fault, but my plan was to ignore it and hope for the best. Because that usually works out. And I hear Ireland's nice this time of year.)

Very Nice Man said he could get it for me, but he had to go down in the basement for it because (sing it with me) the records were so old (hey, I know this song! didn't Very Busy Lady do this one originally?). But he covered it in like ten minutes and he (shhh) didn't charge me for it because he knew I'd just been in there yesterday.

So. All we need now is the marriage license, and -- actually, wait, hang on... Okay. Just tucked the marriage license in my bag so's we don't forget it in the morning -- and we're all set!

Now, about the furnace:

Actually, I think I'd best get in the kitchen. Himself is getting antsy out there and he's never made jelly before so I don't want to risk him starting in without me. I've got to go, but if I can find the time between the batches I'll run in and tell you all about the furnace in bits and sticky splashes.