The thing the inspector found that needed fixing--which the contractor fixed on the spot, fairly quickly--is that apparently the city of Eagan requires a hand rail on the stairs to have "returns," the little thingummies that connect the ends of the rail to the wall so that you don't, in the words of the inspector, snag your coat on the end of the rail and fall down the stairs to your doom. I would like to think I am something of an expert in falling down the stairs--wait, no, I hate thinking that, actually, but it's true all the same--but never once have I found my doom. However, it didn't take long, didn't affect the price, didn't make me suddenly hate the (very plain and functional) hand rail, so whatever. If they feel it makes our house less doomful, that's fine.
Also perhaps in honor of timprov's birthday, but really more likely not, our car, which was fully functional this time yesterday, will be fully functional again. He and I went out for sandwiches after the US/Japan curling match was over, and he hit a pothole going all of 15-20 mph, and I don't know if someone crept out to edge the potholes with razor blades or what, but it completely took out the driver's side front tire. Eeeesh. So Dad (a Hero of the Revolution) and timprov attempted to repair the tire, with me helpfully shouting instructions from the front seat, but it was past repairing, so Dad took T and me home, and the nice Volvo Roadside man took Lucy to the shop where they are fixing her.
And really, while one prefers not to have to cope with these little, um, bumps in the road, we can in fact cope, and it will be fine, and situations that can be kept from being doomful by the application of two pieces of wood and a tire replacement we can afford, well, those could really be a lot worse.