Lets get this out of the way straight off- I'm not a Conservative Republican. I'm not a practicing Christian, and I throw up a little in my mouth if I'm even in the same building as a TV with Glenn Beck on it.
Back in November, I was busy getting a house built, then it was the holidays, and moving in, and 2 count them 2 trips to Houston for scans and appointments and whatnot, then we lost internet connection for over a month, so I really haven't had a chance to properly verbalize how the mid-term elections felt to me, and what I've been feeling ever since.
Just in case anyone has the illusion that I look at the world through rose colored hippiechick glasses and think life is filled with Hallmark moments, let me assure you that when I make the analogy that the last election felt like the swinging pendulum of an abusive relationship, I know whereof I speak.
I've been there. I've been told what an awful wife, mother, money handler, lover, and person I was and how useless I was. I've been frightened, threatened, had a gun held to my head and hid many many bruises.
I've walked on eggshells and tried so very hard to be good. Good enough. Good enough to be loved and to save the marriage. Good enough to be allowed to live.
Eventually I became sick. Sick with fear and trepidation. I'd go to work and function competently and professionally all day, then get into my car and start shaking so hard it was an effort to get the key into the ignition. All the way home I'd tremble and taste fear.
Because I never knew what The Mood would be when I walked in the door.
One day he left me- told me he couldn't be married to me any more because I was "too intolerant" and I let him go.
Amazingly, the above scenario wasn't played out with one husband but 2. The first one had me believing I was so worthless, I was ripe for the picking by the second, more deadly one.
The first one told me every day that he didn't need me. The second one hated me because he was helpless without me.
From age 20 till 35 my marital life was a living hell.
The psychology of an abusive relationship is tricky- and anyone who says "Why doesn't she just leave?" has no idea. It has nothing to do with weakness of character- in fact the strongest women are the ones who believe they have in their power the ability to make everything better by sheer force of will, and they stay the longest.
I met Ward when I was 35, and he took me in and healed me with kindness, and quiet strength, and love. I was very very lucky.
But I digress.
Here's what I saw, through my marital-abuse-war-torn eyes and heart, during the 2008 elections (because even so many years later, that period of my personal history is still a very real gnawing terror in my soul). The American people were disgruntled and disillusioned. So they changed the guard, went from a Republican held government to a Democratic one. Not a big deal. Happens all the time.
Except. This time the Republicans took it very personally that they were publicly chastised, and it really pissed 'em off.
***Please be clear that I am NOT vilifying a particular party- I'm talking about the individual players here.
So these individuals spent the next 2 years basically sucking up- the flowers, dinner, sweet talking phase- the "Oh Baby, I LOVE you and see the heinous errors of my ways and if you give me one more chance I'll never, ever, ever hurt you again" phase.
So the voters did. They collectively fell for it.
And I trembled and tasted fear.
Before they were sworn back in,the abuse started again- the Tea Party? They'd been used, but did they really expect to be taken seriously?
The voters who were out of work and hurting financially? Oh. Yeah. We can't help you. Sorry.
Why would they do that? Because in an abusive relationship, once you let the abuser back in, there must be a period of punishment. For the victim. To make up for the inconvenience and embarrassment she may have caused.
The government we are seeing in action now is not Of the People For the People By the People, it's a group of small petty men and women (on both sides of the aisle) who have been paid for lock stock and barrel by special interests to keep those special interests safe, not us.
Oh, they try to duck and dodge, and thanks to the internet and corporate money behind them they are managing to keep everyone fired up, suspicious, fearful and hating everyone else- Tea Partiers, liberals, Christians, Muslims, whites, blacks, browns, gays and straights- all being fed the lines that the enemy is THERE...no, wait, over THERE...this one- this different person, group, religion, culture is the root of your problems...
NOT US- "Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain..."
The men and women in power right now are users and abusers, not public servants, and no matter how many flags they wave, babies they kiss, church services they attend or empty promises they make they will never, ever tire of beating us down to make themselves feel bigger.
I love my country. I love its people.
And I don't know where to find a shelter big enough to hold us all till we can stop being afraid, and hating one another needlessly, till we can regain our sanity and breathe long enough to say
"Enough. You must go now, and not come back."
photo
photo by Sheri Dixon
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Today's Inspirational Message
Our homily today comes from Interneticus Chapter 2, verse 24.
And lo, they walked in the darkness for 49 days and 49 nights- neither hearing nor seeing anything of the outside world.
Finally, the Powers that Be sent the Archangel Mike to deliver them into the Light.
Yea verily, on the 50th day of their exile the cable didst cross from the outside of the house to the inside of the house
*and there was internet*
*and it was Good*
We will fear no more the screen that doeth proclaim "Limited or no connectivity", nor will we turn in shame and disappointment from our computers.
BECAUSE I'M BACK, MY PRETTIES- AND BOY HOWDY DO I HAVE A LOT OF CATCHING UP TO D0- HOW DARE THE UNIVERSE VOMIT UP ALL SORTS OF OUTRAGEOUS SHIT FOR ME TO FUME ABOUT WHEN I HAD NO WAY TO DO SO
*Amen*
And lo, they walked in the darkness for 49 days and 49 nights- neither hearing nor seeing anything of the outside world.
Finally, the Powers that Be sent the Archangel Mike to deliver them into the Light.
Yea verily, on the 50th day of their exile the cable didst cross from the outside of the house to the inside of the house
*and there was internet*
*and it was Good*
We will fear no more the screen that doeth proclaim "Limited or no connectivity", nor will we turn in shame and disappointment from our computers.
BECAUSE I'M BACK, MY PRETTIES- AND BOY HOWDY DO I HAVE A LOT OF CATCHING UP TO D0- HOW DARE THE UNIVERSE VOMIT UP ALL SORTS OF OUTRAGEOUS SHIT FOR ME TO FUME ABOUT WHEN I HAD NO WAY TO DO SO
*Amen*
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
A Quick Update...
...on all fronts.
There is a beautiful metal/plastic post at our gate and it says it's a marker for the cable that runs the phone/internet. Once this stupid 20 degree, sleeting weather is out of the way they should be running it into the house and from there to my computer, and then...I'll be back on the interwebs, to infinity and BEYOND!!!
*ahem*
We still are not entirely out of the old house, thanks to the weather, and our goats, horse and poultry are not moved yet because of same.
I'm done with winter, it can go away now.
ReyaRamona has learned quickly- how to play with Fizzgig, what sounds mean dinner (or breakfast or lunch- she's still so thin she gets 3 squares daily instead of the 2 everyone else enjoys) is impending, how to jump onto and off of the sofa, and where the best spot between Ward and me is on the bed at night. A little over a week with us and we've got her entirely ruined. Awesome.
I suspect from her behavior that she came from a puppy mill type breeder- she (was) most comfortable in a cage, and is still very leery of being picked up and/or held- she holds herself very stiff and doesn't cuddle in. Gimme another week- she'll be over that, too.
She's really more schnauzer in looks than poodle, and the one time she let out with a bark (visitors to the house- getting possessive much?) it was definitely of the schnauzer variety, heaven help us.
Today in the cold (dropping from high 30's at daybreak to a current barely- 20 and falling) and wind driven sleet, ReyaRamona ceased walking on leash like a princess- she did her business and hauled curly fluffy ass back into the house at the end of the leash, on hind legs, as fast as her little toes could carry her. I could hear her thoughts "I spent my time in this mess- get me the hell in the warm house, my sofa is waiting".
Right behind you, little buddy.
There is a beautiful metal/plastic post at our gate and it says it's a marker for the cable that runs the phone/internet. Once this stupid 20 degree, sleeting weather is out of the way they should be running it into the house and from there to my computer, and then...I'll be back on the interwebs, to infinity and BEYOND!!!
*ahem*
We still are not entirely out of the old house, thanks to the weather, and our goats, horse and poultry are not moved yet because of same.
I'm done with winter, it can go away now.
ReyaRamona has learned quickly- how to play with Fizzgig, what sounds mean dinner (or breakfast or lunch- she's still so thin she gets 3 squares daily instead of the 2 everyone else enjoys) is impending, how to jump onto and off of the sofa, and where the best spot between Ward and me is on the bed at night. A little over a week with us and we've got her entirely ruined. Awesome.
I suspect from her behavior that she came from a puppy mill type breeder- she (was) most comfortable in a cage, and is still very leery of being picked up and/or held- she holds herself very stiff and doesn't cuddle in. Gimme another week- she'll be over that, too.
She's really more schnauzer in looks than poodle, and the one time she let out with a bark (visitors to the house- getting possessive much?) it was definitely of the schnauzer variety, heaven help us.
Today in the cold (dropping from high 30's at daybreak to a current barely- 20 and falling) and wind driven sleet, ReyaRamona ceased walking on leash like a princess- she did her business and hauled curly fluffy ass back into the house at the end of the leash, on hind legs, as fast as her little toes could carry her. I could hear her thoughts "I spent my time in this mess- get me the hell in the warm house, my sofa is waiting".
Right behind you, little buddy.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Here We Go Again...
Eleven years ago on Ward's birthday I brought home a scraggly little waif of a poodle named Tiny Ramon the Magnificent. He recently passed away and if you look around the blog you'll come across his eulogy.
Sunday, Joe moved his camper over to the new house, because HIS new house is done now too, and he told me he saw a scraggly little waif of a poodle running in the highway. Being an idiot, instead of running away, I went in search of said waif. But I didn't see it, and came home.
Monday, on my way to run eleven billion errands, all time-specific, I saw the dog. It was cowered in front of the front gate of an empty house, wet from the rain and shivering. Someone had put a dish of water next to it, telling me it was not letting itself get caught. I called Joe and he and his friend Karen went to see if they could snag it. Karen's gentle wiles won the dog over, and it came home to us.
On Ward's birthday.
Wet, hungry and shivering when caught, yesterday the temperature plummeted and last night was deadly- 14 degrees and very windy- I have no doubt she never would've survived that.
She's not full poodle, like Ramon was, most likely she's a poodle/schnauzer- a Schnoodle- and she's chocolate instead of grey, but like Ramon was, she's painfully thin and obviously abandoned- she walks on a leash like a princess. Ramon was old when I found him- at least 10 years old. This one is young- no more than 2.
But like Ramon, you can read the confused question in her button eyes- "I tried to be a good dog- why did they leave me?"
It's been only a few days, and we're keeping Fizzgig and her separated till she's come out of her shell some- Fizzgig can be a little...overwhelming and boisterous.
But already the hurt reflected in her eyes is fading and being replaced with the soft gaze of adoration only a rescued dog can manage.
Tiny Ramon the Magnificent named himself- I'd never named a tiny dog and had no clue as to what to call him. If you sit and quiet your mind near an animal, and you're open to the possibilities, there can be non-verbal communication as clear as speech.
So Tiny Ramon the Magnificent named himself.
Alec and I both questioned the new dog as to her name, and tell us she did.
Happy birthday Ward- meet Reya Ramona.
(and the song "Don't Give Up on Love" by The Poodles? Seriously.)
Sunday, Joe moved his camper over to the new house, because HIS new house is done now too, and he told me he saw a scraggly little waif of a poodle running in the highway. Being an idiot, instead of running away, I went in search of said waif. But I didn't see it, and came home.
Monday, on my way to run eleven billion errands, all time-specific, I saw the dog. It was cowered in front of the front gate of an empty house, wet from the rain and shivering. Someone had put a dish of water next to it, telling me it was not letting itself get caught. I called Joe and he and his friend Karen went to see if they could snag it. Karen's gentle wiles won the dog over, and it came home to us.
On Ward's birthday.
Wet, hungry and shivering when caught, yesterday the temperature plummeted and last night was deadly- 14 degrees and very windy- I have no doubt she never would've survived that.
She's not full poodle, like Ramon was, most likely she's a poodle/schnauzer- a Schnoodle- and she's chocolate instead of grey, but like Ramon was, she's painfully thin and obviously abandoned- she walks on a leash like a princess. Ramon was old when I found him- at least 10 years old. This one is young- no more than 2.
But like Ramon, you can read the confused question in her button eyes- "I tried to be a good dog- why did they leave me?"
It's been only a few days, and we're keeping Fizzgig and her separated till she's come out of her shell some- Fizzgig can be a little...overwhelming and boisterous.
But already the hurt reflected in her eyes is fading and being replaced with the soft gaze of adoration only a rescued dog can manage.
Tiny Ramon the Magnificent named himself- I'd never named a tiny dog and had no clue as to what to call him. If you sit and quiet your mind near an animal, and you're open to the possibilities, there can be non-verbal communication as clear as speech.
So Tiny Ramon the Magnificent named himself.
Alec and I both questioned the new dog as to her name, and tell us she did.
Happy birthday Ward- meet Reya Ramona.
(and the song "Don't Give Up on Love" by The Poodles? Seriously.)
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Lucky Ducks
So last week, we were given the good news we hold onto every four months.
The cancer doctor said "Mr. Dixon- there is nothing of note in your head", meaning, of course, that the cancer has not returned, and we are dismissed for another few months. The cancer doctor thinks the "nothing of note in your head" comment is wildly hilarious, as do we, so it's all good.
As an added bonus, he said we may stay away for six months now, since the cancer has been gone for almost four years. We are breathing a little easier, sleeping a little better, daring to feel a little more fortunate than we did before.
Luck is a funny thing.
Because shit just happens. It's easier, neater, more comforting to imagine and believe that Everything Happens for a Reason, but I'm thinking that most of the time it doesn't. Most of the time Shit Really Does Just Happen.
Good people get slammed with alot of crap.
Bad people win the lottery.
There's no ulterior cosmic motive to it- no behind the scenes god knows all souls and rewards/punishes accordingly. This is Life. It's messy, beautiful, tragic, hilarious and almost completely random.
And it's OK.
When we were seeing the pain doctor last week he asked Ward's medical record number- at MD Anderson you can forget your name, address, birthdate, social security number- you are known by your medical record number and better have that baby memorized.
Ward's is very easy- a combination of only 2 numbers in a nicely arranged pattern.
So for almost four years, clerical and medical staff have all said the same thing-
"Wow. That's an easy number- how lucky for YOU".
And for almost four years, I've replied the same way-
"Yes. How lucky we are to have an easy to remember number at the CANCER HOSPITAL".
The reaction is generally nervous self-concious laughter on the part of the staff.
The pain doctor, however, looked at me, then at Ward, and said "Wow. She goes straight for the jugular, doesn't she?"
Ward smiled and said "Yep. She's a mean 'un".
Pain doctor- "And I think she hit the carotid too..."
I just smiled sweetly and said "Well, as long as I was already there- I like to be efficient".
And we all laughed.
The cancer doctor said "Mr. Dixon- there is nothing of note in your head", meaning, of course, that the cancer has not returned, and we are dismissed for another few months. The cancer doctor thinks the "nothing of note in your head" comment is wildly hilarious, as do we, so it's all good.
As an added bonus, he said we may stay away for six months now, since the cancer has been gone for almost four years. We are breathing a little easier, sleeping a little better, daring to feel a little more fortunate than we did before.
Luck is a funny thing.
Because shit just happens. It's easier, neater, more comforting to imagine and believe that Everything Happens for a Reason, but I'm thinking that most of the time it doesn't. Most of the time Shit Really Does Just Happen.
Good people get slammed with alot of crap.
Bad people win the lottery.
There's no ulterior cosmic motive to it- no behind the scenes god knows all souls and rewards/punishes accordingly. This is Life. It's messy, beautiful, tragic, hilarious and almost completely random.
And it's OK.
When we were seeing the pain doctor last week he asked Ward's medical record number- at MD Anderson you can forget your name, address, birthdate, social security number- you are known by your medical record number and better have that baby memorized.
Ward's is very easy- a combination of only 2 numbers in a nicely arranged pattern.
So for almost four years, clerical and medical staff have all said the same thing-
"Wow. That's an easy number- how lucky for YOU".
And for almost four years, I've replied the same way-
"Yes. How lucky we are to have an easy to remember number at the CANCER HOSPITAL".
The reaction is generally nervous self-concious laughter on the part of the staff.
The pain doctor, however, looked at me, then at Ward, and said "Wow. She goes straight for the jugular, doesn't she?"
Ward smiled and said "Yep. She's a mean 'un".
Pain doctor- "And I think she hit the carotid too..."
I just smiled sweetly and said "Well, as long as I was already there- I like to be efficient".
And we all laughed.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
"There May Be a Small Disruption of Service"
*We're moved*.
They came and took all our big heavy furniture and set it up in the new house- in and around the electrician still hanging fixtures and the contractors still putting up walls. It looks terrific- just like the house was custom designed for the furniture and people who live here, which of course, it was.
Now, the other house- the house we just moved out of- is a different story. When we moved into that house 15 years ago, we meant to never leave it. So we put down roots- big deep cluttered roots, that worsened as our lives got consumed by being transformed from "normal family" to "cancer family". In the last 8 years by the time I tended to my family, tried to do enough at work to justify my further employment, and care for the farm-largely-put-on-hold, there was precious little time for housekeeping- even my brand of rudimentary cleaning.
Combine that with 3 people who are pack rats and "pile-makers" and you get a house that looks every bit as full without furniture, as with furniture. Except where the furniture used to be are piles of dust bunnies, dead bugs, and other unidentifiable stuff.
It's horrifying.
So we've got till the first to clear out and clean up the old house.
It looks forlorn, but not as sad as I thought it would. I've spent alot of the clean-up time there by myself and I've been talking to the house (Yes. Don't judge me.)
And we're both ready to let go and move on. That house sheltered us and nurtured us, because that's what it does. For over 100 years it's cared for its families. And its new family needs it and will love it as much as we do.
So I'm surprisingly more OK with letting go than I thought possible.
And after all the work, planning, hoping, blood, sweat, tears, delays, frustrations and heartbreak, the new house is not everything I'd hoped it would be.
It's a thousand times more.
Except for the pesky details of having to rework the water/electric service to the barn, running out of fence-funding, and the obvious delay of moving the animals because of that (to be remedied...somehow...before the 1st), the phone company having to run the cable to our house to get us internet service (supposedly to be completed by February 5th), the stove needing to be adjusted from natural gas to propane so it doesn't spew out 2ft high flames when I turn the oven on, the shower floors having to be re-done because the adhesive doesn't like the grout, and Alec's 50 year old vintage toilet having...issues...everything has gone frighteningly smoothly and turned out even better than my mind's eye envisioned when I was drawing it out on graph paper.
The friends and family who've been out to the new place have said it looks like us... and that they've never seen anything like it (does that mean we're weird?).
People HAVE to touch the logs- the logs with the bark still on them. There is something compelling, powerful, comforting about the honesty of their non-conformist widths, shapes, colors and flaws and people feel the need to absorb some of that through their fingertips.
The naturally knotted and variegated wood on the ceilings and walls provide a never-ending exercise in visual interest, the rock fireplace (even though still a work in progress) with its free-form shape begs to be patted like a huge sturdy protective dragon. Even the cement floor has shaded swirls and patterns- and all we did was seal it.
We all three of us wander around almost gingerly- as if at any moment it could disappear like Cinderella's pumpkin carriage.
But every morning we wake up and our house is still around us.
Our family is still together and our house is still around us.
And we'll never, ever take either one of those seemingly simple occurrences for granted.
They came and took all our big heavy furniture and set it up in the new house- in and around the electrician still hanging fixtures and the contractors still putting up walls. It looks terrific- just like the house was custom designed for the furniture and people who live here, which of course, it was.
Now, the other house- the house we just moved out of- is a different story. When we moved into that house 15 years ago, we meant to never leave it. So we put down roots- big deep cluttered roots, that worsened as our lives got consumed by being transformed from "normal family" to "cancer family". In the last 8 years by the time I tended to my family, tried to do enough at work to justify my further employment, and care for the farm-largely-put-on-hold, there was precious little time for housekeeping- even my brand of rudimentary cleaning.
Combine that with 3 people who are pack rats and "pile-makers" and you get a house that looks every bit as full without furniture, as with furniture. Except where the furniture used to be are piles of dust bunnies, dead bugs, and other unidentifiable stuff.
It's horrifying.
So we've got till the first to clear out and clean up the old house.
It looks forlorn, but not as sad as I thought it would. I've spent alot of the clean-up time there by myself and I've been talking to the house (Yes. Don't judge me.)
And we're both ready to let go and move on. That house sheltered us and nurtured us, because that's what it does. For over 100 years it's cared for its families. And its new family needs it and will love it as much as we do.
So I'm surprisingly more OK with letting go than I thought possible.
And after all the work, planning, hoping, blood, sweat, tears, delays, frustrations and heartbreak, the new house is not everything I'd hoped it would be.
It's a thousand times more.
Except for the pesky details of having to rework the water/electric service to the barn, running out of fence-funding, and the obvious delay of moving the animals because of that (to be remedied...somehow...before the 1st), the phone company having to run the cable to our house to get us internet service (supposedly to be completed by February 5th), the stove needing to be adjusted from natural gas to propane so it doesn't spew out 2ft high flames when I turn the oven on, the shower floors having to be re-done because the adhesive doesn't like the grout, and Alec's 50 year old vintage toilet having...issues...everything has gone frighteningly smoothly and turned out even better than my mind's eye envisioned when I was drawing it out on graph paper.
The friends and family who've been out to the new place have said it looks like us... and that they've never seen anything like it (does that mean we're weird?).
People HAVE to touch the logs- the logs with the bark still on them. There is something compelling, powerful, comforting about the honesty of their non-conformist widths, shapes, colors and flaws and people feel the need to absorb some of that through their fingertips.
The naturally knotted and variegated wood on the ceilings and walls provide a never-ending exercise in visual interest, the rock fireplace (even though still a work in progress) with its free-form shape begs to be patted like a huge sturdy protective dragon. Even the cement floor has shaded swirls and patterns- and all we did was seal it.
We all three of us wander around almost gingerly- as if at any moment it could disappear like Cinderella's pumpkin carriage.
But every morning we wake up and our house is still around us.
Our family is still together and our house is still around us.
And we'll never, ever take either one of those seemingly simple occurrences for granted.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
One Last Time
Kind of strange to start a new year with a month or so of endings.
Just over 15 years ago, on December 29, 1995 I signed papers and became the owner of this house.
The moving truck comes for all our large/heavy/bulky furniture on Tuesday at 8am. So we've got 2 nights left here. After that we'll be sleeping in the new house, which is a really weird feeling.
Sometime Tuesday the phone company will turn off our land line/internet, and (so they say) they'll come to the new house and run new line to hook us up there on Wednesday, so this is (probably) my last post from this spot- crammed between the bookcase and the bed, and the next one will be (hopefully) from my new dedicated office which is a really weird feeling.
A week from today, we're having a house warming party, something I mentioned not a few times to Ward yesterday as we mopped the floor of the still-empty and unfinished house in preparation for today's sealing of the floor. And that's a really weird feeling, bordering on panic-inducing anxiety.
I'd love to say "And that will be that", or "And they all lived happily ever after, cue the sunset", or "Boy, will I be happy when next week is over because then I can relax" but that's not the case.
This house will still contain 15 year's worth of stuff, memorabilia, tokens, symbols, crap and dust bunnies- and I'll have to be careful to steel myself and my family as we go through it all making very emperor-like decisions "thumbs up/thumbs down" as to what travels to a new spot in the new house, what stays in this house for the big estate/rummage sale and what gets unceremoniously stuffed into empty feed sacks and set at the curb.
It's going to be very difficult as treasures long forgotten get unearthed. Very difficult to say "WOW- I remember when we got that/where we got that/who we got that from!" think on it warmly and fuzzily and then set it aside and turn our backs on it. For absolute ever this time.
To avoid sensory overload (and because we'll still have our normal-everyday stuff to attend to)the "plan" is to go through room by room- hopefully getting one room a day completed. Twelve. There are twelve rooms in this house. Plus the shed. Plus the other shed. Plus the yard.
Oh yeah. And once the fences are done and the electric/water run, we'll still have to move the critters- coming here twice a day to feed till then.
AND we've got two trips to Houston in January.
Regardless of all the above, we're turning over the keys on February 1st to the house's new family, so there is a deadline, but it's all the way next month (insert hysterical laughter).
Whether or not the Long Slow Goodbye will be easier on us than a Quick Like a Bandaid severing of our ties to this place remains to be seen, and is really a moot point, because this is the way we're going about it.
Today's "Post Music" is one of my favorite songs- always has been- and the only thing I can sing without making dogs howl and run for cover. Alec told me "Mom- you sing that better than she does". Of course, he still depends on me for food and shelter...
So, for the last time gazing through 100+ year old blown glass windows (that are, I admit, letting in every bit of the 28 degree air outside), through the chinaberry and redbud trees and across the gravel drive to Pa's field as I try to think of words that make a damn bit of sense to attach to each other and then send out over the interwebs, this is Queen of the Universe- Over and Out.
See ya'll on the other side.
Just over 15 years ago, on December 29, 1995 I signed papers and became the owner of this house.
The moving truck comes for all our large/heavy/bulky furniture on Tuesday at 8am. So we've got 2 nights left here. After that we'll be sleeping in the new house, which is a really weird feeling.
Sometime Tuesday the phone company will turn off our land line/internet, and (so they say) they'll come to the new house and run new line to hook us up there on Wednesday, so this is (probably) my last post from this spot- crammed between the bookcase and the bed, and the next one will be (hopefully) from my new dedicated office which is a really weird feeling.
A week from today, we're having a house warming party, something I mentioned not a few times to Ward yesterday as we mopped the floor of the still-empty and unfinished house in preparation for today's sealing of the floor. And that's a really weird feeling, bordering on panic-inducing anxiety.
I'd love to say "And that will be that", or "And they all lived happily ever after, cue the sunset", or "Boy, will I be happy when next week is over because then I can relax" but that's not the case.
This house will still contain 15 year's worth of stuff, memorabilia, tokens, symbols, crap and dust bunnies- and I'll have to be careful to steel myself and my family as we go through it all making very emperor-like decisions "thumbs up/thumbs down" as to what travels to a new spot in the new house, what stays in this house for the big estate/rummage sale and what gets unceremoniously stuffed into empty feed sacks and set at the curb.
It's going to be very difficult as treasures long forgotten get unearthed. Very difficult to say "WOW- I remember when we got that/where we got that/who we got that from!" think on it warmly and fuzzily and then set it aside and turn our backs on it. For absolute ever this time.
To avoid sensory overload (and because we'll still have our normal-everyday stuff to attend to)the "plan" is to go through room by room- hopefully getting one room a day completed. Twelve. There are twelve rooms in this house. Plus the shed. Plus the other shed. Plus the yard.
Oh yeah. And once the fences are done and the electric/water run, we'll still have to move the critters- coming here twice a day to feed till then.
AND we've got two trips to Houston in January.
Regardless of all the above, we're turning over the keys on February 1st to the house's new family, so there is a deadline, but it's all the way next month (insert hysterical laughter).
Whether or not the Long Slow Goodbye will be easier on us than a Quick Like a Bandaid severing of our ties to this place remains to be seen, and is really a moot point, because this is the way we're going about it.
Today's "Post Music" is one of my favorite songs- always has been- and the only thing I can sing without making dogs howl and run for cover. Alec told me "Mom- you sing that better than she does". Of course, he still depends on me for food and shelter...
So, for the last time gazing through 100+ year old blown glass windows (that are, I admit, letting in every bit of the 28 degree air outside), through the chinaberry and redbud trees and across the gravel drive to Pa's field as I try to think of words that make a damn bit of sense to attach to each other and then send out over the interwebs, this is Queen of the Universe- Over and Out.
See ya'll on the other side.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)