There are mice in this house. I haven't seen one, but when we arrived, I had to clean out the drawers and today I spotted more tiny little droppings. They were right beside the tablespoons. Not cool.
Oh, I don't know what else the little rodents were doing last night, but I did dream about making love to a large badger, a la The RedWall series by Brian Jacques. He was worried I would eventually leave him for one of my own kind, but dressed in a kilt and both powerful and loyal, he certainly made for a good companion. And no, I wasn't reading those books before I went to bed. Maybe my husband's red beard and scruffy hair are inspiring flights of fancy.
Yesterday I referred to the fact that I went up and down three flights of stairs, which would indicate that I live in a house with four floors. That would be impressive, but it's not exactly true. I have three stories and two flights of stairs and if my mind added on to this it must only indicate that my thighs think they've died and gone to stair master hell and are telling my brain this.
I'm still trying to get the perfect blend of coffee in my new machine. Adding five scoops of Kona beans to four cups of water still makes a fairly mild cup of coffee. I think I'm used to the bitterness of grounds that had sat in my refrigerator, where I erroneously believed it would stay fresher.
Keith has gone to the recycling center with some of our huge pile of cardboard pieces. I should be showering and getting ready for yet another trip, to visit some friends we haven't visited yet. After that visit, we will have a Turkey style Thanksgiving at Keith's dad on Saturday and then return home again.
I'm just putting off packing until the very last minute. And that minute has come. Darn.
Friday, November 27, 2009
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Thanksgiving Day, 2009
I could write many different kinds of posts at the moment. Right now, being incoherent due to unpacking, I suspect my entry will be a mishmash of every one of those kinds.
Looking back, I will remember our first Thanksgiving together as the day I successful put together the standing oval mirror and organized Keith's closet so his ACUs and PTs are laid out in a logical and economical way. Short sleeved shirts are to the back of the closet, summer clothes are in a box labeled as such and waiting to be stacked in the recesses of another closet.
I did a great deal more than that; I seem to have been caught up in some kind of unpacking frenzy. Driven by an insatiable need to organize, ruthlessly clear and create coziness, I tottered from one room to the other with my steak knife in hand, ripping open boxes and dealing mercilessly with the contents.
Up and down the stairs I went. If I came across a pair of pliers that belonged in the garage, I went down the stairs to return it to the garage. If it was time to take the clothes out of the dryer, I went down three flights to get it and took three empty boxes with me, then carried the clean clothes back up three flights.
We are stacking the empty boxes along one wall in the basement, in case we move again in a year, into a house we buy. The idea of going through this again in a year is so awful as to be unspeakable and I only mention it as being the technical reason, not an actual indication of future action. As a side note, the wall of boxes literally reaches to the unfinished ceiling and is two boxes deep. If we needed insulation down there, it would sure come in handy.
Keith, in the meantime, was hard at work on his "man room," hooking up wires and electronics, moving stuff around and dealing with piles and piles of boxes of his own. He also went out on expeditions for needed supplies, such as lighters for the candles, hung pictures, dragged around heavy crap that I couldn't budge and helped me sort through his clothing. He actually agreed to throw away a shirt or two.
At some point Keith had to lure me away from the boxes by whispering sweet nothings into my ear and easing the steak knife from my hand. He spoke in low, even tones as one would to the mentally unstable. I may or may not have been called a crazy kitten.
We then had a Thanksgiving meal of hamburgers grilled outside in the freezing rain with a side of mac 'n cheese. They were pretty darn good, I have to say. I then stacked the dishes in the sink and went back to unpacking.
Here's a few paragraph's from last year's Thanksgiving, just for contrast:
It snowed outside today, big lazy flakes that came leisurely down, caught briefly in the street lights and then melted immediately upon hitting the ground. I am now drinking hot cocoa and listening to Mozart's Requiem in D Minor, the perfect accompaniment to my quiet and nostalgic Thanksgiving.
So many of the residents were out with family that we were able to fill only one half of the dining room for dinner and complete at least two thirds of the puzzle left temptingly out by the staff center. It is ostensibly for the residents, but several of us care managers are drawn to it and at any given time, one or more of us can be found bent over the scrubbed wooden table, frowning in concentration.
All evening long the residents trickled back in from dinner out with their families. They came bundled up, muffled with scarfs, their glasses at a funny angle from their hats. Stuffed to the gills, they hobbled their way to their rooms to fall into a deep and peaceful sleep, blessed by turkey and winter air.
Keith called me yesterday around six am. I was sunk so heavily into sleep that I could not move for a few moments, lay instead dizzily hearing the phone ring before I could heave myself over to grab it. I don't remember much of the conversation, I do remember I was not a lively participant in it.
I thought of last year's Thanksgiving as I looked up from my hamburger to see my husband's face at the table with me. He's looking rather shaggy. When we tell people, for instance the landlord, that Keith is military, they look doubtful. I do love the beard though, as I think I might have mentioned before.
Looking back, I will remember our first Thanksgiving together as the day I successful put together the standing oval mirror and organized Keith's closet so his ACUs and PTs are laid out in a logical and economical way. Short sleeved shirts are to the back of the closet, summer clothes are in a box labeled as such and waiting to be stacked in the recesses of another closet.
I did a great deal more than that; I seem to have been caught up in some kind of unpacking frenzy. Driven by an insatiable need to organize, ruthlessly clear and create coziness, I tottered from one room to the other with my steak knife in hand, ripping open boxes and dealing mercilessly with the contents.
Up and down the stairs I went. If I came across a pair of pliers that belonged in the garage, I went down the stairs to return it to the garage. If it was time to take the clothes out of the dryer, I went down three flights to get it and took three empty boxes with me, then carried the clean clothes back up three flights.
We are stacking the empty boxes along one wall in the basement, in case we move again in a year, into a house we buy. The idea of going through this again in a year is so awful as to be unspeakable and I only mention it as being the technical reason, not an actual indication of future action. As a side note, the wall of boxes literally reaches to the unfinished ceiling and is two boxes deep. If we needed insulation down there, it would sure come in handy.
Keith, in the meantime, was hard at work on his "man room," hooking up wires and electronics, moving stuff around and dealing with piles and piles of boxes of his own. He also went out on expeditions for needed supplies, such as lighters for the candles, hung pictures, dragged around heavy crap that I couldn't budge and helped me sort through his clothing. He actually agreed to throw away a shirt or two.
At some point Keith had to lure me away from the boxes by whispering sweet nothings into my ear and easing the steak knife from my hand. He spoke in low, even tones as one would to the mentally unstable. I may or may not have been called a crazy kitten.
We then had a Thanksgiving meal of hamburgers grilled outside in the freezing rain with a side of mac 'n cheese. They were pretty darn good, I have to say. I then stacked the dishes in the sink and went back to unpacking.
Here's a few paragraph's from last year's Thanksgiving, just for contrast:
It snowed outside today, big lazy flakes that came leisurely down, caught briefly in the street lights and then melted immediately upon hitting the ground. I am now drinking hot cocoa and listening to Mozart's Requiem in D Minor, the perfect accompaniment to my quiet and nostalgic Thanksgiving.
So many of the residents were out with family that we were able to fill only one half of the dining room for dinner and complete at least two thirds of the puzzle left temptingly out by the staff center. It is ostensibly for the residents, but several of us care managers are drawn to it and at any given time, one or more of us can be found bent over the scrubbed wooden table, frowning in concentration.
All evening long the residents trickled back in from dinner out with their families. They came bundled up, muffled with scarfs, their glasses at a funny angle from their hats. Stuffed to the gills, they hobbled their way to their rooms to fall into a deep and peaceful sleep, blessed by turkey and winter air.
Keith called me yesterday around six am. I was sunk so heavily into sleep that I could not move for a few moments, lay instead dizzily hearing the phone ring before I could heave myself over to grab it. I don't remember much of the conversation, I do remember I was not a lively participant in it.
I thought of last year's Thanksgiving as I looked up from my hamburger to see my husband's face at the table with me. He's looking rather shaggy. When we tell people, for instance the landlord, that Keith is military, they look doubtful. I do love the beard though, as I think I might have mentioned before.
When I was putting his ACUs in the closet today, it was almost strange to see them. It seems like forever since he's worn them. He reports for duty in about a week and a half and then life really will get back to normal.
Right now though, there are almost no boxes in my bedroom, the pictures are on the wall and the suitcases are completely empty and stacked high up in the hall closet. I can't even stand to look at them.
The wood glue is probably dry on the table I've been fixing (the movers broke it) so I'll get back to putting it together. And then I'll use it for more bathroom storage and organize the soaps and lotions. And then...'
And then I'll go to bed, one very tired girl, thankful and blessed to have my soldier close beside me in our new home.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
November 25th
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. We may or may not have ham.
The movers arrived today. I had one goal; that of finishing the kitchen and I achieved it. This is the first house that is mine as a adult and so I had the absolute pleasure of arranging the cupboard space exactly to my liking. I have further plans to fine tune, but for now, all is well.
My birthday is coming up and as chickens would probably not go over so well in our uppity, by the book, white Christmas light only gated community, poultry were no longer an option as a gift.
Instead, I received a stainless steel Cuisinart coffee maker that can be programed to grind and then brew the beans, twelve cups at a time. Owning one has always been a dream of mine and it suits the whole suburban island of domestic delights that we are now mired on.
That being my second sarcastic comment about this community, one might gather that I am disliking it. But honestly, my feelings are mixed. I feel special, oh so special, when I cruise by in the owners lane at the gate, leaving the sad visitors to have to register and receive their day pass. I also love the sheer quietness of it. There is hardly any traffic at all. There are wooded hills and vales and deer. Deer are every where.
We went on post today for the first time, what a difference! The buildings are brick and venerable, stately even. There are wide green lawns and large trees. The PX was large, though it did not have the mop/broom behind the door organizer or utensil organizer or many other of the items I was particularly looking for.
However, at the Commissary, some strange form of possessive madness came over Keith and I. In a frenzied rush we tossed food after food into the cart. Bottles and bottles of soda and juice, four pounds of ground beef, six packages of mac 'n cheese and so on and so on. Perhaps it was because we hadn't gone grocery shopping in such a long time.
And guess what we had for dinner tonight after all that? Pizza. If I eat another piece of pizza in the next six months, I will keel over in spasms and die. It's all we've been subsiding on since we began packing up the Colorado house three weeks ago.
The bedroom right now is sheer chaos. Furniture is haphazard, clothing in boxes, boxes obscuring doorways and our suitcases remain unpacked. However, tonight for the first time in a long, long time we will sleep in our own bed, on our own sheets.
Oh the bliss.
The movers arrived today. I had one goal; that of finishing the kitchen and I achieved it. This is the first house that is mine as a adult and so I had the absolute pleasure of arranging the cupboard space exactly to my liking. I have further plans to fine tune, but for now, all is well.
My birthday is coming up and as chickens would probably not go over so well in our uppity, by the book, white Christmas light only gated community, poultry were no longer an option as a gift.
Instead, I received a stainless steel Cuisinart coffee maker that can be programed to grind and then brew the beans, twelve cups at a time. Owning one has always been a dream of mine and it suits the whole suburban island of domestic delights that we are now mired on.
That being my second sarcastic comment about this community, one might gather that I am disliking it. But honestly, my feelings are mixed. I feel special, oh so special, when I cruise by in the owners lane at the gate, leaving the sad visitors to have to register and receive their day pass. I also love the sheer quietness of it. There is hardly any traffic at all. There are wooded hills and vales and deer. Deer are every where.
We went on post today for the first time, what a difference! The buildings are brick and venerable, stately even. There are wide green lawns and large trees. The PX was large, though it did not have the mop/broom behind the door organizer or utensil organizer or many other of the items I was particularly looking for.
However, at the Commissary, some strange form of possessive madness came over Keith and I. In a frenzied rush we tossed food after food into the cart. Bottles and bottles of soda and juice, four pounds of ground beef, six packages of mac 'n cheese and so on and so on. Perhaps it was because we hadn't gone grocery shopping in such a long time.
And guess what we had for dinner tonight after all that? Pizza. If I eat another piece of pizza in the next six months, I will keel over in spasms and die. It's all we've been subsiding on since we began packing up the Colorado house three weeks ago.
The bedroom right now is sheer chaos. Furniture is haphazard, clothing in boxes, boxes obscuring doorways and our suitcases remain unpacked. However, tonight for the first time in a long, long time we will sleep in our own bed, on our own sheets.
Oh the bliss.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Written November 23rd
Ok, so much has happened that trying to talk about it all is just too boring for me even to write, let alone for you to read. I will try to paraphrase.
My back ache did not go away, after a week and a half we capitulated and went to the emergency room. Not because it was an emergency, but because when a military dependent is between posts, that is the place to go.
I was given Valium and lortab. Yes. Valium. It did take the pain away and I have been able to turn and bend and generally move around. I also have the added benefit of being relaxed and jolly in social settings. Lord knows that's something I could use.
In terms of the house, the loan we thought we had, we being even our realtor turned out not to exist. It's like those house hunters or property virgin shows on HGTV where their loan just drops out. It was sickening for about two days.
And on the second day, we decided it was better to rent for a year any way, to better get to know the area, to improve our credit score, and last but not least, to have a place of our own as soon as possible.
The first one we called turned out to be the one, though we did look around enough to know that we got a steal. It's in a gated community with a golf course and a lake with a boat launch and a beach. It's very quiet and wooded. When I say "gated" I mean there's literally someone in uniform at the gate who lifts the barrier in order for a person to drive in. Quite the thing.
Anyway, the house is three stories, large and marvelous kitchen with pantry and an actual dining space, wood burning fire place, finished basement and huge master bedroom suite. It has a linen closet in the upstairs hallway and another closet. I don't even know what to call that one.
One of the cute little bedrooms will be my sewing/office room and the massively huge closet in that room will house all of Keith's military gear neatly organized in plastic bins. This is my dream and it will come true. They will be labeled. It will be marvelous.
The other large bedroom will be Keith's man room, since the formal living room is too small for his massive TV and speaker ensemble. That leaves the formal living space for me and my books, lamps, rugs and cups of tea.
We would use the basement, but there's no carpet and so it's not very inviting. The washer/dryer hook up is there. Not ideal, but good for exercise and also for yet more storage; lord knows we need it.
I am determined to organize all our gear as we unpack and throw away all the crap that got boxed up because we were too stressed out to do it before hand. Our furniture will arrive on Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving. I foresee our Thanksgiving dinner being something microwavable. I don't care; there's no doubt Keith and I will be very, very grateful.
The lot itself is of a decent size, but most of it is woods, straight up. It's like we live in the woods. The yard, if it could be called that, is mostly moss and right now covered with copper colored leaves. There is no fence, so we will be walking the dogs, not an issue as the golf course is near by and has a pedestrian walkway that meanders through it. We may install an underground fence at some point.
The garage door is small, possibly too small for the HD to fit in, but the garage itself is sizable and certainly will fit Keith's tools and concert speakers and fourwheeler. The car trailer will be maneuvered to a side yard where it will be mainly out of sight.
It took some hard thinking to change my mindset from buying to renting, but in a year we will know more clearly what our future will look like, as Keith will re-up for four more years at that point.
While we were figuring out all this stuff, we were going from house to house to house as per our usual these days. I don't really want to talk about the awfulness of all that, since it's tedious to even think about it and tomorrow we sign the lease and it will be all over with.
Right now we are cozily ensconced at Keith's father's house. I slept in a real bed with a good mattress in an room with a closed door. I have Internet and coffee, we washed all our clothes again. The dogs are in the garage.
I do have to talk about the one most bizarre and horrible incident that happened in all this. While visiting with one of Keith's brothers, another woman who was there began focusing in on Keith with a disturbing and open mixture of sexual attraction and anger, after being consistently and openly insulting and dismissive of me.
Pause for a moment to try and imagine what that might look like.
I was beyond horrified. Nothing in my life ever prepared me for people to act as she did. People simply don't act like that. Children act like that in third and forth grade, perhaps. As adults, it's ludicrous to think that it would be played out.
Keith was very good; he tried everything he could to diffuse the situation. If he had acted in any other way, the police would have been called. The woman was clearly emotionally disturbed. I sat fixed in my seat with my skin crawling and my mouth open. Adrenalin kept washing over me until at one point, I was ready to punch her.
I've seen in TV and I've read about fights between women. I've spent a passing thought imagining what that might be like. Passing, I say, because it simply doesn't relate to my reality and I never thought that it would.
To actually feel angry enough to punch another woman in the face was an incredible disorienting feeling. My heart was pounding, my limbs were tinging, I was on the balls of my feet and on the edge of the couch. I didn't physically attack her, but I did tell her to stop what she was doing. It did not come out as a request.
She ignored me for a moment and then suddenly became sad and apologetic and invited us to go out to dinner with her in the evening. My expression must have told her what our response would be and then she focused all her anger on me.
"Honey..." I said, sitting very still and looking at Keith. I forget what he said, but his tone of voice was like a wall. She stormed out while saying something else angry and bitter and slammed the door.
During visiting in general, I couldn't help but notice that most of Keith's friends who were married treated their spouses with disrespect, talked crudely and were publicly dismissive of one another. It wasn't, I suppose, that they don't love each other. It was more that acting in that way was just the way one acted.
The men talked about sex or the sexual attractiveness of other women, either women on TV or sometimes the other women in the room. They did this right in front of their wives. Their wives appeared to take it or retaliate in some closely related way.
I should add that Keith did not join in and tried to change the subject, not always successfully. Because I'm quiet and reserved, I was never the recipient of any insulting flirtation or sexual innuendos and I do that on purpose. I don't play those games.
I know that makes me appear a snob. If there were actual conversation, adult conversation about say, politics or vacations or homes or children, I would have something to add to the conversation. But people in those social circles apparently don't talk about those things, although many of them had children, or were married, or had houses. It's not that they were bad people, at all. I think it must be that they have no blue print for a marriage other than the one they were acting out.
These interactions did have the positive impact of Keith and I appreciating each other and our marriage over and over again. "You are such a good woman," I heard from Keith frequently. "You are such a good man," I would say with incredible, grateful relief. "Yes, 'cause I treat you like a little queen," Keith said proudly. "Yes, you do," I said heartly, remembering how the other men treated their wives. "We have really good communication skills," Keith said once.
Yes, we do and they were absolutely tested to the max over the last three weeks.
My back ache did not go away, after a week and a half we capitulated and went to the emergency room. Not because it was an emergency, but because when a military dependent is between posts, that is the place to go.
I was given Valium and lortab. Yes. Valium. It did take the pain away and I have been able to turn and bend and generally move around. I also have the added benefit of being relaxed and jolly in social settings. Lord knows that's something I could use.
In terms of the house, the loan we thought we had, we being even our realtor turned out not to exist. It's like those house hunters or property virgin shows on HGTV where their loan just drops out. It was sickening for about two days.
And on the second day, we decided it was better to rent for a year any way, to better get to know the area, to improve our credit score, and last but not least, to have a place of our own as soon as possible.
The first one we called turned out to be the one, though we did look around enough to know that we got a steal. It's in a gated community with a golf course and a lake with a boat launch and a beach. It's very quiet and wooded. When I say "gated" I mean there's literally someone in uniform at the gate who lifts the barrier in order for a person to drive in. Quite the thing.
Anyway, the house is three stories, large and marvelous kitchen with pantry and an actual dining space, wood burning fire place, finished basement and huge master bedroom suite. It has a linen closet in the upstairs hallway and another closet. I don't even know what to call that one.
One of the cute little bedrooms will be my sewing/office room and the massively huge closet in that room will house all of Keith's military gear neatly organized in plastic bins. This is my dream and it will come true. They will be labeled. It will be marvelous.
The other large bedroom will be Keith's man room, since the formal living room is too small for his massive TV and speaker ensemble. That leaves the formal living space for me and my books, lamps, rugs and cups of tea.
We would use the basement, but there's no carpet and so it's not very inviting. The washer/dryer hook up is there. Not ideal, but good for exercise and also for yet more storage; lord knows we need it.
I am determined to organize all our gear as we unpack and throw away all the crap that got boxed up because we were too stressed out to do it before hand. Our furniture will arrive on Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving. I foresee our Thanksgiving dinner being something microwavable. I don't care; there's no doubt Keith and I will be very, very grateful.
The lot itself is of a decent size, but most of it is woods, straight up. It's like we live in the woods. The yard, if it could be called that, is mostly moss and right now covered with copper colored leaves. There is no fence, so we will be walking the dogs, not an issue as the golf course is near by and has a pedestrian walkway that meanders through it. We may install an underground fence at some point.
The garage door is small, possibly too small for the HD to fit in, but the garage itself is sizable and certainly will fit Keith's tools and concert speakers and fourwheeler. The car trailer will be maneuvered to a side yard where it will be mainly out of sight.
It took some hard thinking to change my mindset from buying to renting, but in a year we will know more clearly what our future will look like, as Keith will re-up for four more years at that point.
While we were figuring out all this stuff, we were going from house to house to house as per our usual these days. I don't really want to talk about the awfulness of all that, since it's tedious to even think about it and tomorrow we sign the lease and it will be all over with.
Right now we are cozily ensconced at Keith's father's house. I slept in a real bed with a good mattress in an room with a closed door. I have Internet and coffee, we washed all our clothes again. The dogs are in the garage.
I do have to talk about the one most bizarre and horrible incident that happened in all this. While visiting with one of Keith's brothers, another woman who was there began focusing in on Keith with a disturbing and open mixture of sexual attraction and anger, after being consistently and openly insulting and dismissive of me.
Pause for a moment to try and imagine what that might look like.
I was beyond horrified. Nothing in my life ever prepared me for people to act as she did. People simply don't act like that. Children act like that in third and forth grade, perhaps. As adults, it's ludicrous to think that it would be played out.
Keith was very good; he tried everything he could to diffuse the situation. If he had acted in any other way, the police would have been called. The woman was clearly emotionally disturbed. I sat fixed in my seat with my skin crawling and my mouth open. Adrenalin kept washing over me until at one point, I was ready to punch her.
I've seen in TV and I've read about fights between women. I've spent a passing thought imagining what that might be like. Passing, I say, because it simply doesn't relate to my reality and I never thought that it would.
To actually feel angry enough to punch another woman in the face was an incredible disorienting feeling. My heart was pounding, my limbs were tinging, I was on the balls of my feet and on the edge of the couch. I didn't physically attack her, but I did tell her to stop what she was doing. It did not come out as a request.
She ignored me for a moment and then suddenly became sad and apologetic and invited us to go out to dinner with her in the evening. My expression must have told her what our response would be and then she focused all her anger on me.
"Honey..." I said, sitting very still and looking at Keith. I forget what he said, but his tone of voice was like a wall. She stormed out while saying something else angry and bitter and slammed the door.
During visiting in general, I couldn't help but notice that most of Keith's friends who were married treated their spouses with disrespect, talked crudely and were publicly dismissive of one another. It wasn't, I suppose, that they don't love each other. It was more that acting in that way was just the way one acted.
The men talked about sex or the sexual attractiveness of other women, either women on TV or sometimes the other women in the room. They did this right in front of their wives. Their wives appeared to take it or retaliate in some closely related way.
I should add that Keith did not join in and tried to change the subject, not always successfully. Because I'm quiet and reserved, I was never the recipient of any insulting flirtation or sexual innuendos and I do that on purpose. I don't play those games.
I know that makes me appear a snob. If there were actual conversation, adult conversation about say, politics or vacations or homes or children, I would have something to add to the conversation. But people in those social circles apparently don't talk about those things, although many of them had children, or were married, or had houses. It's not that they were bad people, at all. I think it must be that they have no blue print for a marriage other than the one they were acting out.
These interactions did have the positive impact of Keith and I appreciating each other and our marriage over and over again. "You are such a good woman," I heard from Keith frequently. "You are such a good man," I would say with incredible, grateful relief. "Yes, 'cause I treat you like a little queen," Keith said proudly. "Yes, you do," I said heartly, remembering how the other men treated their wives. "We have really good communication skills," Keith said once.
Yes, we do and they were absolutely tested to the max over the last three weeks.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
November 16h
I know yesterday I began with a list of things to be thankful about, but today, in the spirit of facing the firing squad, I will list the things which are driving me crazy. I will do this because it is becoming clearer that I will be facing those things for the full 45 days and so might as well not hope for better, but square my shoulders for the heavy load.
As it is highly unlikely that we will have our house any sooner than December 31st, we are beginning to look more closely at living options for that month. Here they are:
Live in the on post hotel at thirty dollars a day for a total of nine hundred dollars lost.
Live with friends in their rental house, the size of which we do not know, the wife being a person whom Keith and I try to see as little as possible of under normal circumstances and whose hygiene habits are, for lack of a better word, off putting.
Live in an empty rental house at a cut rate with nothing but what we have with us now.
Commute several hours from Indiana while continuing to play relative roulette.
The latter will not happen, though it has been tossed around a little. I really have no idea right now what will happen. But speaking of the latter, let's look at that a little more closely, shall we?
Right now, I have laundry in process at two different houses. My PJs are at one, my shampoo at another. Between each is a forty minute drive which is agonizing on my back. I live on a constant diet of Ibuprofen. At only one house do we have an actual room to sleep in and boy am I grateful for it.
At the other house, we sleep in the living room and the last time we did, complete strangers came in at six o'clock in the morning. There is nothing like waking from sleep on a strange couch in one's PJ's by strange people coming in the front door and flicking on the lights.
At that house there is no Internet or books. I cannot go to the library, as I do not have an address. I cannot cook, as I do not have a kitchen. I cannot rest, as I do not have a room.
Right now we are closing up shop at this house, the most comfortable by far, to spend another few days at the one I just described. After those few days, we will go to a friend's house and spent the weekend there. Sheer agony, as I have only just met the wife for a few moments a few days ago.
Now we will be jettisoned into the suprising intimacy of bathrobe and toothbrushes on display. No doubt we will sleep in the living room and be under the curious scrutiny of their six year old.
Do I whine too much? Perhaps, but that is the point, at the moment.
After that weekend of delights and constant socializing with strangers and showering in their bathrooms and tip toeing around their kitchens, we will spend the week up to Thanksgiving with Keith's father.
This I'm looking forward to in the way a desert traveler longs for the oasis shimmering in the vast and desolate distance. Mostly because only his father and his wife live there and we will not be expected to socialize, I don't believe. Also, there will be a bedroom and bathroom of our own, as the house is large. Most of all though, because it will be quiet.
After the quietness comes Thanksgiving day and then....who knows. I literally do not know where I will be living.
I should embrace the chaos like a cliff diver, I should rejoice in the wind whistling past my ears as I free fall into complete discomfort. Already I am far more laid back than I ever was before. I don't think I'm all the way there yet. I might be, by the time this is over.
As I think about it, the biggest problem for me is the lack of control. In my own house, I negotiate who comes in, for how long and under what terms. If I do not feel like socializing, I retreat to the bedroom or computer room, leaving my husband and his buddies to do their guy thing. I come out to feed them, something I don't mind doing.
I have complete lack of control now. People come go within my space all the time; I have no boundaries. It feels rude to retreat in someone else's house and often there is simply no where to retreat to. Being under these circumstances for just a few days can be trying and the return to one's own home a blessful moment of relief.
I have been under these circumstances for a prolonged period of time and have two weeks yet to endure it. I have no home to return to, with it's clean, cool sheets and deeply familiar bed, the comfort of one's own bathroom and kitchen and routine.
Ok, enough focusing on the intense discomfort of my situation. I have developed some interesting survival strategies and these are them:
I relish, even with the physical pain, the time alone in the truck. Also, I relish any moment when Keith and I are stress free and able to cuddle up together, not always possible between my back pain and the circumstances of our living arrangements at the time.
I have books now and as long as I can hold the book up to my face, I am free and in my own space. The same thing happens when I put my ear plugs in and close my eyes; even if I'm out in the open, I have created my own private space.
I manage always to have coffee, even if we must drive someplace to have it and the time I am drinking it is often the best point of that entire day.
When at this house, we have a room and the Internet and I am free to spend hours in here, so long as I come out from time to time and check in on the group and/or my husband.
My own awkwardness around strangers is not abating, I'm simply not caring very much about it anymore. Not making conversation? Hardly making eye contact? I appear to be miles away in my own thoughts during dinner out at the pizza place? I don't care anymore. This is rude, I know. But that's the way it is; I no longer have the energy to mask it.
I have an increased appreciation for Keith's family, all of whom are very nice people and I have begun to get very comfortable around all of them. I'm beginning to understand the dynamics of the family and how to navigate each one on my own terms, which is a triumph. I feel like I am a genuine part of the family now.
This whole experience has put incredible strain on my marriage. When things come up, as they will do, we have little privacy in which to resolve them. The circumstances cause more things to come up than usual and for them to be more intense than otherwise. We are often tired or stressed and so dealing with the increased intensity and bombardment of the issues within the limited opportunities presented by the moment is excruciating and I do not use the word lightly.
Interesting things have come to light because of this, however. I spent much of the last decade of my life learning how to fight for myself. In doing so, I regained incredible amounts of grit, courage and integrity that had been lost or smothered by the early and continued sexual abuse that I suffered as a child.
Consequently, I am now, despite my weaknesses, an incredibly strong woman. I have an very clear perception of myself, I often know exactly why I am doing something and what it will cause. Not always, that would be inhuman.
Just in the last week or so, I'm beginning to realize that I'm strong enough to begin to learn another lesson; humility. I know, it's just not as sexy as self integrity and survival skills. But if I choose not to learn it, I won't be able to enjoy the richness and intimacy and trust that it will engender within my marriage.
In practical terms, this means learning to reframe the issues. For example, if Keith chooses to go somewhere I'm uncomfortable with, and does so because his family wishes to go there, I do not have to frame that interaction as a power struggle between family and me. And I certainly do not need to feel as if my survival or personal integrity are on the line.
I tend to go there; its a carry over from the past. But using my husband in an imagined power struggle between his family and me as though he were the rope in a game of tug of war is not very constructive, to say the least.
And it's unnecessary. It doesn't have to be about survival or importance. I can reframe it to: yes, I don't want to go there and wouldn't choose to do so, but I'm more than strong enough to go along and remain myself. And who knows? Maybe enjoy some parts and just ignore others.
Thinking about it in those terms takes all the intensity out of the argument and frees Keith up to do what he needs to do. I accept a kind of humility, not a meek and powerless one, a milk sop sort, but instead, showcase a kind of strength that requires self discipline and self knowledge; that of being able to put oneself aside for another.
I guess in some ways I should be flattered that God even thinks I'm ready for it.
As it is highly unlikely that we will have our house any sooner than December 31st, we are beginning to look more closely at living options for that month. Here they are:
Live in the on post hotel at thirty dollars a day for a total of nine hundred dollars lost.
Live with friends in their rental house, the size of which we do not know, the wife being a person whom Keith and I try to see as little as possible of under normal circumstances and whose hygiene habits are, for lack of a better word, off putting.
Live in an empty rental house at a cut rate with nothing but what we have with us now.
Commute several hours from Indiana while continuing to play relative roulette.
The latter will not happen, though it has been tossed around a little. I really have no idea right now what will happen. But speaking of the latter, let's look at that a little more closely, shall we?
Right now, I have laundry in process at two different houses. My PJs are at one, my shampoo at another. Between each is a forty minute drive which is agonizing on my back. I live on a constant diet of Ibuprofen. At only one house do we have an actual room to sleep in and boy am I grateful for it.
At the other house, we sleep in the living room and the last time we did, complete strangers came in at six o'clock in the morning. There is nothing like waking from sleep on a strange couch in one's PJ's by strange people coming in the front door and flicking on the lights.
At that house there is no Internet or books. I cannot go to the library, as I do not have an address. I cannot cook, as I do not have a kitchen. I cannot rest, as I do not have a room.
Right now we are closing up shop at this house, the most comfortable by far, to spend another few days at the one I just described. After those few days, we will go to a friend's house and spent the weekend there. Sheer agony, as I have only just met the wife for a few moments a few days ago.
Now we will be jettisoned into the suprising intimacy of bathrobe and toothbrushes on display. No doubt we will sleep in the living room and be under the curious scrutiny of their six year old.
Do I whine too much? Perhaps, but that is the point, at the moment.
After that weekend of delights and constant socializing with strangers and showering in their bathrooms and tip toeing around their kitchens, we will spend the week up to Thanksgiving with Keith's father.
This I'm looking forward to in the way a desert traveler longs for the oasis shimmering in the vast and desolate distance. Mostly because only his father and his wife live there and we will not be expected to socialize, I don't believe. Also, there will be a bedroom and bathroom of our own, as the house is large. Most of all though, because it will be quiet.
After the quietness comes Thanksgiving day and then....who knows. I literally do not know where I will be living.
I should embrace the chaos like a cliff diver, I should rejoice in the wind whistling past my ears as I free fall into complete discomfort. Already I am far more laid back than I ever was before. I don't think I'm all the way there yet. I might be, by the time this is over.
As I think about it, the biggest problem for me is the lack of control. In my own house, I negotiate who comes in, for how long and under what terms. If I do not feel like socializing, I retreat to the bedroom or computer room, leaving my husband and his buddies to do their guy thing. I come out to feed them, something I don't mind doing.
I have complete lack of control now. People come go within my space all the time; I have no boundaries. It feels rude to retreat in someone else's house and often there is simply no where to retreat to. Being under these circumstances for just a few days can be trying and the return to one's own home a blessful moment of relief.
I have been under these circumstances for a prolonged period of time and have two weeks yet to endure it. I have no home to return to, with it's clean, cool sheets and deeply familiar bed, the comfort of one's own bathroom and kitchen and routine.
Ok, enough focusing on the intense discomfort of my situation. I have developed some interesting survival strategies and these are them:
I relish, even with the physical pain, the time alone in the truck. Also, I relish any moment when Keith and I are stress free and able to cuddle up together, not always possible between my back pain and the circumstances of our living arrangements at the time.
I have books now and as long as I can hold the book up to my face, I am free and in my own space. The same thing happens when I put my ear plugs in and close my eyes; even if I'm out in the open, I have created my own private space.
I manage always to have coffee, even if we must drive someplace to have it and the time I am drinking it is often the best point of that entire day.
When at this house, we have a room and the Internet and I am free to spend hours in here, so long as I come out from time to time and check in on the group and/or my husband.
My own awkwardness around strangers is not abating, I'm simply not caring very much about it anymore. Not making conversation? Hardly making eye contact? I appear to be miles away in my own thoughts during dinner out at the pizza place? I don't care anymore. This is rude, I know. But that's the way it is; I no longer have the energy to mask it.
I have an increased appreciation for Keith's family, all of whom are very nice people and I have begun to get very comfortable around all of them. I'm beginning to understand the dynamics of the family and how to navigate each one on my own terms, which is a triumph. I feel like I am a genuine part of the family now.
This whole experience has put incredible strain on my marriage. When things come up, as they will do, we have little privacy in which to resolve them. The circumstances cause more things to come up than usual and for them to be more intense than otherwise. We are often tired or stressed and so dealing with the increased intensity and bombardment of the issues within the limited opportunities presented by the moment is excruciating and I do not use the word lightly.
Interesting things have come to light because of this, however. I spent much of the last decade of my life learning how to fight for myself. In doing so, I regained incredible amounts of grit, courage and integrity that had been lost or smothered by the early and continued sexual abuse that I suffered as a child.
Consequently, I am now, despite my weaknesses, an incredibly strong woman. I have an very clear perception of myself, I often know exactly why I am doing something and what it will cause. Not always, that would be inhuman.
Just in the last week or so, I'm beginning to realize that I'm strong enough to begin to learn another lesson; humility. I know, it's just not as sexy as self integrity and survival skills. But if I choose not to learn it, I won't be able to enjoy the richness and intimacy and trust that it will engender within my marriage.
In practical terms, this means learning to reframe the issues. For example, if Keith chooses to go somewhere I'm uncomfortable with, and does so because his family wishes to go there, I do not have to frame that interaction as a power struggle between family and me. And I certainly do not need to feel as if my survival or personal integrity are on the line.
I tend to go there; its a carry over from the past. But using my husband in an imagined power struggle between his family and me as though he were the rope in a game of tug of war is not very constructive, to say the least.
And it's unnecessary. It doesn't have to be about survival or importance. I can reframe it to: yes, I don't want to go there and wouldn't choose to do so, but I'm more than strong enough to go along and remain myself. And who knows? Maybe enjoy some parts and just ignore others.
Thinking about it in those terms takes all the intensity out of the argument and frees Keith up to do what he needs to do. I accept a kind of humility, not a meek and powerless one, a milk sop sort, but instead, showcase a kind of strength that requires self discipline and self knowledge; that of being able to put oneself aside for another.
I guess in some ways I should be flattered that God even thinks I'm ready for it.
Monday, November 16, 2009
November 15th
Today is Monday; I state that only because otherwise it doesn't really matter, as we are in real estate limbo.
However, today I am determined to notice the good things in life, because a little perspective is good. I mean, this is not the end of the world. It's uncomfortable, but really, we have a house! And I don't think I described it well, so here goes:
It's a pale yellow, ranch style home with a little deck out front and a slightly larger one out back. It's got a good sized front lawn and a huge, huge back yard. There are blue shutters and the front door has a beveled glass detail in it.
Inside, it's full of light, mostly because the carpet is a grey composed of tiny chips of all the other colors in the rainbow. This is clever, as it can now match with every single design scheme imaginable and will not show anything, ever.
The washer and dryer are in the main bathroom behind shutter doors with a shelf above for laundry detergent and things. I like that a lot.
There is space in the kitchen for buying one of those little kitchen islandette things on wheels; I would like one with a butcher block top and storage below. That way I can wheel it around as needed.
There are double sinks in the master bath, which is all the rage right now. For some reason, modern couples are not expected to spit into the same sink. Does standing side by side while brushing together present just too much of a strain on a marriage? Or is it that as women we are expected to have so much makeup and beauty aids that we need an entire sink plus the space around it to survive the morning rush?
It's like closet space. On HGTV, so many women seem to need to point out that they need space for their shoes. Do we all madly collect shoes now? Must we all be Sex in the City wannabe's? I love shoes, I'll admit it. But I keep it on the down low now, because it's just so damn expected.
I dislike all this extraneous junk that seems to be required of individuals now. For example, in order to be a woman I must have (check all):
lots of brand name accessories
a high paying job
a college education
an attractive guy whom I have emasculated
an eco friendly and yet powerful car
sexy work out suits in which I do either yoga or go jogging
coffee from very expensive cafes.
an highly accessorized, expensive apartment or house
Probably I just watch too much TV and am reacting to it badly. I'm sure that's it. The older I get, the more I see how what is portrayed on TV never matches up to real life and you've no idea how much that reassures me about the state of this country.
And anyway, I'm in the process of going the other way; I'm getting more and more old fashioned. I have discarded the idea of the milk cow, but I am determined to have chickens. That's how bad I am. I do think there is lots of room in the middle; not every one should go back to the farm, by all means and the next time I have an opportunity to wear my black and white stilettos, I will.
However, how about paying for things as we go? What happened to building up a life gradually? In my generation, the starter home with cheap furniture and stuff bought from Sears or garage sales are just not acceptable. We want what our parents spent their lifetimes earning; we want it right off the bat.
Oh, and since I'm in a preaching mode, how about that bow Obama gave the Emperor? I have spent a lot of time in Japan and I was shocked when I saw the picture. That is no casual bow. That is not an American business partner meeting his Japanese counterpart. That is full out, I will kiss your feet, I'm your loyal subject, I will prostrate myself to you gesture. I belive the only lower bow out there is to literally get on your hands and knees and bow with your face to the floor.
I'm fiercely proud of my country. I'm incredibly proud of my heritage, our common heritage as Americans. We have a country that has embraced individual freedoms in a way no other country has in the history of the world. Generations of Americans have given their lives and their life's work to uphold and protect it, so that it could be handed down to us.
As Americans, we are free; the sovereign power of our country resides in each American citizen. We do not bow to royalty. We are respectful, of course. But we do not prostrate ourselves before foreign kings and queens, none of whom have any authority over us. We are our own sovereign country.
If Obama was a private person, fine. Do what ever he wishes. I over-bowed once, in my eagerness to be accepted and to show that I understood Japanese custom. I just ended up looking like a fool and embarrassing my Japanese friend and I suspect this is exactly what Obama has done. But he has done it in a formal visit, representing the United States of America.
I can't believe we have another three years of this. Is it 2012 yet? Oh wait, that's when the world ends. Well, the only way I see disaster of that level happening is if Obama gets reelected; and that's about as likely as the end of the world actually happening, Mayan calendar style.
However, today I am determined to notice the good things in life, because a little perspective is good. I mean, this is not the end of the world. It's uncomfortable, but really, we have a house! And I don't think I described it well, so here goes:
It's a pale yellow, ranch style home with a little deck out front and a slightly larger one out back. It's got a good sized front lawn and a huge, huge back yard. There are blue shutters and the front door has a beveled glass detail in it.
Inside, it's full of light, mostly because the carpet is a grey composed of tiny chips of all the other colors in the rainbow. This is clever, as it can now match with every single design scheme imaginable and will not show anything, ever.
The washer and dryer are in the main bathroom behind shutter doors with a shelf above for laundry detergent and things. I like that a lot.
There is space in the kitchen for buying one of those little kitchen islandette things on wheels; I would like one with a butcher block top and storage below. That way I can wheel it around as needed.
There are double sinks in the master bath, which is all the rage right now. For some reason, modern couples are not expected to spit into the same sink. Does standing side by side while brushing together present just too much of a strain on a marriage? Or is it that as women we are expected to have so much makeup and beauty aids that we need an entire sink plus the space around it to survive the morning rush?
It's like closet space. On HGTV, so many women seem to need to point out that they need space for their shoes. Do we all madly collect shoes now? Must we all be Sex in the City wannabe's? I love shoes, I'll admit it. But I keep it on the down low now, because it's just so damn expected.
I dislike all this extraneous junk that seems to be required of individuals now. For example, in order to be a woman I must have (check all):
lots of brand name accessories
a high paying job
a college education
an attractive guy whom I have emasculated
an eco friendly and yet powerful car
sexy work out suits in which I do either yoga or go jogging
coffee from very expensive cafes.
an highly accessorized, expensive apartment or house
Probably I just watch too much TV and am reacting to it badly. I'm sure that's it. The older I get, the more I see how what is portrayed on TV never matches up to real life and you've no idea how much that reassures me about the state of this country.
And anyway, I'm in the process of going the other way; I'm getting more and more old fashioned. I have discarded the idea of the milk cow, but I am determined to have chickens. That's how bad I am. I do think there is lots of room in the middle; not every one should go back to the farm, by all means and the next time I have an opportunity to wear my black and white stilettos, I will.
However, how about paying for things as we go? What happened to building up a life gradually? In my generation, the starter home with cheap furniture and stuff bought from Sears or garage sales are just not acceptable. We want what our parents spent their lifetimes earning; we want it right off the bat.
Oh, and since I'm in a preaching mode, how about that bow Obama gave the Emperor? I have spent a lot of time in Japan and I was shocked when I saw the picture. That is no casual bow. That is not an American business partner meeting his Japanese counterpart. That is full out, I will kiss your feet, I'm your loyal subject, I will prostrate myself to you gesture. I belive the only lower bow out there is to literally get on your hands and knees and bow with your face to the floor.
I'm fiercely proud of my country. I'm incredibly proud of my heritage, our common heritage as Americans. We have a country that has embraced individual freedoms in a way no other country has in the history of the world. Generations of Americans have given their lives and their life's work to uphold and protect it, so that it could be handed down to us.
As Americans, we are free; the sovereign power of our country resides in each American citizen. We do not bow to royalty. We are respectful, of course. But we do not prostrate ourselves before foreign kings and queens, none of whom have any authority over us. We are our own sovereign country.
If Obama was a private person, fine. Do what ever he wishes. I over-bowed once, in my eagerness to be accepted and to show that I understood Japanese custom. I just ended up looking like a fool and embarrassing my Japanese friend and I suspect this is exactly what Obama has done. But he has done it in a formal visit, representing the United States of America.
I can't believe we have another three years of this. Is it 2012 yet? Oh wait, that's when the world ends. Well, the only way I see disaster of that level happening is if Obama gets reelected; and that's about as likely as the end of the world actually happening, Mayan calendar style.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
November 15th
I'm writing this on a laptop at Keith's father's house. We have been bouncing around a lot lately and my access to the internet has been spotty at best. It's amazing what one can adapt to, though I must say, this whole situation has put incredible strain on both Keith and I. It's just to be expected, but it still is exhausting. I have managed to get coffee most mornings.
Day before yesterday we drove down to Kentucky to pick out houses. Both the houses that we'd liked so much turned out to be smaller and older than we'd imagined. The one with the pole barn would have been workable, but it was still quite old and the bedrooms were prohibitively small. A double bed in the master would have been pushing it.
Fortunately, the realtor had another house to show us and we picked that one right away. It's brand new and even comes with a warranty (who knew houses could have those?). We will have to build a pole barn, because it doesn't have a garage, and put in a fence and a wood stove, which is a lot of big expenses and frankly, I'm not sure how we'll swing it.
But the house is perfect. Right in our price range and possibiliy even more importantly, we could easily rent it or sell it should we need to. It's twenty minutes from post on a nice road, all the houses around it are gorgeous, which increases the land value and of course, it is brand spankin' new.
After we saw it, we went to have lunch and to frantically call the various banks we've been working with. None of the loan officers were in and we were getting panicked, being under the impression that we would need the money lined up before we made an offer on the house. And we really wanted to make an offer.
When we got back to the realtor's office, she assured us that wasn't necessary, so we signed the paperwork and put in a good offer. Four hours later it was accepted and we had a loan in place, at a rate of 4.8%, which is pretty darn good. It was a marvelous, glorious day.
And then we learned from the bank that the loan wouldn't be processed for forty five days.
It took a while for that to sink in at first, but when it did, horror enveloped me. That puts us at not moving in until December 31st.
Yes. We would spend not only Thanksgiving but Christmas as vagabonds. I wouldn't be able to decorate the house for Christmas. We would be living houseless for six more weeks.
I'm dying as it is, people. It's not that Keith's family aren't warm and hospitable, they are. And I have enjoyed visiting with them.
It's just that I'm a woman who is quiet and describing me as anti social might not be over the top. I could easily stay in my house for a week at a time. Grocery shopping and a trip to the library is a thrill ride for me.
And here I am, bouncing around from one household to another, sometimes without warning the households before hand. I'm sleeping on couches, on airbeds, on spare beds and cots. Not that it matters, it's just that I can't retreat. I can't get away somewhere and de stress.
Well, I could at Keith's brother's place, that was comfortable. But now we are out and about more and will continue to be so....for six more weeks.
I don't think my sanity will stand up to it, I really don't. And Keith has to report for duty on December 10th. What will we do for the rest of that month? Drive two hours to work? Get an extended stay hotel? Stay at a completely empty house that Keith's buddy is trying to get rented, with nothing but our suitcases, dogs and the air mattress?
Oh yes, the dogs. They have been riding along with us the entire time. Poor things. I'm developing strange quirks and so are they.
We are really, really hoping that it won't really take that long; that it will just take two weeks or at the most a month. Most people seem to think so. And on Monday, we will call and find out if that is plausible or not.
I'm trying not to freak out, but as you can see, I'm not too successful at it. Sometimes all a person can do is just hold on for dear life.
Day before yesterday we drove down to Kentucky to pick out houses. Both the houses that we'd liked so much turned out to be smaller and older than we'd imagined. The one with the pole barn would have been workable, but it was still quite old and the bedrooms were prohibitively small. A double bed in the master would have been pushing it.
Fortunately, the realtor had another house to show us and we picked that one right away. It's brand new and even comes with a warranty (who knew houses could have those?). We will have to build a pole barn, because it doesn't have a garage, and put in a fence and a wood stove, which is a lot of big expenses and frankly, I'm not sure how we'll swing it.
But the house is perfect. Right in our price range and possibiliy even more importantly, we could easily rent it or sell it should we need to. It's twenty minutes from post on a nice road, all the houses around it are gorgeous, which increases the land value and of course, it is brand spankin' new.
After we saw it, we went to have lunch and to frantically call the various banks we've been working with. None of the loan officers were in and we were getting panicked, being under the impression that we would need the money lined up before we made an offer on the house. And we really wanted to make an offer.
When we got back to the realtor's office, she assured us that wasn't necessary, so we signed the paperwork and put in a good offer. Four hours later it was accepted and we had a loan in place, at a rate of 4.8%, which is pretty darn good. It was a marvelous, glorious day.
And then we learned from the bank that the loan wouldn't be processed for forty five days.
It took a while for that to sink in at first, but when it did, horror enveloped me. That puts us at not moving in until December 31st.
Yes. We would spend not only Thanksgiving but Christmas as vagabonds. I wouldn't be able to decorate the house for Christmas. We would be living houseless for six more weeks.
I'm dying as it is, people. It's not that Keith's family aren't warm and hospitable, they are. And I have enjoyed visiting with them.
It's just that I'm a woman who is quiet and describing me as anti social might not be over the top. I could easily stay in my house for a week at a time. Grocery shopping and a trip to the library is a thrill ride for me.
And here I am, bouncing around from one household to another, sometimes without warning the households before hand. I'm sleeping on couches, on airbeds, on spare beds and cots. Not that it matters, it's just that I can't retreat. I can't get away somewhere and de stress.
Well, I could at Keith's brother's place, that was comfortable. But now we are out and about more and will continue to be so....for six more weeks.
I don't think my sanity will stand up to it, I really don't. And Keith has to report for duty on December 10th. What will we do for the rest of that month? Drive two hours to work? Get an extended stay hotel? Stay at a completely empty house that Keith's buddy is trying to get rented, with nothing but our suitcases, dogs and the air mattress?
Oh yes, the dogs. They have been riding along with us the entire time. Poor things. I'm developing strange quirks and so are they.
We are really, really hoping that it won't really take that long; that it will just take two weeks or at the most a month. Most people seem to think so. And on Monday, we will call and find out if that is plausible or not.
I'm trying not to freak out, but as you can see, I'm not too successful at it. Sometimes all a person can do is just hold on for dear life.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
November 12th
Apparently driving for sixteen hours, sleeping in the back of the truck, on the floor, etc, is not good for one's back. Especially if one already has a ruptured disk.
In other news, the renters needed three small things done to the house; a tub stopper, some door stoppers and I forget what else. This Keith took as a bad sign and I felt that way at first too. It seemed knick picky and well, we pay our realtor's husband thirty dollars an hour for repairs on the house and that's a little steep for getting a door stopper put in.
However, on second thought, I'm choosing to believe that these renters are just conscientious, detail oriented people and they want to get off to a good, clean start on their two year lease. And that bodes well.
Also, we found a loan officer that has a bank that will consider the rental property as extra income on the new house loan. That happened today and that is totally awesome and a bonus good thing. The loan officer is off locking us into the nice, low rate that the VA assures us and tomorrow we head off to see two houses and most likely will start the paperwork process then.
Naturally, I am very excited about this. I do not even mind getting up at five thirty am in order to get there on time.
We will start at the first house, which is about twenty thousand dollars cheaper than the second. But it is very cozy, has a wood stove already in it, a cute kitchen, three bedroom and two bathrooms and a two car garage. It's a nice little brick ranch with a nice lawn.
The second one, though, is larger and not only does it have a two car garage, but is has a huge, two vehicle pole barn with electricity. That sold Keith in the one moment it took to see it. It also has an adorable kitchen with an archway into the dining area and large, light and airy rooms, three bedrooms, two bathrooms. It's on half an acre and further out into the country, which is right up our alley.
We will probably end up getting that house and I just can't wait. I want a home. I want to cook, I want to take walks, I want to get some chicks and a chicken coop for my thirty second birthday and possibly...wait for it...possibly a milk cow.
I know, I know. Waking up every morning to milk it. Craziness, sheer craziness. Which is why I'm just mulling it over. But part of me longs for the soothing rhythm and down to earthy-ness which a cow represents.
I feel that I must make clear something though. There have been times, all along this journey, from Keith calling me from Iraq to tell me about the PCS move until right now, while we wait to pick a house and our stuff sits in storage while our other house is rented out to people who need door stoppers, when we have been down right terrified. We've had many a second or third thought.
But it has been incredibly clear to Keith and I that God was leading us along step by step. I hate to use "church-ese" but I don't know any other way of putting it. It's something about choosing to be peaceful and to rest in the question while having faith that it will be answered in a natural fashion when the time is right, and then, amazingly, watching exactly that happen.
And I am incredibly grateful and I just wanted to publicly state that, somehow. God never promised that life will be easy or painless and I never worry about asking for that. Sometimes, after many years of mixed up church-ness, I find myself sticking to simply the prayer Jesus taught the disciples or a prayer that I learned through "The Scent of Water," by Elizabeth Gouge: "Into Thy hands, Thee I adore, Thy will be done."
It's a very easy and beautiful prayer and it works for all occasions. I'll probably need it tomorrow.
In other news, the renters needed three small things done to the house; a tub stopper, some door stoppers and I forget what else. This Keith took as a bad sign and I felt that way at first too. It seemed knick picky and well, we pay our realtor's husband thirty dollars an hour for repairs on the house and that's a little steep for getting a door stopper put in.
However, on second thought, I'm choosing to believe that these renters are just conscientious, detail oriented people and they want to get off to a good, clean start on their two year lease. And that bodes well.
Also, we found a loan officer that has a bank that will consider the rental property as extra income on the new house loan. That happened today and that is totally awesome and a bonus good thing. The loan officer is off locking us into the nice, low rate that the VA assures us and tomorrow we head off to see two houses and most likely will start the paperwork process then.
Naturally, I am very excited about this. I do not even mind getting up at five thirty am in order to get there on time.
We will start at the first house, which is about twenty thousand dollars cheaper than the second. But it is very cozy, has a wood stove already in it, a cute kitchen, three bedroom and two bathrooms and a two car garage. It's a nice little brick ranch with a nice lawn.
The second one, though, is larger and not only does it have a two car garage, but is has a huge, two vehicle pole barn with electricity. That sold Keith in the one moment it took to see it. It also has an adorable kitchen with an archway into the dining area and large, light and airy rooms, three bedrooms, two bathrooms. It's on half an acre and further out into the country, which is right up our alley.
We will probably end up getting that house and I just can't wait. I want a home. I want to cook, I want to take walks, I want to get some chicks and a chicken coop for my thirty second birthday and possibly...wait for it...possibly a milk cow.
I know, I know. Waking up every morning to milk it. Craziness, sheer craziness. Which is why I'm just mulling it over. But part of me longs for the soothing rhythm and down to earthy-ness which a cow represents.
I feel that I must make clear something though. There have been times, all along this journey, from Keith calling me from Iraq to tell me about the PCS move until right now, while we wait to pick a house and our stuff sits in storage while our other house is rented out to people who need door stoppers, when we have been down right terrified. We've had many a second or third thought.
But it has been incredibly clear to Keith and I that God was leading us along step by step. I hate to use "church-ese" but I don't know any other way of putting it. It's something about choosing to be peaceful and to rest in the question while having faith that it will be answered in a natural fashion when the time is right, and then, amazingly, watching exactly that happen.
And I am incredibly grateful and I just wanted to publicly state that, somehow. God never promised that life will be easy or painless and I never worry about asking for that. Sometimes, after many years of mixed up church-ness, I find myself sticking to simply the prayer Jesus taught the disciples or a prayer that I learned through "The Scent of Water," by Elizabeth Gouge: "Into Thy hands, Thee I adore, Thy will be done."
It's a very easy and beautiful prayer and it works for all occasions. I'll probably need it tomorrow.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
November 11th
Wow, I didn't realize so much time had passed until I looked up today's date.
Moving sucks.
It was ok until we had to disconnect the Internet as well and then it was just an empty house and a lot of cleaning and one single air mattress.
We left not knowing if the house would be rented or not and having decided to drop it two hundred from the original price which is also two hundred below the mortgage. We (ok, I...) left the outside light on and couldn't go back in to turn it off because we'd left our keys inside for the realtor.
Keith wasn't sure if the car trailer would carry all the weight or if it would ride straight. The girls were hyper in the back seat and we hadn't been able to wash our clothes since three days earlier, when our washer and dyer got carted off.
However, the house did get rented, and to an officer couple with no kids and one dog and at full price. Yes. They signed a two year lease with a full month up front and a three hundred dollar pet deposit. Our realtor was amazed at this. She said even she felt blessed. She told us they are already making friends with the good neighbors Larry et al, which is great.
Also the trailer ran straight as an arrow, even through it rained all the way through Kansas and Keith's luggage got soaked. The girls did good, though Lynn threw up in the back seat at some point. All we know is that's why it stunk in there.
We thought about staying at a hotel, had day dreamed about it when we were stuck in our empty house but when it came down to it, we just couldn't. The trailer was packed full and very vulnerable, Keith wouldn't have been able to rest easy with it being outside all night.
Instead, we ended up resting for a couple hours at a rest stop somewhere in Missouri. I kicked Abbie out of the back seat and curled up with my head on the dog food container with Lynn at my feet while Abbie sat up front with Dad. She did an excellent job guarding the truck and trailer, it was kind of cute.
The next morning we made it to Indiana, though Keith was running ragged from lack of sleep. Even so, he couldn't relax until he'd unpacked everything and that night stayed up until three am partying with his brother. I, on the other hand, slept all day and then all night.
Today, however, is a brand new day and I am feeling a hundred percent better. I love the renters we have, I love knowing someone is living in and enjoying our house. Our realtor in Kentucky sent us new listings and I absolutely love two of them. Most likely, one or the other will be our new home.
In the meantime, it's just so nice to rest and recuperate at Keith's brother's house. The weather is balmy, the air is clear and smells of spicy leaves. I've done all the laundry and had several rejuvenating showers. I can't find my phone recharger and suspect it got packed up, but oh well.
Life is good.
Moving sucks.
It was ok until we had to disconnect the Internet as well and then it was just an empty house and a lot of cleaning and one single air mattress.
We left not knowing if the house would be rented or not and having decided to drop it two hundred from the original price which is also two hundred below the mortgage. We (ok, I...) left the outside light on and couldn't go back in to turn it off because we'd left our keys inside for the realtor.
Keith wasn't sure if the car trailer would carry all the weight or if it would ride straight. The girls were hyper in the back seat and we hadn't been able to wash our clothes since three days earlier, when our washer and dyer got carted off.
However, the house did get rented, and to an officer couple with no kids and one dog and at full price. Yes. They signed a two year lease with a full month up front and a three hundred dollar pet deposit. Our realtor was amazed at this. She said even she felt blessed. She told us they are already making friends with the good neighbors Larry et al, which is great.
Also the trailer ran straight as an arrow, even through it rained all the way through Kansas and Keith's luggage got soaked. The girls did good, though Lynn threw up in the back seat at some point. All we know is that's why it stunk in there.
We thought about staying at a hotel, had day dreamed about it when we were stuck in our empty house but when it came down to it, we just couldn't. The trailer was packed full and very vulnerable, Keith wouldn't have been able to rest easy with it being outside all night.
Instead, we ended up resting for a couple hours at a rest stop somewhere in Missouri. I kicked Abbie out of the back seat and curled up with my head on the dog food container with Lynn at my feet while Abbie sat up front with Dad. She did an excellent job guarding the truck and trailer, it was kind of cute.
The next morning we made it to Indiana, though Keith was running ragged from lack of sleep. Even so, he couldn't relax until he'd unpacked everything and that night stayed up until three am partying with his brother. I, on the other hand, slept all day and then all night.
Today, however, is a brand new day and I am feeling a hundred percent better. I love the renters we have, I love knowing someone is living in and enjoying our house. Our realtor in Kentucky sent us new listings and I absolutely love two of them. Most likely, one or the other will be our new home.
In the meantime, it's just so nice to rest and recuperate at Keith's brother's house. The weather is balmy, the air is clear and smells of spicy leaves. I've done all the laundry and had several rejuvenating showers. I can't find my phone recharger and suspect it got packed up, but oh well.
Life is good.
Friday, November 6, 2009
November 6th
There are a lot of cheerful, Spanish speaking men in my house right now. Sooner or later, the very chair I am sitting upon will be swept away by them, into the cavernous depth of the eighteen wheeler parked outside on the street.
That thing is huge, by the way. It's longer than our entire yard is wide. It takes up half the street and I can only imagine what our neighbors are saying. It's sad and disorientating to think that soon, all our stuff will be trucking on down to Kentucky without us.
On the other hand, how incredibly lucky am I, that I can sit here and calmly write and read and drink a McCafe while all the work is done for me. Keith is off doing "Final Out," where they sign off on all the stuff he's already had signed off.
Last night he got it into his head to re caulk both bath tubs, at a quarter to nine. I think he just needed something to focus on, other than the empty rooms.
Since the bedding went yesterday, we slept on the mattress under an opened sleeping bag. It was light and slippery and kept sliding off one way or the other; we didn't get much sleep. Also, I forgot how pampered we used to be, having two TVs. Keith always stays up later than I do, watching the downstairs one. This meant for several hours last night I had the sleeping bag up over my head while he watched TV. It doesn't work out so well that way.
Its incredible we haven't lost it on each other yet. We've come close, at one point I had to slap him on the butt and tell him to "Stand down!" Also, now I check in with him often, since he has a tendency to keep things in until they explode out and his current fuse is so short that it might just be a figment of my imagination.
He always bellows for me from any corner of the house. "Woman!" I hear, or "Jenny!" or occasionally, "Sweetie!" It always sounds as though a major emergency is under way by the intensity and carrying power of his voice. Naturally, he has merely misplaced his phone, wants my company or has forgotten some item of information that I, as the woman, have filed neatly away somewhere in my head, usually a date of some kind.
Wow, one of these guys looks remarkably like George Cloooney.
I apologize for rambling on, I have nothing to do but type and play Spider Solitaire. After everything has gone, I'll have no time at all, what with all the cleaning. Keith laid out the plan of attack last night; we will go level to level, it will be systematic and thorough and come hell or high water, we will be done and everything packed by Sunday night. At the crack of dawn on Monday we will be on the road to Kentucky, regardless of weather, major emergencies or any other mitigating factor. He has a mission, and damn it, he will complete it. Hooah.
Speaking of my darling NCO, the man is back. I'd better sign off here so I can go report for domestic duty.
That thing is huge, by the way. It's longer than our entire yard is wide. It takes up half the street and I can only imagine what our neighbors are saying. It's sad and disorientating to think that soon, all our stuff will be trucking on down to Kentucky without us.
On the other hand, how incredibly lucky am I, that I can sit here and calmly write and read and drink a McCafe while all the work is done for me. Keith is off doing "Final Out," where they sign off on all the stuff he's already had signed off.
Last night he got it into his head to re caulk both bath tubs, at a quarter to nine. I think he just needed something to focus on, other than the empty rooms.
Since the bedding went yesterday, we slept on the mattress under an opened sleeping bag. It was light and slippery and kept sliding off one way or the other; we didn't get much sleep. Also, I forgot how pampered we used to be, having two TVs. Keith always stays up later than I do, watching the downstairs one. This meant for several hours last night I had the sleeping bag up over my head while he watched TV. It doesn't work out so well that way.
Its incredible we haven't lost it on each other yet. We've come close, at one point I had to slap him on the butt and tell him to "Stand down!" Also, now I check in with him often, since he has a tendency to keep things in until they explode out and his current fuse is so short that it might just be a figment of my imagination.
He always bellows for me from any corner of the house. "Woman!" I hear, or "Jenny!" or occasionally, "Sweetie!" It always sounds as though a major emergency is under way by the intensity and carrying power of his voice. Naturally, he has merely misplaced his phone, wants my company or has forgotten some item of information that I, as the woman, have filed neatly away somewhere in my head, usually a date of some kind.
Wow, one of these guys looks remarkably like George Cloooney.
I apologize for rambling on, I have nothing to do but type and play Spider Solitaire. After everything has gone, I'll have no time at all, what with all the cleaning. Keith laid out the plan of attack last night; we will go level to level, it will be systematic and thorough and come hell or high water, we will be done and everything packed by Sunday night. At the crack of dawn on Monday we will be on the road to Kentucky, regardless of weather, major emergencies or any other mitigating factor. He has a mission, and damn it, he will complete it. Hooah.
Speaking of my darling NCO, the man is back. I'd better sign off here so I can go report for domestic duty.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
November 5th, Evening
Today was one of those, "Where were you when...?" moments; so horrifying that it has the power to polarize one's life into before and after. Keith called me from his last trip on post and asked me if I was watching TV; he said something bad had happened.
I wasn't watching TV, I thought the thing was unplugged and was unaware of anything. Keith said there had been a shooting at Ft. Hood in Texas and that the post here might get locked down, he was trying to get out but there were really long lines.
Surprisingly, I was able to get the TV hooked back up and since that moment, it has been on non-stop. Keith got home looking haggard. We spent the afternoon and evening curled up together on the bare mattress, trying to make sense of it all.
But there is no sense. It's a terrible and disorienting day. I cannot imagine what it must be like for the family members who live at Ft. Hood, whose men should have been safe at home.
I wasn't watching TV, I thought the thing was unplugged and was unaware of anything. Keith said there had been a shooting at Ft. Hood in Texas and that the post here might get locked down, he was trying to get out but there were really long lines.
Surprisingly, I was able to get the TV hooked back up and since that moment, it has been on non-stop. Keith got home looking haggard. We spent the afternoon and evening curled up together on the bare mattress, trying to make sense of it all.
But there is no sense. It's a terrible and disorienting day. I cannot imagine what it must be like for the family members who live at Ft. Hood, whose men should have been safe at home.
November 5th
As I write, there is the constant sound of duct tape screaching off the roll from behind me, where the last of our things are being boxed up. In each room, towers of boxes wait for tomorrow and each room smells a little bit like the dry, clean smell of card board.
"What would you do without the Internet?" asked my husband earlier. He had been working on getting his laptop set up in the now empty downstairs room, knowing I would want it. It was good timing too, as the men had moved into the previous sanctuary of our bedroom, where I had been happily watching "The Barefoot Contessa" make tartare sauce.
Now I am in the dim coolness of what used to be the office, catching up on things. Obama's approval rating hovers a mere point above fifty, the GOP swept the gubernatorial races the day before yesterday. I remember seeing the lead Cristie had in NJ and being stunned. I thought for sure NJ would stay with the Democrats and we would win NY-23.
Pelosi, someone who appears not to be human (was it too much botox? one wonders) is convinced it was a victory for the Dems. Such gaps in intellect explain the monstrosity of the health care bill she is pushing at break neck speed through the House, regardless of cost and regardless of the fact that embattled Harry Reid will be unable to force his bill through the unruly Senate before Christmas.
Or at all. I expect in the next few days to see the rifts in the Democratic party to become public, I expect also to see the GOP put together solutions based on uniquely American and Constitutional principles. If I don't see these things, I will be crushed. If the GOP cannot, after NY-23 and the Tea Party grassroots movement, reinvent themselves with a basis on common sense, limited government and fiscal responsibility, then I fear for the country in a whole new way.
The Administration and leading Democrats would like to frame NY-23 as a failure for social conservatives and one can't blame them for trying. What they fail to admit to is that McDonnell, who won over independents in Virginia 2-1, is a social and fiscal conservative. He is pro-life and has a traditional view on marriage.
Hoffman lost in NY-23 because he failed to do what McDonnell did; which was to run with common sense, local solutions. All the GOP has to do is to base their ideology on fiscal and social conservatism and then run dignified, solution based, common sense campaigns.
Not that Hoffman wasn't dignified, it was just that he was running mainly on ideology alone and wasn't from the area. The fact that he was only, what? five points behind the Democrat is still stunning.
Also, I think it patently absurd that the Administration denies that the races had anything to do with Obama. It's insulting to one's intelligence. Obama had how many rallies for Corzine? Three or five? Did anyone see the campaign ads Obama put out for Corzine? I did. Obama had his own people working on Corzine's campaign.
The idea is, that Democrats can continue to push through Obama's very unpopular agenda and then in the aftermath, Obama's sparking personality and charisma can come along and sweep the embattled and now highly unpopular Democratic congressperson back into their seat.
Well, gosh, I just don't think that's going to work anymore. If Obama and his team and his voice and all that money could not save a dyed in the blue Democratic, liberal state like NJ from the onslaught of voter disgust and fear for the economy, there where will it work? The Emperor has no clothes and now neither will his lackeys.
On an entirely different note, if anyone out there is trying to manage post Halloween candy eating, don't try putting it in the freezer. That just doesn't work. It just makes the candy more accessable, and crispy to boot.
Wow. I went into the downstairs bathroom and it echoes like one in a train station at 2 in the morning. All the walls are bare. We have no silverware, this morning I drank orange juice and milk straight from the carton. I also drove to the local 7-11 for my coffee and some Monster energy drinks for all the guys, husband included.
I still have a cold and carry my handy roll of toilet paper around with me at all times. I am prone to nodding off anytime when reclined and my head feels like twenty pounds of packing peanuts.
Tonight, Keith and I will sleep on the carpet in the bedroom, beneith the towering shadows of boxes. We will be without TV, radio or video games (expect those located on this laptop.) I suspect that we will curl up and watch a movie already downloaded onto this laptop while eating fast food. Moving is definitely not good for the waist line.
Tomorrow morning, everything must and will go. Shower curtains, rugs, toilet paper, anything not nailed down and not in our messy "to stay" pile. And then we will clean. I'm kind of looking forward to it; a nice, warm sloppy pail of soapy water, a rag and all the dirty walls. Hell yeah.
On the renting front, the person our agent was working with wanted the rent dropped two hundred dollars, which would mean we would be paying in an equal amount. If it comes down to it, we'll take an offer that low, but not just yet. Since then (yesterday) no other word.
Every little while or so, Keith and I will wander around the house, looking for each other. Right now he's in the garage, overseeing all that packing. I wonder what it looks like in there now. There is scant comfort in packing, but one does become grateful for little things, like toilet paper and warm socks and the Internet and one's husband's large, warm and comforting embrace.
"What would you do without the Internet?" asked my husband earlier. He had been working on getting his laptop set up in the now empty downstairs room, knowing I would want it. It was good timing too, as the men had moved into the previous sanctuary of our bedroom, where I had been happily watching "The Barefoot Contessa" make tartare sauce.
Now I am in the dim coolness of what used to be the office, catching up on things. Obama's approval rating hovers a mere point above fifty, the GOP swept the gubernatorial races the day before yesterday. I remember seeing the lead Cristie had in NJ and being stunned. I thought for sure NJ would stay with the Democrats and we would win NY-23.
Pelosi, someone who appears not to be human (was it too much botox? one wonders) is convinced it was a victory for the Dems. Such gaps in intellect explain the monstrosity of the health care bill she is pushing at break neck speed through the House, regardless of cost and regardless of the fact that embattled Harry Reid will be unable to force his bill through the unruly Senate before Christmas.
Or at all. I expect in the next few days to see the rifts in the Democratic party to become public, I expect also to see the GOP put together solutions based on uniquely American and Constitutional principles. If I don't see these things, I will be crushed. If the GOP cannot, after NY-23 and the Tea Party grassroots movement, reinvent themselves with a basis on common sense, limited government and fiscal responsibility, then I fear for the country in a whole new way.
The Administration and leading Democrats would like to frame NY-23 as a failure for social conservatives and one can't blame them for trying. What they fail to admit to is that McDonnell, who won over independents in Virginia 2-1, is a social and fiscal conservative. He is pro-life and has a traditional view on marriage.
Hoffman lost in NY-23 because he failed to do what McDonnell did; which was to run with common sense, local solutions. All the GOP has to do is to base their ideology on fiscal and social conservatism and then run dignified, solution based, common sense campaigns.
Not that Hoffman wasn't dignified, it was just that he was running mainly on ideology alone and wasn't from the area. The fact that he was only, what? five points behind the Democrat is still stunning.
Also, I think it patently absurd that the Administration denies that the races had anything to do with Obama. It's insulting to one's intelligence. Obama had how many rallies for Corzine? Three or five? Did anyone see the campaign ads Obama put out for Corzine? I did. Obama had his own people working on Corzine's campaign.
The idea is, that Democrats can continue to push through Obama's very unpopular agenda and then in the aftermath, Obama's sparking personality and charisma can come along and sweep the embattled and now highly unpopular Democratic congressperson back into their seat.
Well, gosh, I just don't think that's going to work anymore. If Obama and his team and his voice and all that money could not save a dyed in the blue Democratic, liberal state like NJ from the onslaught of voter disgust and fear for the economy, there where will it work? The Emperor has no clothes and now neither will his lackeys.
On an entirely different note, if anyone out there is trying to manage post Halloween candy eating, don't try putting it in the freezer. That just doesn't work. It just makes the candy more accessable, and crispy to boot.
Wow. I went into the downstairs bathroom and it echoes like one in a train station at 2 in the morning. All the walls are bare. We have no silverware, this morning I drank orange juice and milk straight from the carton. I also drove to the local 7-11 for my coffee and some Monster energy drinks for all the guys, husband included.
I still have a cold and carry my handy roll of toilet paper around with me at all times. I am prone to nodding off anytime when reclined and my head feels like twenty pounds of packing peanuts.
Tonight, Keith and I will sleep on the carpet in the bedroom, beneith the towering shadows of boxes. We will be without TV, radio or video games (expect those located on this laptop.) I suspect that we will curl up and watch a movie already downloaded onto this laptop while eating fast food. Moving is definitely not good for the waist line.
Tomorrow morning, everything must and will go. Shower curtains, rugs, toilet paper, anything not nailed down and not in our messy "to stay" pile. And then we will clean. I'm kind of looking forward to it; a nice, warm sloppy pail of soapy water, a rag and all the dirty walls. Hell yeah.
On the renting front, the person our agent was working with wanted the rent dropped two hundred dollars, which would mean we would be paying in an equal amount. If it comes down to it, we'll take an offer that low, but not just yet. Since then (yesterday) no other word.
Every little while or so, Keith and I will wander around the house, looking for each other. Right now he's in the garage, overseeing all that packing. I wonder what it looks like in there now. There is scant comfort in packing, but one does become grateful for little things, like toilet paper and warm socks and the Internet and one's husband's large, warm and comforting embrace.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
November 3rd
It is the calm before the storm.
Detritus washes up against the downstairs baseboards and spills off of chairs. There are deep indentations where furniture used to stand. Upstairs my suitcase is half full, waiting. The refrigerator gets emptier and emptier. I am Housewife, Interrupted.
My clever husband figured out a way to get under our weight limit. We were a thousand pounds over, which would have meant paying out of pocket for the excess, not exactly a happy prospect. His buddy, the guy that stayed here for about a week while waiting for a room, has hardly anything to move and is also PCS-ing to the same base.
Yesterday they shifted a lot of our furniture onto the brand new car trailer and trucked it off to the other fellow's storage unit. When he gets moved to his family's new home, our stuff will get trucked back to our new home.
I hope to goodness our realtor does not have to show the house today, because it is a wreck. The downstairs just looks sad. People continue to call about the house, but more than a few have been turned off by the neighborhood.
I can't blame them, it took me months before I felt comfortable walking outside. It will have to be a unique type of person to rent this house. It will have to be someone who came, like Keith and I did, from the school of hard knocks. It can't be any subdivision hot house flower type.
Unfortunately, that type would appreciate all the work Keith has put into the inside, but couldn't possibly face the HUD house right across the street. If I had kids, I wouldn't like it either.
Oh well. If we lower the rent even further, the sheer deal of it will attract people, especially in this market. We have something cooking up on the current rent level, if that falls through, lower the rent it will be.
There will be no profit, we will be paying in to it, but as long as we get in a new Congress and they start paying down the debt and therefore avoid financial melt down, it should be fine. It's such a strange thing to know so clearly the link between what Congress does and my own future, as well as the future of my children. It makes politics stand out vividly in my mind. To that end, I am watching today's elections very closely.
I was waiting for Keith to clear CIF yesterday and got bored. I have a little journal I keep in my purse, so I fished it out and read through it.
9/9/08
"Darling, today I had to suddenly bury my face in your beret. I looked around at our bedroom; all was quiet and clean, all the surfaces glowing and warm, the familiar bedspread, my book and I thought, I am a lucky woman...I have a husband who loves me and misses me every second you are away and soon you'll be beside me, in the dark, curled up...I knew in that moment, without a doubt, that you'd come back and we would go forward in our lives with all its quiet pleasures. But even now, Darling, I have so much to be thankful for..."
I remembered that moment, as I read the entry again, and I had to take stock. Here we were, in November almost three months out of the deployment, almost a year and three months married, clearing post and moving to our first new home together.
He came out of the building, I recognized his face at once and I remembered all over again what it was like to see his face for the first time at the Welcome home ceremony and the way he walked to me, so masculine, chewing gum, massive shoulders, worn out ACUs.
"I just left," he said, as he got into the truck beside me. "There were forty more people in front of me, I couldn't make you wait that long. You wouldn't believe what some people are missing, there are people in there with entire duffel bags of stuff that got kicked back..."
(Just for the record, because he is so proud of himself for doing it, he cleared CIF almost entirely in one go and was missing only shoulder straps for something or other.)
Moving is an undeniably miserable process, but there is one good thing about it. It makes clear that everything is replaceable but the person one is moving with. Everything else is just flotsam that moves around the central players, who are thrown together closer through the process.
Speaking of the process, I have a great deal to do and had better get started.
Detritus washes up against the downstairs baseboards and spills off of chairs. There are deep indentations where furniture used to stand. Upstairs my suitcase is half full, waiting. The refrigerator gets emptier and emptier. I am Housewife, Interrupted.
My clever husband figured out a way to get under our weight limit. We were a thousand pounds over, which would have meant paying out of pocket for the excess, not exactly a happy prospect. His buddy, the guy that stayed here for about a week while waiting for a room, has hardly anything to move and is also PCS-ing to the same base.
Yesterday they shifted a lot of our furniture onto the brand new car trailer and trucked it off to the other fellow's storage unit. When he gets moved to his family's new home, our stuff will get trucked back to our new home.
I hope to goodness our realtor does not have to show the house today, because it is a wreck. The downstairs just looks sad. People continue to call about the house, but more than a few have been turned off by the neighborhood.
I can't blame them, it took me months before I felt comfortable walking outside. It will have to be a unique type of person to rent this house. It will have to be someone who came, like Keith and I did, from the school of hard knocks. It can't be any subdivision hot house flower type.
Unfortunately, that type would appreciate all the work Keith has put into the inside, but couldn't possibly face the HUD house right across the street. If I had kids, I wouldn't like it either.
Oh well. If we lower the rent even further, the sheer deal of it will attract people, especially in this market. We have something cooking up on the current rent level, if that falls through, lower the rent it will be.
There will be no profit, we will be paying in to it, but as long as we get in a new Congress and they start paying down the debt and therefore avoid financial melt down, it should be fine. It's such a strange thing to know so clearly the link between what Congress does and my own future, as well as the future of my children. It makes politics stand out vividly in my mind. To that end, I am watching today's elections very closely.
I was waiting for Keith to clear CIF yesterday and got bored. I have a little journal I keep in my purse, so I fished it out and read through it.
9/9/08
"Darling, today I had to suddenly bury my face in your beret. I looked around at our bedroom; all was quiet and clean, all the surfaces glowing and warm, the familiar bedspread, my book and I thought, I am a lucky woman...I have a husband who loves me and misses me every second you are away and soon you'll be beside me, in the dark, curled up...I knew in that moment, without a doubt, that you'd come back and we would go forward in our lives with all its quiet pleasures. But even now, Darling, I have so much to be thankful for..."
I remembered that moment, as I read the entry again, and I had to take stock. Here we were, in November almost three months out of the deployment, almost a year and three months married, clearing post and moving to our first new home together.
He came out of the building, I recognized his face at once and I remembered all over again what it was like to see his face for the first time at the Welcome home ceremony and the way he walked to me, so masculine, chewing gum, massive shoulders, worn out ACUs.
"I just left," he said, as he got into the truck beside me. "There were forty more people in front of me, I couldn't make you wait that long. You wouldn't believe what some people are missing, there are people in there with entire duffel bags of stuff that got kicked back..."
(Just for the record, because he is so proud of himself for doing it, he cleared CIF almost entirely in one go and was missing only shoulder straps for something or other.)
Moving is an undeniably miserable process, but there is one good thing about it. It makes clear that everything is replaceable but the person one is moving with. Everything else is just flotsam that moves around the central players, who are thrown together closer through the process.
Speaking of the process, I have a great deal to do and had better get started.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
November 1st-2nd
November 1st
My husband is "in his zone" which right now is defined by the downstairs coffee table tipped on its side. Within his zone he sorts though the mountainous piles of military gear, most of which he will be returning tomorrow.
I am coming down with something and feel listless, sad and disorganized. I should call various friends and make a date to say goodbye. I do not wish too and I already know that I will not. I will leave, as it were, in the dark of night. I will slink off, friendless, into virgin territory.
And there I will make no new friends. My verdict is in: I am not good friend material. I like casual acquaintances with whom I can make infrequent lunch dates at Asian bistros. (Since Keith hates Asian food, it's my only chance to enjoy sushi, General Zhou's chicken or red curry with beef.) I like casual acquaintances with whom I can keep up via Facebook and the occasional text message or infrequent long e-mail.
I do not wish for, nor am I any good with, anything more. I have moved through a few different emotional stages on this from "I am a terrible woman" to "I really should do better" to "I resent these societal obligations" to "this is just who I am and that's just what it is."
I still feel guilty sometimes and wonder what the heck is wrong with me, but more and more I am moving into acceptance and peace. Thank goodness. It's not like I'm thirty one years old or anything. It's not like I shouldn't have already come to terms with my own unique personality.
November 2nd
My husband is "in his zone" which right now is defined by the downstairs coffee table tipped on its side. Within his zone he sorts though the mountainous piles of military gear, most of which he will be returning tomorrow.
I am coming down with something and feel listless, sad and disorganized. I should call various friends and make a date to say goodbye. I do not wish too and I already know that I will not. I will leave, as it were, in the dark of night. I will slink off, friendless, into virgin territory.
And there I will make no new friends. My verdict is in: I am not good friend material. I like casual acquaintances with whom I can make infrequent lunch dates at Asian bistros. (Since Keith hates Asian food, it's my only chance to enjoy sushi, General Zhou's chicken or red curry with beef.) I like casual acquaintances with whom I can keep up via Facebook and the occasional text message or infrequent long e-mail.
I do not wish for, nor am I any good with, anything more. I have moved through a few different emotional stages on this from "I am a terrible woman" to "I really should do better" to "I resent these societal obligations" to "this is just who I am and that's just what it is."
I still feel guilty sometimes and wonder what the heck is wrong with me, but more and more I am moving into acceptance and peace. Thank goodness. It's not like I'm thirty one years old or anything. It's not like I shouldn't have already come to terms with my own unique personality.
November 2nd
The walls above me are bare. My husband has gone off to work, wearing his jaunty black beret and looking rather mouthwatering. Tomorrow is our last day before the movers come.
I went up to say goodbye to my brother the day before yesterday. We drove two hours north, through Denver. I love that drive, I used to make it often. It's overlaid with a lot of personal history. This time, of course, I felt sad.
I felt sad about leaving my brother behind. Last night I dreamed that he died. My whole family is scattered all around; Scott and Merissa in Minnesota, Tim in Colorado, Keith and I in Kentucky. I feel like a bad big sister leaving Tim to fend for himself in this huge, far western state.
Which is crazy, because Tim is an adult, nearly thirty years old. He has two children, a job, a place to live, a car. He's fine. He's going to be fine. But I still feel like a big deserting sister.
I can't help but notice as I write that I do seem to take a lot of responsibility for what other people think or feel. I must be getting some powerful kickback for feeling guilty, because I sure do indulge in it.
I wonder what life would be like if I just stopped feeling guilty?
I'm quite certain that I'm mildly depressed right now. I always get seasonally depressed around this time of the year, I tend to think it healthy in the long run. Living in New Hampshire, I found it essential to be able to stay in tune with the dying light, to allow my own pace to slow and just ease into this half of the year.
But right now, not only is it that time of the year, but I am moving, so I don't have a stable base. I've been kicking my butt out the door for at least a small walk outside each day and drinking a whole pot of green tea as well. That helps.
But mainly I'm just holding on, doing one thing at a time and looking forward to when we will be settled in our new house. I'll have a new kitchen to lay out exactly as I like, rooms to paint and arrange, meals to cook, a garden to plan for. It will be our first new house together and the start of a while new phase of our lives.
I'll be fine, just right now everything sucks.
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