I know, its been awhile since I've blogged. So sue me.
What I've discovered is that no one is reading my blog so I can write anything I want. I can use this page as free therapy if I choose to. I could rant about politics or religion or the economy, or why I can never seem to get organized. It doesn't matter since no ones reading it but me.
I could blog about all those things, but I won't. At least not for now. I've decided I need to stop using this as my personal soapbox about all things insane on the farm and start working on turning it into a blog with photos and updates about renovating the old house and then about living in the house and how it eventually turns out when its finished. I have to laugh when I even consider that it will ever be finished.
While I'm blogging about the house, I plan to also start posting photos of all the treasures I find when I'm out on one of my scouting trips. I hope to eventually spend time finding items that need a little TLC, give them a little love, then pass them on to someone else that will appreciate them.
That's the plan, for now.
Until then...
As of last week the house had gotten its 'rough-in' plumbing, electrical, framing, and HVAC. The painter started scraping the exterior, the 'addition' went up, the porches have been started, and the roofer is scheduled this week. Still have to get insulation, and the fireplace installed before the inspection. I try not to get excited or get my hopes up, but I feel a little glimmer of hope that we might actually have walls, heat, plumbing, a roof, and windows by November 1.
I just want to get in the house. All the other things can come later. I just need running water and electricity.
Seriously, that's all I need. I've been on a permanent camp out for the last month with no end in sight. It can be enjoyable and a bit on the romantic side, if you're a gypsy like me, but I'm looking forward to the day I can turn on a faucet and hot water comes out. And I really would like to use a toilet again. And a stove.
I'm so easy to please.
Monday, September 5, 2011
Monday, August 29, 2011
The Peace Talks Have Broken Down...
I'm a peace loving, will-hug-a-tree hippie shack living, love everybody type of woman.
Really, I am.
I hate fighting, arguing, insults and loud noises! Especially, loud yelling.
And yet, I found myself standing in a driveway listening to a cranky, miserable, hateful,
old man, yelling loudly at me.
Normally, and especially lately, I just walk away. I did walk away, at first. Then, out of pure shock, I expressed my disbelief over what I had just been called and that this family is worth nothing. I just couldn't let it go.
No, I wouldn't let it go. Even Jesus had his limits. I have my limits. You can't talk to me as if I'm not a person and expect me to not say anything. I said plenty. Mostly, I got my point across that just because I'm a female does NOT mean I'm worthless, or that you can yell at me, and I'm not stupid, and I don't lie. And...
I WILL NEVER LET A MAN THINK HE CAN BULLY ME JUST BECAUSE I'M A WOMAN! NEVER.
It was a horrible day. For everyone concerned.
And the worse part is that all we want to do is just live here.
I'm sad.
The war is still going on and the peace talks have broken down.
Stand by for shelling. This old man is going down.
Really, I am.
I hate fighting, arguing, insults and loud noises! Especially, loud yelling.
And yet, I found myself standing in a driveway listening to a cranky, miserable, hateful,
old man, yelling loudly at me.
Normally, and especially lately, I just walk away. I did walk away, at first. Then, out of pure shock, I expressed my disbelief over what I had just been called and that this family is worth nothing. I just couldn't let it go.
No, I wouldn't let it go. Even Jesus had his limits. I have my limits. You can't talk to me as if I'm not a person and expect me to not say anything. I said plenty. Mostly, I got my point across that just because I'm a female does NOT mean I'm worthless, or that you can yell at me, and I'm not stupid, and I don't lie. And...
I WILL NEVER LET A MAN THINK HE CAN BULLY ME JUST BECAUSE I'M A WOMAN! NEVER.
It was a horrible day. For everyone concerned.
And the worse part is that all we want to do is just live here.
I'm sad.
The war is still going on and the peace talks have broken down.
Stand by for shelling. This old man is going down.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Still Kicking....
Midnight on a Sunday...moving into another Monday. 3 weeks into the camper life and, amazingly, I'm still happy with my decision to move in here. Although, there were a couple of days recently...
I had just gotten excited about having my sister-in-law and her 2 kids move into their little, newly renovated cottage here on the property where my Tin Cottage sits. It was heavenly to see familiar faces, every day, and have visitors here. Plus, as a bonus, I now would have access to running water, a bathroom with hot shower, and a laundry room! We were all just giddy over being around each other. Then, things just went to hades.
Their first morning, less than 7 hours after their arrival, we had a huge rainstorm. Yes, we needed the rain, we always do, but they needed to move their furniture in and it just wasn't happening. The rain stopped eventually and they did get things moved in. The kids started coming to my camper to visit and mostly to check out how their crazy aunt is managing to live in this tiny tin can they affectionately call "The Hippie Shack". I was thrilled to have them around and to actually 'be' an aunt, finally. Life was getting better.
Just as we were settling into our new routine, and I use that term loosely, three days after their arrival, more natural excitement. We had been sitting outside enjoying the beautiful Kansas evening, having a little wine (probably vodka, but I can't remember), chatting, catching up. Visiting. We watched a storm over to the north of us and decided that we should go inside, but no worries about rain, "to far away." Goodnights were exchanged and we all went into our little homes. Less than 10 minutes later, my phone rang.
"Mom, where are you?"
"I'm in my camper. Why?"
"I don't want to scare you, but there's a big storm coming and I think you should go to grandma's, just to be safe."
"Are you sure?"
And that's when I felt the camper shaking; swaying, really, but moving.
"Oh, its getting really windy and there's thunder. Ok, I'm going to Monica's."
"Just go, now."
I grabbed my shoes, my phone and charger (I know, crazy), and called the dog. I opened the door, barely, against the wind and just managed to close it when the wind really kicked up. I just started running.
I ran the 30 yards to her back door and before I could knock, she had the door opened and helping me inside. I realized that I had held my shoes in my hand as I ran instead of putting them on. Probably a good thing.
What seems now like only a few minutes, but was probably more like 20, we heard a loud crack in between the thunder. We looked out the back door and when a bolt of lightning hit, we could see the biggest limb you can imagine, laying across the sidewalk leading to the back door I had just recently run to.
There were lots of exclamations, watching of storm, trying to find it on the internet, more exclamations, then the power went out. And it got warm inside. And I got sick.
This is when my terrible weekend started. This is when I wanted to get in my truck, with the dog, and just start driving back to Texas. What I did instead was go back to my camper, after the storm had passed, lay down to cool off and try to sleep. The next morning after seeing the damage, and realizing our power wasn't coming back on anytime soon, I got the dog and we headed to my daughter's house in town, hoping for a shower, some food, and a working a/c.
Got some food, some coffee, and there was hot water. There wasn't a/c.
I hate to say that I whined. Yep, independent, mature, resourceful woman that I am, started whining. Whining over the heat, the humidity, the lack of a/c, my headache, hunger, lack of a/c, needing a shower, needing clean clothes, being exhausted, lack of a/c. I fell asleep in her chair. I woke up for food. I feel asleep again. I called hotels but they all wanted too much money. I fell asleep again. I layed in the dark with a little fan on me wishing for a/c. It was a long night.
Next morning I found out that the power had come back on at 11 p.m. the night before. We were only without power for 24 hours. Lucky us. I got the dog and headed back to the farm. I couldn't shake my sour mood.
My camper had been without power for 24 hours. That shouldn't have mattered since it had been without anything for years while it sat in a driveway, waiting to be cleaned and cared for. Turns out 24 hours does matter. The frig was warm. The freezer was defrosting itself. The dishes from the day before were starting to smell. It was a hot mess.
I wanted to cry. I wanted to be back in my big house in Texas with the a/c on, the frig full, my big soft bed, and my husband there to tell me everything would be okay. I didn't want to clean out this little frig again. I didn't want to have to empty and clean out the port-a-potty. I didn't want to heat water on the camp stove to wash the dishes. I didn't wanna!!
Well, not that you'd know this about me, but I'm not a quitter.
So, I rolled up my sleeves and dug in. I took out trash; I heated water and cleaned all the dishes; I cleaned out the frig; I cleaned the potty; I organized. I cleaned the entire camper. It looked good then. I started digging the place again.
I put on some Billie Holliday and other 40's jazz music for inspiration. The day picked up. We had a great dinner under the stars that night. It turned out to be a good day.
I'm still here. Still fighting forward. I can't quit until the farmhouse is finished and we can move in. I just can't quit now. It will take more than a Kansas wind to knock me off my feet and send me back to Texas.
But a little 'whine' never hurts to help you get through a bad time.
I had just gotten excited about having my sister-in-law and her 2 kids move into their little, newly renovated cottage here on the property where my Tin Cottage sits. It was heavenly to see familiar faces, every day, and have visitors here. Plus, as a bonus, I now would have access to running water, a bathroom with hot shower, and a laundry room! We were all just giddy over being around each other. Then, things just went to hades.
Their first morning, less than 7 hours after their arrival, we had a huge rainstorm. Yes, we needed the rain, we always do, but they needed to move their furniture in and it just wasn't happening. The rain stopped eventually and they did get things moved in. The kids started coming to my camper to visit and mostly to check out how their crazy aunt is managing to live in this tiny tin can they affectionately call "The Hippie Shack". I was thrilled to have them around and to actually 'be' an aunt, finally. Life was getting better.
Just as we were settling into our new routine, and I use that term loosely, three days after their arrival, more natural excitement. We had been sitting outside enjoying the beautiful Kansas evening, having a little wine (probably vodka, but I can't remember), chatting, catching up. Visiting. We watched a storm over to the north of us and decided that we should go inside, but no worries about rain, "to far away." Goodnights were exchanged and we all went into our little homes. Less than 10 minutes later, my phone rang.
"Mom, where are you?"
"I'm in my camper. Why?"
"I don't want to scare you, but there's a big storm coming and I think you should go to grandma's, just to be safe."
"Are you sure?"
And that's when I felt the camper shaking; swaying, really, but moving.
"Oh, its getting really windy and there's thunder. Ok, I'm going to Monica's."
"Just go, now."
I grabbed my shoes, my phone and charger (I know, crazy), and called the dog. I opened the door, barely, against the wind and just managed to close it when the wind really kicked up. I just started running.
I ran the 30 yards to her back door and before I could knock, she had the door opened and helping me inside. I realized that I had held my shoes in my hand as I ran instead of putting them on. Probably a good thing.
What seems now like only a few minutes, but was probably more like 20, we heard a loud crack in between the thunder. We looked out the back door and when a bolt of lightning hit, we could see the biggest limb you can imagine, laying across the sidewalk leading to the back door I had just recently run to.
There were lots of exclamations, watching of storm, trying to find it on the internet, more exclamations, then the power went out. And it got warm inside. And I got sick.
This is when my terrible weekend started. This is when I wanted to get in my truck, with the dog, and just start driving back to Texas. What I did instead was go back to my camper, after the storm had passed, lay down to cool off and try to sleep. The next morning after seeing the damage, and realizing our power wasn't coming back on anytime soon, I got the dog and we headed to my daughter's house in town, hoping for a shower, some food, and a working a/c.
Got some food, some coffee, and there was hot water. There wasn't a/c.
I hate to say that I whined. Yep, independent, mature, resourceful woman that I am, started whining. Whining over the heat, the humidity, the lack of a/c, my headache, hunger, lack of a/c, needing a shower, needing clean clothes, being exhausted, lack of a/c. I fell asleep in her chair. I woke up for food. I feel asleep again. I called hotels but they all wanted too much money. I fell asleep again. I layed in the dark with a little fan on me wishing for a/c. It was a long night.
Next morning I found out that the power had come back on at 11 p.m. the night before. We were only without power for 24 hours. Lucky us. I got the dog and headed back to the farm. I couldn't shake my sour mood.
My camper had been without power for 24 hours. That shouldn't have mattered since it had been without anything for years while it sat in a driveway, waiting to be cleaned and cared for. Turns out 24 hours does matter. The frig was warm. The freezer was defrosting itself. The dishes from the day before were starting to smell. It was a hot mess.
I wanted to cry. I wanted to be back in my big house in Texas with the a/c on, the frig full, my big soft bed, and my husband there to tell me everything would be okay. I didn't want to clean out this little frig again. I didn't want to have to empty and clean out the port-a-potty. I didn't want to heat water on the camp stove to wash the dishes. I didn't wanna!!
Well, not that you'd know this about me, but I'm not a quitter.
So, I rolled up my sleeves and dug in. I took out trash; I heated water and cleaned all the dishes; I cleaned out the frig; I cleaned the potty; I organized. I cleaned the entire camper. It looked good then. I started digging the place again.
I put on some Billie Holliday and other 40's jazz music for inspiration. The day picked up. We had a great dinner under the stars that night. It turned out to be a good day.
I'm still here. Still fighting forward. I can't quit until the farmhouse is finished and we can move in. I just can't quit now. It will take more than a Kansas wind to knock me off my feet and send me back to Texas.
But a little 'whine' never hurts to help you get through a bad time.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Its All About Perspective...
Perspective - a view or a way of seeing things based on experience and personality.
Lately, I've been spending alot of time thinking about how my perspective of my current living situation affects my ability to continue aforementioned living situation. My situation being that I am living in a small, aluminum camper with no plumbing, at the back of my sister-in-law's property, while waiting for the contractor to finish his part of renovating the ancient family farmhouse. I know; it sounds so blissful when I put it that way. Actually, I've realized that how I choose to look at the situation means that it can be blissful - or not.
It all depends on me. Me and my perspective. (Sounds like a song title doesn't it?)
Since moving here to start the renovation, I've had days that made me feel as if I had somehow taken my mind out of my head and left it somewhere along the trip from Texas to Kansas. I'm talking 'stark-raving mad' type of days. Not that I ever let on to anyone that all I wanted to do some days was sit in a corner, headphones in, slugging on a bottle of vodka, and talking to myself in between heaving sobs. Saying something like that out loud would have certainly had me labeled as 'needing medication' and I'm not playing that game anymore. Been there, done that. Just because my contractor neglected to add the room for the hvac system in his bid which is now going to cost us an extra $6000 we hadn't planned on, doesn't mean that I need to start twitching and shouting obscenities to random strangers. I'm pretty sure that would get me arrested anyway. And just because the man my mother-in-law married detests the sight of me (for reasons unknown to me) and thinks our house should have been burned down, I'm not going to yell at the kid bagging my groceries or the meter maid downtown as she's writing my fifth parking ticket this month. I'm not going to yell at crying babies just because my truck got hit TWICE in one month. It wouldn't help to do any of those things. Crying, yelling, drinking (excessively in one sitting), cursing, ranting, being in a generally foul mood...never makes the bad days better.
What makes the bad days, or moments, tolerable is the way I choose to look at things. The fact that I choose to not let those little things bother me so much that I can't find a way to enjoy the moments that bring me happiness.
Moments like sitting in the stands at a local community fair listening to string music, watching children dance along, listening to my friends laughing, watching the sunset all the while knowing that people have been coming to this fair for over a hundred years, mostly just to see each other and stay connected.
Like seeing a buck come out of the trees south of our house and knowing that he feels safe there.
And sitting on the deck at our friend's house, after a fantastic meal, watching the full moon come up on the horizon and everyone got quiet, because sometimes there's just nothing to say when nature makes an entrance into your world.
Feeling exhilarated at standing outside during a thunderstorm that cracks so loud you feel it in your gut and you know you should run inside but you want to experience it as long as you can.
Finally, under a full moon and perfect temperatures, seeing Neil Young live in concert and knowing you're there to support local farmers.
Its not just the big moments I see through rose-colored glasses. There are thousands of little moments every day that cause me to stop and give out a breath of gratitude to the universe for bringing me to this place, at this time, with these people.
I'm grateful that I have the sense to realize how fortunate I am. How a few miserable people can't, and won't, cause me to quit or leave. Grateful for the sense to realize that its all in how I look at things...
Its all about perspective. If you could see the view from my front porch, you'd understand.
Lately, I've been spending alot of time thinking about how my perspective of my current living situation affects my ability to continue aforementioned living situation. My situation being that I am living in a small, aluminum camper with no plumbing, at the back of my sister-in-law's property, while waiting for the contractor to finish his part of renovating the ancient family farmhouse. I know; it sounds so blissful when I put it that way. Actually, I've realized that how I choose to look at the situation means that it can be blissful - or not.
It all depends on me. Me and my perspective. (Sounds like a song title doesn't it?)
Since moving here to start the renovation, I've had days that made me feel as if I had somehow taken my mind out of my head and left it somewhere along the trip from Texas to Kansas. I'm talking 'stark-raving mad' type of days. Not that I ever let on to anyone that all I wanted to do some days was sit in a corner, headphones in, slugging on a bottle of vodka, and talking to myself in between heaving sobs. Saying something like that out loud would have certainly had me labeled as 'needing medication' and I'm not playing that game anymore. Been there, done that. Just because my contractor neglected to add the room for the hvac system in his bid which is now going to cost us an extra $6000 we hadn't planned on, doesn't mean that I need to start twitching and shouting obscenities to random strangers. I'm pretty sure that would get me arrested anyway. And just because the man my mother-in-law married detests the sight of me (for reasons unknown to me) and thinks our house should have been burned down, I'm not going to yell at the kid bagging my groceries or the meter maid downtown as she's writing my fifth parking ticket this month. I'm not going to yell at crying babies just because my truck got hit TWICE in one month. It wouldn't help to do any of those things. Crying, yelling, drinking (excessively in one sitting), cursing, ranting, being in a generally foul mood...never makes the bad days better.
What makes the bad days, or moments, tolerable is the way I choose to look at things. The fact that I choose to not let those little things bother me so much that I can't find a way to enjoy the moments that bring me happiness.
Moments like sitting in the stands at a local community fair listening to string music, watching children dance along, listening to my friends laughing, watching the sunset all the while knowing that people have been coming to this fair for over a hundred years, mostly just to see each other and stay connected.
Like seeing a buck come out of the trees south of our house and knowing that he feels safe there.
And sitting on the deck at our friend's house, after a fantastic meal, watching the full moon come up on the horizon and everyone got quiet, because sometimes there's just nothing to say when nature makes an entrance into your world.
Feeling exhilarated at standing outside during a thunderstorm that cracks so loud you feel it in your gut and you know you should run inside but you want to experience it as long as you can.
Finally, under a full moon and perfect temperatures, seeing Neil Young live in concert and knowing you're there to support local farmers.
Its not just the big moments I see through rose-colored glasses. There are thousands of little moments every day that cause me to stop and give out a breath of gratitude to the universe for bringing me to this place, at this time, with these people.
I'm grateful that I have the sense to realize how fortunate I am. How a few miserable people can't, and won't, cause me to quit or leave. Grateful for the sense to realize that its all in how I look at things...
Its all about perspective. If you could see the view from my front porch, you'd understand.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
I Want the French Life...
Long, frustrating day, again. Still no word from the missing contractor, who only two weeks ago promised hubby that drywall would be up in 3 weeks. One & a half weeks to go; maybe he'll keep that promise. And maybe, my bitter, grouchy, anger-riddled, hermit of a man, step father in law will disappear. Then my life would be tres bon!
After this long, frustrating day, I was perusing some of my favorite blogs. I noticed that the majority of them are French themed. There are blogs about a paris farmgirl who lives in a french farmhouse (somewhere in the US), a lady who loves all things French from flea markets, (also living in the US), and others that proclaim Vive la France with each blog posting.
I read this blogs and look at the photos and drool over the items in their shops, all the while wishing I were more french. Or just a little bit french. I want to wear red lipstick while canning fresh tomatoes from my 'jardin'; I want to wear my hair in a twist or a ponytail while discussing literature, and brocante. I want to cook coq au vin with truffle oil and serve it with an old french vin. Je nais se pas un fille. Je suis un mademoiselle. I want to be a French woman. I want to decorate my maison with all things white, old, carved, and comfortable. Oh how I want to be in my house, decorating, sewing, cooking, baking, entertaining, drinking wine after dinner with friends around the table.
Don't I deserve this? Haven't I worked hard for this? Aren't I just un petite francais?
What I am these days is a woman living in a tin cottage with a port-a-potty, an old dog that tears things up, no running water, no shower nearby, no idea how to dress to go to town anymore, using a one burner camp stove to cook, fighting off flying insects that manage to get through the screens, and having no one to talk to or to rant to about all things frustrating. I have no table to sit at even if I were cooking meals ala Julia Child. I have no reason to wear stylish clothes or perfume. I barely do anything to my hair other than run my fingers through it. I don't wear makeup. I don't care.
I want to turn on a faucet, preferably a chrome one over a porcelain sink, and have beautiful water run over my hands, face, and into buckets. I want to have hot water to wash my dishes in and rinse my clothes. I want to sit in a tub full of water and soak until my skin shrivels. I want to be decadent and spend a half hour on my skin regimen. I want to wash my hair over and over then style it and put on makeup because I am going out. I want to sleep in a bed again. I want to have more than 24 ft to turn around in.
What I have is a plastic mattress covered with plastic then a sheet on top. I have a burner to cook on, thankfully I have a le crueset pan to cook in. I sit in my undies under a fan eating sloppy joe sandwiches and vodka with fruit juice. I use a frig that has a spoon twisted in a string tightly to keep the door closed. A freezer that needs defrosting every 4 days. No where to put my clothes or things. I've no room for living. I'm just here. I'm just waiting for my contractor to see how important this house is to me and finish his work expeditiously. I'm waiting for my hubby to get a transfer to be here with me and be my partner in the project. I'm waiting for my mother-in-law to tell her husband to shut the hell up and leave us alone. I'm waiting for someone to come visit me once in a while so I don't turn into the 'Shining' and start talking to myself.
The worst part is that I only moved out here a little over a week ago. I have months to go. I wonder why all of us that love all things french don't give up this american lifestyle and move to France. Safer to be here and proclaim our 'french-ness'.
Safer, easier, more exotic maybe. Oh I want....
Viva la France mon amies! Come see me. I'll make coq au vin. Or something like it.
After this long, frustrating day, I was perusing some of my favorite blogs. I noticed that the majority of them are French themed. There are blogs about a paris farmgirl who lives in a french farmhouse (somewhere in the US), a lady who loves all things French from flea markets, (also living in the US), and others that proclaim Vive la France with each blog posting.
I read this blogs and look at the photos and drool over the items in their shops, all the while wishing I were more french. Or just a little bit french. I want to wear red lipstick while canning fresh tomatoes from my 'jardin'; I want to wear my hair in a twist or a ponytail while discussing literature, and brocante. I want to cook coq au vin with truffle oil and serve it with an old french vin. Je nais se pas un fille. Je suis un mademoiselle. I want to be a French woman. I want to decorate my maison with all things white, old, carved, and comfortable. Oh how I want to be in my house, decorating, sewing, cooking, baking, entertaining, drinking wine after dinner with friends around the table.
Don't I deserve this? Haven't I worked hard for this? Aren't I just un petite francais?
What I am these days is a woman living in a tin cottage with a port-a-potty, an old dog that tears things up, no running water, no shower nearby, no idea how to dress to go to town anymore, using a one burner camp stove to cook, fighting off flying insects that manage to get through the screens, and having no one to talk to or to rant to about all things frustrating. I have no table to sit at even if I were cooking meals ala Julia Child. I have no reason to wear stylish clothes or perfume. I barely do anything to my hair other than run my fingers through it. I don't wear makeup. I don't care.
I want to turn on a faucet, preferably a chrome one over a porcelain sink, and have beautiful water run over my hands, face, and into buckets. I want to have hot water to wash my dishes in and rinse my clothes. I want to sit in a tub full of water and soak until my skin shrivels. I want to be decadent and spend a half hour on my skin regimen. I want to wash my hair over and over then style it and put on makeup because I am going out. I want to sleep in a bed again. I want to have more than 24 ft to turn around in.
What I have is a plastic mattress covered with plastic then a sheet on top. I have a burner to cook on, thankfully I have a le crueset pan to cook in. I sit in my undies under a fan eating sloppy joe sandwiches and vodka with fruit juice. I use a frig that has a spoon twisted in a string tightly to keep the door closed. A freezer that needs defrosting every 4 days. No where to put my clothes or things. I've no room for living. I'm just here. I'm just waiting for my contractor to see how important this house is to me and finish his work expeditiously. I'm waiting for my hubby to get a transfer to be here with me and be my partner in the project. I'm waiting for my mother-in-law to tell her husband to shut the hell up and leave us alone. I'm waiting for someone to come visit me once in a while so I don't turn into the 'Shining' and start talking to myself.
The worst part is that I only moved out here a little over a week ago. I have months to go. I wonder why all of us that love all things french don't give up this american lifestyle and move to France. Safer to be here and proclaim our 'french-ness'.
Safer, easier, more exotic maybe. Oh I want....
Viva la France mon amies! Come see me. I'll make coq au vin. Or something like it.
Is There A Problem Here, or is it Just Me?
Do I just not get it or does no one understand contractors modus operandi?
Heard from mine on Friday morning, then nothing. I texted him, emailed him a couple times, hubby emailed him, I waited then called and left a voice mail. NOTHING. not so much as a courtesy return call/message/text. I guess he really doesn't care what we think or how we feel.
If I do hear from him, which would shock me, I intend to act like I don't know who he is. I'll say something like, "gee, I really wish I could write you another check, but our house hasn't sold, so, if you could wait... it will be in the mail."
I want to treat him like he has treated us. I want to teach him a lesson. I want him to be a grown-up! I'm ready to fire his ass. He has no idea.
I went down to the house today, a Monday, and no one has been there. No work has been done for days. And, there is trash blowing everywhere. What is it with construction crews? They finish something and literally drop it where they stand. I will not have trash blowing around the countryside. I feel a Frankenstein moment coming on. AAARRRRRGGGGHHHHH. I just want him to do what I hired him to do and to get it done without going over budget, and by November 1. Is that too much to ask??!!
I go down to the house at least every day now that I'm staying out here. I get mixed emotions being there now. I love, love being out here where its quiet and still and peace is so close. I would live in this Tin Cottage forever just to be out here. It doesn't escape me how fortunate I am. I'm grateful. I acknowledge this.
It does not,however, take away my frustration at getting our house finished.
I thought my mother-in-law's husband was my greatest teacher. And he is teaching me how to practice buddhism. Now I'm sure my greatest teacher is my contractor. Teaching me patience, acceptance, trust, and compassion. I'm working with such great effort that I don't know if I'll ever be able to make this my 'first nature.' I want to trust him to do what he said he would, in the time frame he said he could finish, and under the original bid. I just want to be in our house. In our forever house. We have so much to do,and we're not getting younger.
So, now I question, "what's the hurry?"
The hurry is that I'm already 52 and not getting any younger. I just want to get on with the business of living.
Living in our home would be a jump start to that!
Can I get an amen!
Heard from mine on Friday morning, then nothing. I texted him, emailed him a couple times, hubby emailed him, I waited then called and left a voice mail. NOTHING. not so much as a courtesy return call/message/text. I guess he really doesn't care what we think or how we feel.
If I do hear from him, which would shock me, I intend to act like I don't know who he is. I'll say something like, "gee, I really wish I could write you another check, but our house hasn't sold, so, if you could wait... it will be in the mail."
I want to treat him like he has treated us. I want to teach him a lesson. I want him to be a grown-up! I'm ready to fire his ass. He has no idea.
I went down to the house today, a Monday, and no one has been there. No work has been done for days. And, there is trash blowing everywhere. What is it with construction crews? They finish something and literally drop it where they stand. I will not have trash blowing around the countryside. I feel a Frankenstein moment coming on. AAARRRRRGGGGHHHHH. I just want him to do what I hired him to do and to get it done without going over budget, and by November 1. Is that too much to ask??!!
I go down to the house at least every day now that I'm staying out here. I get mixed emotions being there now. I love, love being out here where its quiet and still and peace is so close. I would live in this Tin Cottage forever just to be out here. It doesn't escape me how fortunate I am. I'm grateful. I acknowledge this.
It does not,however, take away my frustration at getting our house finished.
I thought my mother-in-law's husband was my greatest teacher. And he is teaching me how to practice buddhism. Now I'm sure my greatest teacher is my contractor. Teaching me patience, acceptance, trust, and compassion. I'm working with such great effort that I don't know if I'll ever be able to make this my 'first nature.' I want to trust him to do what he said he would, in the time frame he said he could finish, and under the original bid. I just want to be in our house. In our forever house. We have so much to do,and we're not getting younger.
So, now I question, "what's the hurry?"
The hurry is that I'm already 52 and not getting any younger. I just want to get on with the business of living.
Living in our home would be a jump start to that!
Can I get an amen!
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Its a Strange Country Life ....
I made a promise to myself: try to blog at least every other day. I've discovered that the older you get, the harder it can be to keep promises. Especially the ones you make to yourself. The only thing that's inspiring me to continue journaling, is that I've discovered country life is different.
For those of you who have lived in the country, this isn't news. For you who have dreamed of living in the country, take note. I'm not saying its bad, or weird, or harder, or scary (though there are times); its just different.
For some reason, living out here, only 8 miles from town, I've begun to act and think differently. I find that I spend far too much time in reflection; thinking, deeply, about life and its nuances and how it has affected me. Its a simple thing really, or should be, to move to the country. I think I mean to 'live' in the country. Different, but better.
Better by far. I like spending time during a rain storm reflecting on how I came to be here, why I'm here, what needs to be done, and deeper ideas like 'today is all I have right now, best to make sure this day is a great one,' and 'if not for a man who left Ireland, and settled in Kansas, then the son of the son of the son of that man would not exist and we would not be here.'
See what I mean? Deep thoughts. Thankfully I don't have those all the time. Some times I'm just working, hard, at making sure things are ready when my contractor gives the word. I have no intention of having this project fall behind schedule because of my not being able to make a decision. So I also spend time, usually in the heat of the day, or during a rain storm (which we've had two major ones today) thinking, planning, choosing, looking at magazines, cutting out photos, writing, and generally making a plan to hand said contractor all my ideas, with materials, as soon as he ask for them. My plan is to say, "here are my plans, ideas, the materials to use, where I want things, how I want them to look and function; make it happen and stay under budget."
I think about alot since I've moved out here.
I think about the way I'm living, basic and rudimentary, and how it might seem unneccesary and rustic to some people, and comfortable and fortunate to others. I haven't really given up anything to live in the Tin Cottage for a couple of months. I'm living well. And, I've chosen to live this way. Well, I didn't choose to not have plumbing, but other than that, all is well. I eat well, have plenty to keep me busy, I have transportation, family nearby, money in the bank, I'm cool when its hot outside, dry when it rains... what else could I possibly need? Life is good. I think about the people who haven't chose to live without all those things. I say a prayer of thanks to the universe every day for all that I have.
I have.... a camping toilet now. I feel like a rich woman when I sit down to go potty. Its a luxury I hadn't planned on, but grateful to my mother-in-law for the gift. No one at her place was using it, so, it came to me. I'm learning that when you ask the universe for what you need, and you put it out there to people, you tend to get what you ask for. It might not be exactly what you were asking for, but you will be blessed.
I asked for a place to stay so I could be nearby while the house is being renovated. Check.
I asked for plumbing.
half a check. I have water nearby and a heat source. Close enough.
I asked for a toilet.
Big check!
I asked for some rain to cool us off.
Check again.
I asked for friends and family and time spent with them.
Check, check, check.
As I mentioned in the beginning, life in the country is different. A storm swelled up out of nowhere today and blew in a hard rain, strong winds, and hail. I was feeling anxious, then it passed and went on its way. I then spent some time trying to clean an antique stove I'm planning on using in the farmhouse. It looks good, so far. Then I rode my bike across the road and took a shower at my mom-in-laws. When I came out, the air outside had cooled and the clouds were hanging around. It was glorious.
As I rode my bike back to the Cottage, I was overwhelmed with my fortunes. With the cool air, the breeze at my back, my faithful dog running behind trying to keep up, my dry and lovely cottage that was loaned to me. I looked out over the green fields thinking I must be in the french or Irish countryside. How can it be that me, a spit of a little girl from the south, could be blessed with all this?
Like I said, its different.
For those of you who have lived in the country, this isn't news. For you who have dreamed of living in the country, take note. I'm not saying its bad, or weird, or harder, or scary (though there are times); its just different.
For some reason, living out here, only 8 miles from town, I've begun to act and think differently. I find that I spend far too much time in reflection; thinking, deeply, about life and its nuances and how it has affected me. Its a simple thing really, or should be, to move to the country. I think I mean to 'live' in the country. Different, but better.
Better by far. I like spending time during a rain storm reflecting on how I came to be here, why I'm here, what needs to be done, and deeper ideas like 'today is all I have right now, best to make sure this day is a great one,' and 'if not for a man who left Ireland, and settled in Kansas, then the son of the son of the son of that man would not exist and we would not be here.'
See what I mean? Deep thoughts. Thankfully I don't have those all the time. Some times I'm just working, hard, at making sure things are ready when my contractor gives the word. I have no intention of having this project fall behind schedule because of my not being able to make a decision. So I also spend time, usually in the heat of the day, or during a rain storm (which we've had two major ones today) thinking, planning, choosing, looking at magazines, cutting out photos, writing, and generally making a plan to hand said contractor all my ideas, with materials, as soon as he ask for them. My plan is to say, "here are my plans, ideas, the materials to use, where I want things, how I want them to look and function; make it happen and stay under budget."
I think about alot since I've moved out here.
I think about the way I'm living, basic and rudimentary, and how it might seem unneccesary and rustic to some people, and comfortable and fortunate to others. I haven't really given up anything to live in the Tin Cottage for a couple of months. I'm living well. And, I've chosen to live this way. Well, I didn't choose to not have plumbing, but other than that, all is well. I eat well, have plenty to keep me busy, I have transportation, family nearby, money in the bank, I'm cool when its hot outside, dry when it rains... what else could I possibly need? Life is good. I think about the people who haven't chose to live without all those things. I say a prayer of thanks to the universe every day for all that I have.
I have.... a camping toilet now. I feel like a rich woman when I sit down to go potty. Its a luxury I hadn't planned on, but grateful to my mother-in-law for the gift. No one at her place was using it, so, it came to me. I'm learning that when you ask the universe for what you need, and you put it out there to people, you tend to get what you ask for. It might not be exactly what you were asking for, but you will be blessed.
I asked for a place to stay so I could be nearby while the house is being renovated. Check.
I asked for plumbing.
half a check. I have water nearby and a heat source. Close enough.
I asked for a toilet.
Big check!
I asked for some rain to cool us off.
Check again.
I asked for friends and family and time spent with them.
Check, check, check.
As I mentioned in the beginning, life in the country is different. A storm swelled up out of nowhere today and blew in a hard rain, strong winds, and hail. I was feeling anxious, then it passed and went on its way. I then spent some time trying to clean an antique stove I'm planning on using in the farmhouse. It looks good, so far. Then I rode my bike across the road and took a shower at my mom-in-laws. When I came out, the air outside had cooled and the clouds were hanging around. It was glorious.
As I rode my bike back to the Cottage, I was overwhelmed with my fortunes. With the cool air, the breeze at my back, my faithful dog running behind trying to keep up, my dry and lovely cottage that was loaned to me. I looked out over the green fields thinking I must be in the french or Irish countryside. How can it be that me, a spit of a little girl from the south, could be blessed with all this?
Its funny that I say 'all' this. Some people might think I have nothing right now. But I beg to differ. Its all perspective. I am sitting here, late at night, or early in the morning really, drinking good vodka from a pink china cup, eating chocolate-zucchini bread, listening to the rain on the roof, thinking about today, and looking at crystal chandeliers that I'd like to buy. Yes, crystal chandeliers.
Just because you live a simple, bare life doesn't mean you have to give up the bling.
Like I said, its different.
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