My friend Tess is a lot like me - she does not like Granby and wishes she were anywhere else, even back in Mississippi where she is from. She also home schools her two children; Cody and Katie and probably for the same reasons as I do; the schools are of poor quality and in Katie's case, she'd get in nothin' but trouble....which, put a few years on Ian, and he will too.
We spend our down-time in the library reading People magazines and feeling quite culturally illiterate since we never recognize any of the movie stars unless they've died, which means they're about our age. (Does anyone out there know who Kim Kardashian is? Why is she so famous? Does she sing, dance, act????)
Like me, Tess thinks it's weird that when people die in Grand County someone puts a death notice up, eye-level, on the door leading into the post office. Like me, Tess thinks it's weird that the Fed-Ex place is also the Verizon place which is also the place to buy fudge, Christian CDs, copy off platte maps and visit the chiropractor. Like me, Tess refuses to wear pajama bottoms to the grocery store and we've both told our husbands to shoot us if we ever do this.
So Tess and I spend our time making lists of things that are normal in Granby, but not normal anywhere else.
Here's our list:
The Fabric Nook, in a pinch, can lend you lye.
The Hardware store stocks all the things you see Billy (now dead) selling on TV (The WOW SHAM, a cake-pan shaped like a donut and my favorite, the pedi-egg,)
If you want to find Skip in the morning go to JavaLava, if you want to find him in the afternoon, go to McDonald's.
Ian (not my Ian, another one) will deliver cheesecake to your house.
In the winter, you can drive your snowmobile on the airport runway; Skip can drive on the airport runway anytime he wants.
The place that sells carpet can also stuff dead animals for you.
On the Little H.O. Road there's a family that floods their yard in the winter and all the kids can "skate" there and you don't even need to sign a waiver.
You can always find candy at the Rec Department next to the City Hall.
If you run out of money at the Come 'n' Go they'll still let you but things, even gas, if you promise to come back and pay them.
You don't need permits to build barns or dig ponds.
I think I'll be out of here before Tess; her house is also for sale. But maybe that's just wishful thinking. But you know, after reading the list, those things also just might be the things I'll miss the most.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Friday, February 18, 2011
Putting Your House on the Market or How to Not Get a Divorce
We have put our house on the market as of last Thursday. Previously to this day we spent almost every waking moment getting the house ready to put on the market.
I guess, according to our realtor, how you live is not how you sell your house (except for my friend Sam - anyone could walk into her house at anytime and think that it was for sale - it's that clean and stylish - I have no idea why she chooses me for her friend.)
For example, the molding along the floor has to be nailed in. I tried explaining to our realtor that when it's just setting against the wall it's much easier to vacuum. The beams have to be completely painted - not halfway and no, it's not an HGTV design, it's starting a project and then not wanting to finish it. And don't even get me started on the tub in the brand new bathroom.
Okay, I have to share it. Last winter we completely gutted our downstairs bathroom (with absolutely no permits, by the way....our realtor just shook her head at that one.) Mike went to Denver to pick up all the supplies, including the new tub. It fell out of the pickup on 1-70 (major West-East freeway) in front of a state policeman. The policeman did not give him a ticket and even helped him re-load the bathtub (I know, you're thinking white trash from Oklahoma, who else drops a bathtub out of the back of a truck?) I did not know any of these until one night, after six months of bathroom remodeling,(done by two of my ESL students who apparently do not know the difference between frio and caliente, which is why the handles are backwards) I took a bath in our new, bright white luxurious tub and then went out into the garage for something. There was water leaking out from under the wall.
I guess the bathtub had cracks from falling out of the back of the pickup on 1-70 at 75 miles per hour. I found this out after I yelled at Mike to come down and look at the water in the garage. Do you ever look at your husband and have one of those moments when you really, seriously, truly cannot remember why you married him? This was one of those moments.
I said, "Well, you better fix it." and stormed indignantly off (He might have slept on the couch that night.)
Mike's first idea was to take a chainsaw and cut it apart and put a new one in.
"Uh, huh," I replied, "And how are you going to get the new one in...chop it up also?"
His second idea was to call a tub re finisher. There was one in Craig, two hours away, who on the day he was supposed to show up did not and when I called he said he was claiming bankruptcy and his lawyer has advised him not to work (Does anything in this paragraph make sense to you?)
His last idea was to have me get on the Internet and research tub refinished projects, which I did and advised him on the one I thought he should get, which he didn't. Instead he went down to the hardware store and bought a boat repair kit.
Our realtor thinks it looks fine and as long as it doesn't leak, it should be okay. This is the same realtor who thinks the molding needs to be nailed in.....
So Mike and I have been working together every weekend for the last month. Mike and I can do many things together and thoroughly enjoy each other, like hiking and fishing, taking walks, going out to dinner, normal stuff. We cannot work together. We both want to be the boss and basically this just ends up with slamming ladders and phrases such as "No, I do not need your help."(And other phrases under your breath.)
Our house is up for sale and it snowed about 8 inches last night, which is good because if someone comes out this weekend to look maybe they won't notice that the paint on the garage trim is a different green than the green around the windows - Mike thinks green is green.
Don't even get me started.
I guess, according to our realtor, how you live is not how you sell your house (except for my friend Sam - anyone could walk into her house at anytime and think that it was for sale - it's that clean and stylish - I have no idea why she chooses me for her friend.)
For example, the molding along the floor has to be nailed in. I tried explaining to our realtor that when it's just setting against the wall it's much easier to vacuum. The beams have to be completely painted - not halfway and no, it's not an HGTV design, it's starting a project and then not wanting to finish it. And don't even get me started on the tub in the brand new bathroom.
Okay, I have to share it. Last winter we completely gutted our downstairs bathroom (with absolutely no permits, by the way....our realtor just shook her head at that one.) Mike went to Denver to pick up all the supplies, including the new tub. It fell out of the pickup on 1-70 (major West-East freeway) in front of a state policeman. The policeman did not give him a ticket and even helped him re-load the bathtub (I know, you're thinking white trash from Oklahoma, who else drops a bathtub out of the back of a truck?) I did not know any of these until one night, after six months of bathroom remodeling,(done by two of my ESL students who apparently do not know the difference between frio and caliente, which is why the handles are backwards) I took a bath in our new, bright white luxurious tub and then went out into the garage for something. There was water leaking out from under the wall.
I guess the bathtub had cracks from falling out of the back of the pickup on 1-70 at 75 miles per hour. I found this out after I yelled at Mike to come down and look at the water in the garage. Do you ever look at your husband and have one of those moments when you really, seriously, truly cannot remember why you married him? This was one of those moments.
I said, "Well, you better fix it." and stormed indignantly off (He might have slept on the couch that night.)
Mike's first idea was to take a chainsaw and cut it apart and put a new one in.
"Uh, huh," I replied, "And how are you going to get the new one in...chop it up also?"
His second idea was to call a tub re finisher. There was one in Craig, two hours away, who on the day he was supposed to show up did not and when I called he said he was claiming bankruptcy and his lawyer has advised him not to work (Does anything in this paragraph make sense to you?)
His last idea was to have me get on the Internet and research tub refinished projects, which I did and advised him on the one I thought he should get, which he didn't. Instead he went down to the hardware store and bought a boat repair kit.
Our realtor thinks it looks fine and as long as it doesn't leak, it should be okay. This is the same realtor who thinks the molding needs to be nailed in.....
So Mike and I have been working together every weekend for the last month. Mike and I can do many things together and thoroughly enjoy each other, like hiking and fishing, taking walks, going out to dinner, normal stuff. We cannot work together. We both want to be the boss and basically this just ends up with slamming ladders and phrases such as "No, I do not need your help."(And other phrases under your breath.)
Our house is up for sale and it snowed about 8 inches last night, which is good because if someone comes out this weekend to look maybe they won't notice that the paint on the garage trim is a different green than the green around the windows - Mike thinks green is green.
Don't even get me started.
Monday, February 14, 2011
The Weather and Standardized Tests
Last week I was driving to work; I was late because at 8:00 in the morning it was still 42 below zero and I envisioned myself driving off the road into snow and freezing in a moment. So I was late and driving slow like everyone else on the road. It was solid ice. I have a very smart car; it tells me such things like when I need to be in four-wheel drive (I pretty much keep in four-wheel drive all winter; why gamble with such things?) it tells me when I'm sliding (as if I might not notice) it tells me the temperature, it tells me what direction I'm going in, all the things I may not pay attention to - this car was made for me.
So I'm driving about 30 on a 60 mile per hour road and the radio announcer, with no hint of sarcasm at all, says "Today expect temperatures to reach a high of 0." I started laughing. It's ludicrous that I live where I live. I do not like snow. I do not like to be cold. I do not like to chop ice off the deck. I do not like to haul wood. But it was kind of funny. Living in such extreme weather gives me a certain amount of bragging rights. When I return to Oregon I can say things like, "32 degrees, you think this is cold??? Boy, when I lived in Colorado....."
Today the sun is out and the high reached 42. I went to the grocery store in a turtleneck, jeans and tennis shoes. Ian was outside wearing shorts and a sweatshirt. It's all relative.
We have to take CSAPs (which stands for something like Crazy Stupid Assessments Probably). It's the Colorado Standards Tests. Here's my reasoning on standardized tests; I don't want to take them. They have nothing to do with the curriculum, they do not integrate with the schools, they are merely for Colorado to see if students meets certain standards and do not tie into graduation. For a parent like me, they need to come up with some sort of threat, like if Ian doesn't take the CSAPs it will go on his PERMANENT RECORD.
My grandmother always threatened me with my PERMANENT RECORD. She said if you don't feed the pigs this will go on your PERMANENT RECORD. If you don't pick up your clothes from the stairs this will go on your PERMANENT RECORD. Pretty soon all my cousins were threatening me with my PERMANENT RECORD. If you tell Grandma we were smoking pot, it'll go on your PERMANENT RECORD. If you tell Grandma we stole the car, it'll go on your PERMANENT RECORD.
Besides, I have to drive Ian, four days in a row, to Steamboat Springs, one and a half hours away (on a good day). Every time I've been to Steamboat in the winter, they've closed the THE PASS (in Colorado, every road has a PASS that gets closed during winter weather.)
I've already petitioned to have the test moved to Steamboat; they originally had us scheduled to take it down in Denver and I hate Denver even on a good day. They probably won't take kindly to me petitioning to not take it because...
I don't want to drive.
I hate standardized tests.
I will not be in Colorado next year, so why should I care how the Colorado Department of Education looks?
There is no PERMANENT RECORD.
So I'm driving about 30 on a 60 mile per hour road and the radio announcer, with no hint of sarcasm at all, says "Today expect temperatures to reach a high of 0." I started laughing. It's ludicrous that I live where I live. I do not like snow. I do not like to be cold. I do not like to chop ice off the deck. I do not like to haul wood. But it was kind of funny. Living in such extreme weather gives me a certain amount of bragging rights. When I return to Oregon I can say things like, "32 degrees, you think this is cold??? Boy, when I lived in Colorado....."
Today the sun is out and the high reached 42. I went to the grocery store in a turtleneck, jeans and tennis shoes. Ian was outside wearing shorts and a sweatshirt. It's all relative.
We have to take CSAPs (which stands for something like Crazy Stupid Assessments Probably). It's the Colorado Standards Tests. Here's my reasoning on standardized tests; I don't want to take them. They have nothing to do with the curriculum, they do not integrate with the schools, they are merely for Colorado to see if students meets certain standards and do not tie into graduation. For a parent like me, they need to come up with some sort of threat, like if Ian doesn't take the CSAPs it will go on his PERMANENT RECORD.
My grandmother always threatened me with my PERMANENT RECORD. She said if you don't feed the pigs this will go on your PERMANENT RECORD. If you don't pick up your clothes from the stairs this will go on your PERMANENT RECORD. Pretty soon all my cousins were threatening me with my PERMANENT RECORD. If you tell Grandma we were smoking pot, it'll go on your PERMANENT RECORD. If you tell Grandma we stole the car, it'll go on your PERMANENT RECORD.
Besides, I have to drive Ian, four days in a row, to Steamboat Springs, one and a half hours away (on a good day). Every time I've been to Steamboat in the winter, they've closed the THE PASS (in Colorado, every road has a PASS that gets closed during winter weather.)
I've already petitioned to have the test moved to Steamboat; they originally had us scheduled to take it down in Denver and I hate Denver even on a good day. They probably won't take kindly to me petitioning to not take it because...
I don't want to drive.
I hate standardized tests.
I will not be in Colorado next year, so why should I care how the Colorado Department of Education looks?
There is no PERMANENT RECORD.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Ian on the Wrestling Team
I got a call about two months ago from the high school wrestling coach. He said he saw Ian "wrestling" during a PE class last year at the public school and thought Ian would be a good wrestler.
I had many wrestlers in my classes when I was a teacher at a high school in Oregon. They were all pretty nice kids once you got past the mashed up ears. The coach at that time was also a good guy and seemed to care about how decent his kids acted. In fact, if two kids in particular had been able to stay on the wrestling team for the rest of their lives, they probably never would have ended up in prison.
But there's something rather primitive about wrestling. I don't know if it's the weird "uniform" or the fact that there's a lot of squeaking at a wrestling meet because of the sweat on the mats, or the odd positions the boys find themselves in. I don't know what it is but I've never been a fan of wrestling. Then again I've never been a fan of soccer, cross country running, track, Nordic and downhill skiing and snowboarding however when you have kids in those sports you become a fan of them.
I am a fan of book reading, yoga, horseback riding, fishing, hiking and camping as long as it's not raining or cold.
Ian came home last night, his first night, and wanted to practice his moves on me. What makes a 13 year old boy think he can practice wrestling moves on his mom? I told him that was a dad thing. I use that excuse a lot. Like the sex talk - that was a dad thing. And the online porno talk - that was a dad thing. And the never quit a team talk - that was a dad thing.
These are the mom talks: using deodorant and why, stay away from girls and why, bring in wood and why, shovel and the deck and why and you'll never get a date acting like that and why.
Soon I will be sitting on some hard, metal bleacher in some smelly gym watching Ian grappling with some other kid whose mom probably doesn't understand wrestling either. All the dads will be sitting next to each other hitting each other on the shoulders and standing up yelling at the poor refs. Competitive sports is a strange idea but as long as I can read my book when Ian isn't wrestling I'm good.
I had many wrestlers in my classes when I was a teacher at a high school in Oregon. They were all pretty nice kids once you got past the mashed up ears. The coach at that time was also a good guy and seemed to care about how decent his kids acted. In fact, if two kids in particular had been able to stay on the wrestling team for the rest of their lives, they probably never would have ended up in prison.
But there's something rather primitive about wrestling. I don't know if it's the weird "uniform" or the fact that there's a lot of squeaking at a wrestling meet because of the sweat on the mats, or the odd positions the boys find themselves in. I don't know what it is but I've never been a fan of wrestling. Then again I've never been a fan of soccer, cross country running, track, Nordic and downhill skiing and snowboarding however when you have kids in those sports you become a fan of them.
I am a fan of book reading, yoga, horseback riding, fishing, hiking and camping as long as it's not raining or cold.
Ian came home last night, his first night, and wanted to practice his moves on me. What makes a 13 year old boy think he can practice wrestling moves on his mom? I told him that was a dad thing. I use that excuse a lot. Like the sex talk - that was a dad thing. And the online porno talk - that was a dad thing. And the never quit a team talk - that was a dad thing.
These are the mom talks: using deodorant and why, stay away from girls and why, bring in wood and why, shovel and the deck and why and you'll never get a date acting like that and why.
Soon I will be sitting on some hard, metal bleacher in some smelly gym watching Ian grappling with some other kid whose mom probably doesn't understand wrestling either. All the dads will be sitting next to each other hitting each other on the shoulders and standing up yelling at the poor refs. Competitive sports is a strange idea but as long as I can read my book when Ian isn't wrestling I'm good.
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