The Things Mike Brought and The Things Mike Left

Mike's job before he moved here, during the two weeks after he retired, was to go through all the stuff (i.e. crap) in our house and decide what to move and what to take to the dump/Goodwill/give away/burn. This was after I had a major garage sale and gave away practically an entire house of stuff/crap. When I'd call him he'd be out playing golf, on his way to playing golf or on his way back from playing golf. Which explains the high level of stress I sensed in our phone calls three days before he was to leave for Redmond.

The day he loaded the truck, with help from a group of wonderful friends, he was calling me every 15 minutes to ask if he should bring something. "Should I bring the Monopoly game that I found under the couch that doesn't have any Monopoly money?" Should I bring the wooden box that weighs 100 pounds that has two camp stoves in it that don't work?" "Should I bring the generator that's still in a box that weighs 600 pounds that we've hauled from Oregon to Colorado?" "Should I bring the piece of carpet that the dogs sleep on in the garage?" "Should I bring the empty mayonnaise jars?"

What he didn't ask is if he should bring the Christmas cactus that my grandmother gave us for our wedding 28 years ago which I've babied along for 28 years...he gave that away to someone he can't remember. What he didn't ask is if he should bring the door that Ian has been decorating with stickers from all the Colorado ski areas that he's been to that he wants to use in his new room as a headboard...Jordan stopped at the house and mailed the door...it cost Mike $93. What he didn't ask is he he should bring the iris bulbs that I brought from Oregon given to me by a now passed aunt and planted in Colorado then dug back up to bring to Oregon in a box labeled IMPORTANT...he threw those away - he thought they were weeds.

I keep telling myself it's just stuff and that everything is replaceable. I guess I can buy a new Christmas cactus and pretend my grandmother gave it to me. I can also buy more bulbs. But I must admit that it's quite annoying when I see he used space in the van to bring two plastic garbage cans worth $1.50. Or a half a package of toilet paper. Or a broken broom. Or my favorite - an empty box. Seriously.

Oh well, I guess we really are starting a new life...maybe even with a new husband.

On Looking at Other People's Houses

We have found a house to put an offer on. Here are the things wrong with it: illegal wood stove, sloping floor in the bathroom, sloping roof, trees leaning against the deck, three dry ponds and a kitchen with no doors on the cabinets. Other than that it's perfect.

Seriously. I've looked at so many houses I've lost count. I thought this would be fun; it looks fun when they do it on HGTV. The people walk in to these somewhat perfect homes, complain about the border wallpaper and then make an offer which is accepted.

I walked into one house that had a sunken hot tub in the bedroom; if I fell out of bed I could drown. One house had an escape hatch next to the fireplace that led to the illegal garage. Another house had a barn for miniature horses-you had to duck to get into it. One house had a chandelier in the middle of the living room that even I, at 5'8', hit my head on.

I've looked at dirty homes, homes where the plumbing had been ripped through the walls, homes where the cat fur was so thick I thought it was a cool kind of wallpaper until I touched it. One house had an Italian villa theme going on, right down to the mounted flower boxes in the dining room with plastic geraniums stuck in real dirt.  One house had no septic; I guess the sewer ran out into the pasture, which explained the really, really green grass.

I'm tired of looking at homes. I want someone to buy one for me and then fix it for me and then move all our stuff out of storage for me and paint the walls and decorate and fix a crock pot of stew and then I come home.

We're living in a 700 square foot apartment with two dogs who are NOT used to living inside. Bodie, our collie, is not adapting well. He does not like a leash, he does not like to come when called, he hates the dog park and all the dogs in it and insists on laying down in the middle of our 6'x6 kitchen. Mona however, has decided she likes apartment living. She likes the dog park since she's much more sociable than Bodie, she doesn't mind a leash and she loves sneaking onto the couch at night (how does she know when to get down???). She may have a harder time adjusting back to being a farm dog.

Regardless of anything, we may be in a new-old house by Christmas ducking under the roof and roping ourselves through the bathroom.

Mike and His Journey to Redmond

Mike will be here this afternoon. He left Vale, Oregon about 8 a.m. and a normal person would take about six hours to get here. Mike and I do many things well together; we play well together, we raise our kids well together, we still enjoy each other's company. One thing we do not do well together is "Get Ready to Travel." We travel well together, but we DO NOT "Get Ready to Travel"  well together.

I like a schedule. I like to have motel rooms, lodging and directions planned ahead of time. I like my bag packed the night before. I do not like to get to Arizona and realize I have not packed my swimsuit. I do not like to drive aimlessly around a strange town or a dark forest at night hoping a camping spot miraculously appears. I do not like to rely on a 10 year old Atlas to find my way anywhere in the United States. I like to know there are places to stay at night. I like to have the printed page of the Google map in my hand when we leave our driveway. And I like to leave our driveway on time.

Since Mike is bringing my horse I have already pre-arranged boarding. I have sent him the Google directions on how to get to the horse boarding spots. I have talked to the people who run these places. I know and have relayed this information to Mike, as to what he needs when he gets there. However, Mike is the kind of traveler that puts a horse in a horse trailer and forgets to put the hay in the trailer, that I specifically left for him WITH A NOTE ON THE HAY THAT SAID "BRING THIS HAY." This is why he calls me at 10 pm from Evanston, Wyoming wanting to know if he can feed my horse alfalfa cubes since he's forgotten the hay.

There are many things wrong with this. One - Mike and I have been married 28 years and he should know by now not to let me know that he has: forgotten the hay, forgotten the locks for the horse trailer and the stall and lost the directions. I haven't seen Mike in three months however after that conversation I no longer wanted to see him. Two- he did not leave Granby at 8 am, he left at 11. I'm the person in our relationship that says, "It's 8:05, we were supposed to leave 5 minutes ago. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

In Vale, Oregon, the second night of his trip, I have arranged for my horse to stay at the vet clinic. I have orally communicated to Mike the directions to get there, the phone number of the clinic and IF he is not there by a certain time he needs to call the phone number (of which I have given him) and leave a message so someone can be there to let him in.

Don't ask.

Maybe I'm a bit paranoid when it comes to Mike and my horse. Mike can fix, repair and build anything, which he does a lot of because of my horse. But he still hasn't figured out that when it comes to horses you really have to prepare for the worse case scenario because, let's face it, horses are large animals with small brains.

Mike called me while he was having Chaco's feet trimmed.  He thought it was funny that Chaco untied himself then wandered into the chicken coop. He thought it was funny that five minutes later after he re-tied him, Chaco actually crawled underneath the hitching post and ended up on the other side. Okay, Chaco is an entertaining horse, but he's also the same horse who got himself tangled in old wire at a neighbors because SOMEONE left the gate unlatched (that was a $180 vet bill.) He's the kind of horse that ended up at another neighbor's in his pasture chasing his cows, SOMEONE left the gate unlatched (the neighbor called the sheriff who fortunately did not give me ticket, just a warning for a "nuisance animal.")

I can't wait until Mike gets here safely .....okay, I can't wait until my horse gets here safely. I hope he can find Redmond, Oregon. I hope he remembered to put gas in the truck.

I hope he remembered to put my horse in the trailer.

Time Flies When You're Having Fun

What is worse than a 14 year old boy?

A 14 year old girl?

I don't know, maybe. According to Ian, everything is stupid or boring. School, classes, the neighbor next door with the cat with the collar, dinner, soccer practice and girls.

Teachers are labeled psycho. I think this is because in his health class they are studying mental illness, so now since Ian is an expert on mental illness, each one of his teachers has some sort of mental illness. His Biology teacher is Bi-Polar. His English teacher is Psycho. His Health teacher is schizophrenic. I haven't the heart to tell him that if they were indeed any of these diagnoses, they probably would have killed him or the entire class by now.(I really didn't wish to burst Ian's bubble about all his psycho teachers and tell him that they all had very nice things to say about him. Call me cruel but I like to remember these comments when I feel psycho about Ian.)

It's dumb that he has to keep a notebook. It's dumb that he has to use a pen. It's dumb that he has to write  BOTH of his names at the top of ALL  of the papers he turns in. It's dumb that he can't be late to class. It's really dumb that I went to Open House and, sin of all sins, talked to ALL of his teachers. It's dumb that Redmond has a curfew and it's really, really dumb that I make him come home before the curfew.

He insists that the curfew in Redmond is 1:00 am. I laughed when he told me this...if a curfew is 1:00 am, what's the point of a curfew? He said he talked to a policeman. I then showed him in the paper (Redmond is delightful in that it publishes the police reports..what a kick. Granby used to and it was the only good writing and entertainment that that paper offered) and pointed out where three youths were arrested at 10:36 for breaking curfew. He insists that it's a typo and should read 1:36.

 I remember Jordan at this age and how  he too drove me crazy and only spoke in monosyllables or grunts. I remember one time telling Jordan that "No, you cannot drive to Denver in a blizzard at 11:00 pm to visit friends I don't even know" and him telling me that I had ruined his life.

Here's my theory on raising teens.

If they think you're psycho and they hate you and they slam their bedroom doors a lot and you're ruining their life, you're doing a good job. No, you're doing a great job.

Two More Weeks as a Single Mom

We have sold our house...don't ask how much money we lost. I keep telling Mike that AT LEAST we sold our house and AT LEAST we'll be able to pay it off and AT LEAST we'll have money to buy another house and AT LEAST we aren't living in our car and AT LEAST we can buy groceries. These are all positive things but when you're dealing with men who deal in cold, hard facts, the only idea that keeps popping up is that we've lost a boatload of money. As you know, I was willing to give the house away or at least arrange with another poor seller a Two-for-One deal; buy one house get another free. But fortunately we sold the house and Mike is on his way to Oregon in about two weeks.

Ian and I are living in our apartment which we've come to call the "Japanese Feng-Shui" mode of living. Very spare, so much so that nothing gets in the way of the Chi in our place. As soon as Mike gets here we'll have our two dogs, one cat and a few pieces of furniture that we'll keep out of storage. All of this in 700 square feet located between two major roads in Redmond.

Our two dogs are not used to city living. Mike has to buy leashes before he comes this way since we don't even own leashes and most of the time Senorita Mona is missing her collar and tags. Our Collie, Bodie, is afraid of linoleum, tile and carpet.  Senorita Mona would like to be inside but she has a problem with flatulence. Our cat Bob is a barn cat, which means he's half wild. Mike's idea is to capture him, put him in an old chicken cage and transport him 1,000 miles. If he doesn't die of the stress and if he doesn't claw Mike to death in the whole capturing thing, he might be okay. I don't think Bob knows what a litter box is and he may destroy the walls in this apartment trying to escape, but Mike is determined to bring him.

There is a dog park one block from our apartment and I think we'll all have to take shifts with the dogs at the park. We may be down there enough so that more legitimate dog owners will call the city police to complain. I haven't yet informed Mike that we're going to have to pick up our dog "messes" in plastic bags that you can find on most of the street corners. We have big dogs. I am afraid this will mean big messes.

I'm hoping that the deal on our house closes quickly so we can buy the property we have our eye on and bring our animals there during the day and lock them in the barn at night. Most of the time our dogs figure out their boundaries quickly, although they still think Skip's 200 acres are part of their property. I'm hoping that the fences that surround the property will be enough to keep them contained. If not we'll all have to do the shift thing at this place until February, when, if things go according to Plan A, we'll have our house built. I hope so since I don't have a Plan B.