Camping Exhaustion

We got home last evening about 8:30. It was over 100 out. We left the car filled with camping stuff in the driveway. Went in the house and turned on the AC. I found some dim sum in the freezer and steamed them.
I took a long shower. I actually had to wash, rinse and repeat to get my shampoo to work on my crusty hair. Dirt and sweat from four days.
Today, the dogs woke us up at 5 a.m. as usual. We put them out. They barked. We brought them back in. Checked e-mail. Paul conked out on the sofa. I went back to bed at 9 a.m.
When I woke up at 11 a.m., Paul had pulled the car into the carport and was unloading. I watered my plants. Dragged the enormous dirty laundry bag into the laundry room and began sorting. Sprayed pre-wash on the stains, including Paul's hat - uck!
Went back online and read some Open Salon postings. By 3 p.m. I was exhausted again. Went back to bed. The radio was on. President Obama was giving a speech. In my dreams, he was at Horses Help and I was dressing him in a graduation gown.
Woke up at 5:30 and made garlic shrimp and garlic bread. Garlic stuff is good and easy.
Why are we so tired?
It took us about four hours yesterday to take down our campsite. It was extremely hot and there were horseflies. It was good to be on Stephen's "property" but there were some drawbacks: the aforementioned horseflies, not able to build a campfire (not Stephen's fault -- we were in the San Bernadino National Forest and there was a ban on campfires). We mostly like deep forests and we were camped on gravel by a pond that we couldn't see because of the overgrowth.
We did have a nice hike along the riverbed that runs past the property. I seem to have lost my camera, which is probably not so bad except that I took some terrific (probably) pictures. Maybe now I'll get a camera that works for my birthday. Hmmmm.
So now, because we're so exhausted, we're rethinking our next camping trip, which is supposed to be in the Santa Fe/Taos area next week, on our way to Little Rock to visit Becky and Anthony. It seems like cheating to leave the tent and camping stuff home and just motel it, but ugh, are we getting too old for the tent stuff? We need another day of rest to think about this. Meanwhile, I'm going back to bed -- after all, I've been up for two whole hours.

The New House

Why is it that some houses become HOME so quickly. From the moment we moved in -- well, after the landlord fixed the water pipes and after Charlie peed on the kitchen floor -- this place felt comfortable and RIGHT. We love sitting out on the porch in the morning having coffee and watching Charlie romp in the front yard. We love that the house stays cool enough to avoid turning on the AC until the outside temp reaches 100. We love that the dogs have a huge yard to play in and we have room for a nice-sized organic garden (starting in the fall -- hey, we live in the desert). We love being 10-15 minutes away from school or downtown Phoenix. We love the enormous mesquite tree that keeps the yard so cool and shades the southern exposure of the house. I love that my "heat resistant" tomato plants in the front yard are doing so well -- as are the herbs.
I love walking around the neighborhood each evening with Paul and the dogs. Waving "hello" to folks sitting out on their porches in the dusky evening light. I love checking out gardens, and the way houses are decorated. I love that we're close to two wonderful city parks where we can walk the dogs and watch people feeding the ducks and geese. 
I love that my neighborhood is a mini-UN -- Philipino-American, Mexican-American, African-American, Native American ... that's just the neighbors closest to us. The apartment complex a few blocks south holds primarily refugees. One way you can tell is how few cars are in the parking lot -- maybe a half-dozen throughout the whole complex. I also know because my church adopted one of the incoming Burmese families. We filled their new apartment with furniture, linens and food before they arrived and then gave them clothes and toiletries when they moved in. I wasn't part of the welcoming committee, but I did go over with some items to help prepare the apartment. I heard they were speechless with gratitude. Refugees get 90 days of support when they arrive; after that, they're on their own. Which is why they go through the neighborhood on recycling day, digging through the bins for aluminum cans that they can trade for a dollar a pound at the big recyclers on Grand Avenue.
I put up my Peace Be With You mezuzah immediately -- even thought I'd had it for several years. It just didn't seem right to hang it in the old house. I did hang it facing the street -- I KNOW that's not correct, but, then again, I'm not Jewish. I am happy here. My biggest worry is that next year when our lease is up, the owner will sell and we will have to move. I don't want to think about that. Not now. I am happy here.

Dog Training Update

Who’d have thought that our dogs would actually graduate from special ed and begin to do impressive things. Like … Charlie heels when I have the leash draped over my shoulder – one step closer to No Leash! And … Lily downs and then comes up to a sit. Also … Charlie can do an extended sit or down when I leave him at a distance (in a row with a dozen other dogs). Additionally … Lily and Charlie both went tearing after something in the front yard this morning (while the ‘rents were having our coffee) and we “clicked” them right back onto the porch!

Time is ticking away until we take them camping … will they (we) be ready??????

Packing for the New House

I'm taking a teeny break. We've been packing nonstop for the past several days. We DO have a house and it's downtown-ish -- 2.5 miles away from the park and ride for the light rail. Yay!!
I thought that we'd be getting rid of bunches of stuff -- it seems like we did, e.g. 3 carloads of books to the 2nd hand bookstore, but we still have sooooo much to pack! Stephen is coming tomorrow night to help. Yay again!!!
I'm gonna stop and watch I Love Lucy for a while.

In the Middle of Stuff

On Friday the 18th, our house was supposed to be auctioned. It wasn't. We found out when we received a notice several days later, taped to the garage door. Fannie Mae now owns our property. At the bottom of the notice was contact information for a Realtor. I called.
The gentleman on the phone had a kindly voice. Good start. His name is Joseph. Joseph asked me if I was the homeowner. "Not any more," I joked nervously.
He explained that Fannie Mae needed to know if the house was vacant, occupied by renters, or occupied by the original mortgage-holders. We are choice #3. Being a Friday afternoon, Joseph explained that he'd fax the information to Fannie Mae, but we probably wouldn't hear from him again until the middle of the next week. That's now.
"So the sheriff won't be backing up a moving van?" again a nervous joke. That's what I do when I'm scared. Either that or begin sobbing. I thought the nervous joking was a more acceptable choice. Joseph, again with the kindly voice, explained that Fannie Mae wanted to be ... he couldn't come up with the word. Have I mentioned that in addition to kindly, Joseph sounded quite elderly? I think he's the parent in the family real estate firm.
I tried to help him. "Nice? Considerate?"
"That's the idea," said Joseph. Kindly. "Considerate. They don't want to cause you additional pain."
I e-mailed our attorney, Robert. Robert is also kindly, but not at all elderly. And considering we paid him a chunk of change to support us during this transition, I suppose he has to be kindly.
Robert told me to determine our moving costs: security deposits, moving company, cleaning.
Cleaning? Is it possible that Fannie Mae will reimburse us to have the house cleaned? Wow! I'd never considered that. Ever.
Maybe this move won't be as traumatic as I've been imagining.
After my chat with Joseph and my e-mail to Robert, I jumped into research mode. I found a really cool website that had a map of the city with "push pins" indicating available rentals. Position the map in the area you want to rent, click on the push pin, and a box of info appears about that particular rental. After about an hour, I got pretty good at it. I zoomed in enough so that I could see the size of each push-pinned property. That way I could focus on individual houses rather than apartments. I used to have this fantasy that we could live in a sexy downtown loft in a high-rise. One glance around the reality of our lives, reminds me that this fantasy will have to stay in fantasy-land.
In reality-land, we need a house with a yard for the dogs, some area for Paul's "science projects" -- outside, definitely -- he's been known to mix things up that turn extremely toxic (that's a whole other post for another time). At one point I was doing some painting on the back patio; then it got either too hot or too cold and I put away my art supplies. I'd like to have a place where they could live.
Within these parameters, we want to pay the least amount of rent possible. That seems to be about $500 less than our current mortgage.
We want to spend the next year and a half socking away as much as we can so that if we decide to retire after the 2012 school year, we'll have a cushion to support us as we figure out our next adventure.
So now we're in that Limbo space:  some boxes  packed, but more things that we're still determining whether we should sell them or not. The antique organ, the sofa bed that no one ever sits on or sleeps in, boxes of books that we hauled from Delaware but never unpacked, the Mac equipment for editing videos -- now well over 10 years old, a dinosaur in the world of technology.
Today we're looking at rental properties. I hope we find one that we like and whose landlord approves us, warts and all. I will feel better having an image of where our life will continue on -- at least for the foreseeable future.

Dog Training Update

It's been two weeks since my last post about the dogs, and I have a bit of good news. Despite still being in the "kiddie pool" of dog training -- the beginning beginner's classes -- our pups are making progress. And I'm getting competitive.
Charlie (who is my responsibility) has been heeling rather nicely, and sitting at my side the moment I stop moving. This is a huge improvement from the first class, where he jumped all over me, tried to eat his leash, got tangled in his leash (often) and cried over Lily being ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE CIRCLE.
Lily (who is my husband's responsibility) is much more challenging. Although she sometimes walks nicely next to my husband, she is always on edge (and still wearing the muzzle). The trainer had him hold a dog treat near his knee; when Lily focused on the treat, she became much better.
We definitely have a long road ahead of us ... there is always an advanced class near us where the owners drop the leashes and walk away. The dogs sit in a row, peaceful, statue-like. It's amazing and I'm sure we'll eventually get there.
In the meantime I have a confession: I'm feeling the teeniest bit smug because Charlie is the teeniest bit more advanced than Lily.

Today Was the Day

The notices started showing up the first week in December. Sent by regular mail and certified mail.  A week later we received yet another batch. They really want to make sure we knew that the auction would be scheduled for today -- February 18, 2011.

I pictured a fast talking auctioneer standing in front of our house, gavel in hand, surrounded by hungry buyers. I pictured us, cowering behind the garden wall, listening to cigar-chomping investors bidding $5,000, $10,000 … SOLD to the gentleman in the porkpie hat for $15,000! 

In reality, everything is done at the court house downtown. Our house is part of a very long list being auctioned today. And since today is the Friday before a 3-day holiday, our attorney thinks there’s a very slim chance that it gets sold -- because everybody with $$$$ to buy houses has probably left for their ski resort house already. 

I suppose we won't know anything until the buyer (if there was one) has the closing. Then they get 72 hours (I think) to notify us. Then we have 30 days (I think) to vacate. It's hard to get a good answer on this, hence the "I thinks." But apparently, more of these buyers at auctions are investors, who are more than happy to rent the house back to you -- at least until they're ready to do something with it.

So, we are now officially in Limbo. I feel like I should start packing or something. Or sorting or something. But I'm so. very. tired.

Snowy Perspective

New Hampshire vacation.
Snow storm.
Lovely.
Nice long walks on brilliant crunchy virgin surfaces.
Magical ice crystals draping pines.
Hot toddies and a crackling fire.
Business trip to NYC. Same snow storm.
Grey, ugly slush.
Careening taxi splashes semi-frozen muck.
Best (and only) designer business suit covered with sooty wet blobs.
Back home to Delaware. Same snow storm.
Shovel massive driveway, endless curving sidewalk.
Bonked on head by killer icicle.
Raw, wet dampness invades half-dozen layers of snow gear.
Move to Arizona.
Look at snowstorm pictures. Sigh.

© 2011 Marilyn Stevens

Dog Training

We've been taking the dogs to training  for the last several weeks. They are in the "beginner" class.
Lily, the 4-year old probably German Shepherd-Whippet Mix has to wear a muzzle to training so she won't try to eat the other dogs in the class. This is quite embarrassing. She is a sweetie with people, but for some reason other dogs make her blood boil.
Charlie, the 9-month old probably German Shorthair Pointer-Jack Russell Mix doesn't need a muzzle. But he thinks of Lily as his mom, so he has separation anxiety and cries when he sees Lily ALL THE WAY ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE CIRCLE. This, too, is quite embarrassing. Unlike Lily, Charlie doesn't try to eat other dogs, however, he likes to bark at them. Incessantly.
We've never gone to dog school with any of our other dogs. Michelle was a mild-mannered Great Pyrenees who lumbered peacefully through life. As long as my mom gave her a "3-o'clock treat," and she went for a walk every day, she was fine. Paul made her an enormous dog house with a covered front porch. She regally reclined on her front porch, surveying the land and probably wishing for a few sheep to guard.
When Michelle was about 10, Nesta came into our life by way of our son and daughter-in-law, who rescued her from abandonment at the Farmer's Market. A sweet and loving black coon hound, Nesta's major fault was finding and rolling in decomposing squirrels, of which there were a ready supply in and around our property.
Michelle went to Dog Heaven at the ripe old (dog) age of 14, and we were glad to have our dear Nessy to comfort us. But poor Nesta experienced a string of bad luck. First, while Paul was walking her in the park, a pit bull in a yard facing the park jumped over three fences in order to attack her. He bit her in the haunches and fortunately, she had some extra fat on her, so the bite, while serious, wasn't as bad as it could have been. But that's when we found out that the extra fat was the result of hypothyroidism, so she had to go on thyroid medication. That was fine for awhile, until one evening when we were heading over to our son's to babysit. We always took Nesta with us because the kids loved to climb all over her. Walking to the car, Nesta walked right into the side of it. When we got to Michael's, she couldn't find the front steps. Inside the house, we noticed that she had her eyes closed. We looked at them and the whites were purple -- we rushed her to the emergency vet, who told us she had a rare blood disease. Cortisone might help -- in six months she'd either be cured or dead. She never recovered.
Dog-less, I was inconsolable. I cruised the Humane Society until Buddy emerged as the sure winner. A Golden mix, Buddy had been tagged as a potential therapy dog, and he definitely provided needed therapy for our mourning family. Sweet and gentle, his feather-duster tail and deep topaz eyes let us know we were his. He was pretty much the perfect dog. Like his predecessors, there didn't seem much need to take him to obedience school. He was already obedient.
Buddy survived the cross-country move to Arizona even though he spent part of the trip wearing a jade plant in the tiny cocoon of space he had in the overflowing station wagon.
For some reason, we felt it was important to get Buddy a pal after we'd lived in Phoenix for about a year. After a few unsuccessful matchmaking trials, Lily met his approval. Always the perfect gentleman, Buddy tolerated his little "sister's" continual antics, never complaining as she bounced around him, tugging his ears, dancing between his feet. Lily quickly became the alpha dog in the family. Even before she was fully grown, we had to stop taking both dogs to the dog park, because Lily would turn on some dog she'd just been playing with, and her loyal big brother felt it his duty to jump into the fray.
It was right about that time that we should have signed Lily up for obedience classes. But we didn't. Instead, we struggled with her on walks, as she strained against her leash, Buddy calmly loping behind her. She made a ruckus anytime anyone walked past the house, and our only response was a flaccid and unsuccessful "Lily, NO!"
We lost Buddy to an acute brain disorder shortly after he'd had surgery to remove his eye. All three if us, Lily, my husband and I sunk into a deep sadness. I had a new obsession: cruising the online rescue websites for a new puppy. Not a replacement for Buddy; there could never be a replacement. More, I was looking for something positive and joyful to focus on. Charlie became that something. A 16-pound puddle of puppy pudding when we adopted him, Charlie amazingly melted Lily's anti-dog heart. She quickly became Charlie's mom and we all focused on turning Charlie into a fine young adult.
Except that Lily couldn't help in that regard. Strong-willed and domineering, Lily might show Charlie the best place to go potty -- outside, not inside -- and how to sit for a treat, but she also taught him how to bark at anything coming anywhere near the house, the car, or us.
I bought a 5-hour training video that came with special collars and leashes. They ate the leashes. They didn't respond to the collars -- shaped like a mama dog's teeth, they were supposed to remind the dogs to be good. Our dogs didn't even seem to notice them -- the snap/tug made no impression.
We began interviewing dog trainers, settling on a company called "Sit Means Sit." They use electronic collars to "tap" the dogs, reminding them to pay attention. They also use cute little doggie cots, where the dogs are supposed to "place" when they're not otherwise engaged. As I write this the doggie cots sit empty. Lily is happily dozing on a chair in the living room; Charlie on the bed.
Paul and I are what you might call "laid back." So we are having to train ourselves even more than training the dogs. But we have a goal. We've never taken the dogs camping with us. Previously when we've gone camping, there's always been someone living at the house to watch the dogs. Now there isn't and our goal is to have wonderful, well-behaved dogs that can remain calm and off-leash on their little cots at our campsite, totally oblivious of all distractions -- unless there is a bear. Somehow we have to train them that it's okay to bark at bears.

Feeling Like Crap

I'm getting worried about me. Ever since September when my thyroid medicine stopped working, I have not felt like myself. Well, I had a nice blip of good-feeling-ness at Christmas, but that was totally supported by a cortisone shot and a prednisone pack. I always feel like superwoman when I take prednisone. But I guess it's worn off, because I'm back to feeling like crap.
It is hard to teach when you just want to stay in bed with the covers pulled over your head.
We're supposed to be planning our future and I want to curl up in a nice warm cave and hibernate. 
I had to bail out of my equine science class because I don't have the energy to stay up until 10:30 at night.
Several times I've had to call Horses Help and tell them I can't make it. That makes me feel even worse. I hate backing out on commitments. Plus, I love working at Horses Help.
I haven't been riding for months. I have my saddle sitting on this little room divider between what is supposed to be the living room and what is supposed to be the dining room -- so I look at it every time I sit at my laptop.
We signed the dogs up for training classes and I've missed two of them because I'm so dead. Paul takes one dog and the other dog looks at me and makes me feel guilty.
Our house is going on the auction block in less than three weeks -- have I done anything to prepare for the fact we may be homeless by the end of the month? No.
There was just a commercial on about depression. I know that's what I have, but I also know that it's related to my thyroid meds, so no anti-depressant or "talk therapy" will help. I'm beginning to not recognize myself.
I feel so sorry for my husband -- he's so good and patient, but the most he sees of me is when I leave for school in the morning or sometimes when I feel up enough to walk the dogs with him. He wants us to apply for teaching jobs in Abu Dhabi -- okay, whatever. Just put me on a plane and I'll do what you say. But just make sure we can take the dogs.
I miss everybody in Delaware, but I don't miss Delaware. I'm glad we're living in the West -- just not Phoenix. It's too big. I've had trouble staying awake on the freeway driving home from school -- more than a few times. This makes me really nervous. One day I realized that my eyes had actually closed when I was on the off-ramp.
I went to church and prayed for myself. I also told the woman in charge of the prayer chain what was going on with me -- I didn't think she was going to send it word-for-word to the entire prayer chain. Oh well, maybe it will help.
I think I'm scared. But I'm posting this because I'm hoping that someday soon I will be able to look at this and say, "Wow, that was creepy; glad it's over!" That's what I want.

My Crooked, Nonsensical Career Path: Chapter 2: When I Grow Up, I'm Gonna ...

Vacillating between large animal vet and Christian martyr, I must explain

Large animal vet, a reasonable choice

Horse crazy since the age of 2

Linda and I made plans.

We’d take over her grandparent’s farm, Chestnut Hill (this was before all the chestnut trees died of blight)

We’d both become vets

Caring for the cows and horses living in Ingleside, Maryland

Cows who licked our faces with their fat, warm tongues

We’d reach in and help mama birth her babe

Releasing the nose from afterbirth, helping direct mouth to udder

The horses … oh, the horses

We’d care for them so well that their grateful owners’d

Name foals after us

And once in a while give us one or two to raise

That was our dream

As we flopped back on the cool grass

Our plans as expansive as the bright sky overhead

Nothing, would stop us …

All this would occur of course

After we’d biked our way across Europe.

At least that was the plan.

Until I entered my religious phase

At the age of 12 I knew I had to become a nun

Was there a coincidence in the fact that my dad’s favorite niece

The one who baked him chocolate chip cookies every Christmas

Who’d been like a daughter to him all the years before I came along?

Could it possibly have anything to do with the fact

That she was a postulant in a convent in New Jersey?

We went to visit her

Awed by everything …

The convent/college on the grounds of a former manse

Nuns, enamored of the artwork that had been donated along with the property

Still, for the sake of modesty

Carefully painted soft linen draperies

Across all the private parts of the reclining (former) nudes

Along the hushed corridors

Nuns floated. I could almost see halos.

As soon as we got home, I signed up

For monthly vocational visits

To various convents around our city

There were lots.

My dad would drop me off.

Some nuns showed slide shows

Others prayed.

I fell in love with two different orders:

The first worked in Appalachia; nuns wore khakis and plaid flannel shirts

The slides showed them hiking up to remote cabins

Ministering to miners’ families

Little kids skipping by their sides.

And then I visited the cloister.

A bell at the heavy gate granted entrance into the walled fortress.

Through a grate at the door, I glimpsed a celestial face

An angelic novice smiled warmly, slowly opening the massive door

A vow of silence part of the deal.

Sitting around a worn oak table, Mother Superior read from scriptures

In the chapel, divine voices swelled heavenward

Latin hymns familiar, yet completely rebirthed in this environment.

Entranced, I was ready to sign on the dotted line

Except I also loved the missionary nuns.

What to do? What to do?

A life of prayer, hymns, making jams, kneading bread

All for the greater glory of God …

Versus …

The possibility of finding an abandoned pagan baby in the jungle

And baptizing him/her by a stream

Thus avoiding the possibility of an eternity in Limbo

(which is where all the unbaptized end up).

Chopping wood and not wearing a habit and being able to talk.

Until, surrounded by a marauding mob I would be martyred in some martyr-ish way:

Boiled in oil, crucified (upside down) … even a firing squad would get me a first-class ticket

To heaven. Martyrdom, I’d learned early on, had great bennies for the afterlife.

Then a boy named Pat kissed me

And amid the explosions going off in parts of my body

(That I had no idea had the capacity to explode like that)

I completely, and totally, and fully

Dropped the concept of becoming a nun (who becomes a martyr).

Just. Like. That.

© 2011 Marilyn Stevens

My Crooked, Nonsensical Career Path: Chapter 1: Child Labor

Shall I begin with dusting the knick-knacks?

I think yes.

Because I earned 25 cents a week

And became such an avid reader

That it led me to later, more lucrative pursuits

An explanation: the task, so dreaded, so heinous,

So every-freakin’-Saturday-morning –without-fail

It resulted, also without fail, in an internal peristalsis

Whose urgency was not to be ignored

And yet, once ensconced on the pink potty seat

Heavy tome in lap – sometimes fairy tales, or adventures

Mostly something to do with dogs or horses

Staying so long my legs fell asleep

Lost in the confluence of words on page

Staying way after the necessity had been completed

But …

Once a year we did the hardwood floors

With a product called Renuzit

I took my time on the stairs, soaking in the noxious fumes

The fragrance so heavenly (and may explain, I’m thinking now,

Some future health problems, also assisted by obsessively trailing after the mosquito truck on summer evenings on my bike)

I earned a little more working for my father

When he’d buy a house at auction

A house that had been unloved, steak grease on walls

And filthy carpets

But I earned a dollar, and rough hands, and getting to hang out with Daddy

© 2011 Marilyn Stevens