struggle


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We are safe right now. Nannygoat, Lloyd, Ladybug, and Butterball were evacuated this morning around 4:30am. It took her two hours to make the drive here (20 miles). We are currently watching and trying to stay awake from only having a few hours sleep. We have to stay vigilant as we are a little surrounding by fires in a high fire danger area.

Will update if anything new happens.

Oh yea, and like Frigga I got the day off work. If work is still there….

Wow, did my team suck today. Well the defense was awesome, but it doesn’t do much good if the offense forgets to show up for the game. Today Bear went to visit her horse, Apache. She didn’t ride though. Apparently, she and the trainer decided that she had an “affinity” with the trainer’s horse (who NO ONE can ride because it is a retired Thoroughbred race horse) and she should ride Rio. Apparently Rio and Bear got along so well, that Bear did her first JUMPS today. Truly amazing, since after $600 and three months of effort she had only trotted a few times. Now she cares for, practices with, trots and canters. And as of today she rides “unride-able, but by one” thoroughbreds and jumps! In three weeks! She has a natural ability and a lovely seat. To see her on that long-legged thoroughbred with her tall, thin frame is beauty in motion.

On a sadder note my beloved first chihuahua Don Juan who has been bitten by a six foot Southern Pacific rattlesnake (saving my 7 year old) yet survived and brutally ravaged by a coyote last year (barely surviving with a punctured lung, three broken ribs, and a gash so large in his neck that they had to put a giant drain in it for weeks) seems extremely ill this evening. He is very subdued, won’t eat, and seems to be struggling to breath. He turned down salami for hecks sake. He was fine this morning and I don’t know what to think. It could be a respiratory infection or….who knows. I do know that I don’t have a dime to spare, I don’t have dimes to feed us. I so wish that Mr. Vixen’s state disability had not so suddenly ended and that it will take months to get his permanent disability approved. Why do these things always happen on a Sunday, four mere days before I get paid??????

So, the leach field was beyond salvage. We have no choice but to put her out to pasture. As of this morning, our toilet is again non-functioning. It lasted approximately 48 hours. Now I am back to the yellow beast in the barn. So if posts are slow and not very entertaining you will know why. I lose some of m shimmer when I keep having to run way over there to the cold, dark barn. Catch ya on the flip side.

The torment continues. I have survived exactly 9 days way out in the country that is my new home. Living out of boxes as I unpack them, counting, seriously counting the day until there is internet and cable TV. That was today.

I am posting from work **sob**

There is no internet. There is no cable TV. There is a very, very unhappy Mr. Vixen and three very unhappy cubs who’s entire lives (their E N T I R E lives people) depend on either TV (Mr. Vixen) or the internet (the cubs). There are online college classes starting…..and I CAN”T BLOG. Or read blogs. Or chat with my mom. It is killing me. I sit each evening on my porch and listen to the frogs croak and the coyotes howl and the rest of the family complain about how there is NO TV OR INTERNET.

The people I hired to do cable and internet. Fired. Unable to do the job. Refused. Denied. So now? DSL (oh please let it work) on Friday. TV? Possibly available in 2-3 weeks. Yes weeks. And I have already watched every DVD I own.

I may feed myself to the coyotes.

But in case you forgot…..moving sucks. AND I won’t have internet (except here at work, shhhhh) until June 5th.  Just didn’t want you all to think I had gone and died or anything (although it may have been close a couple times, especially that time when I was almost crushed between the side of the house and a sideways hot tub). Oh the stories to tell….soon.

In my family I am known as the Queen of Sarcasm, just so ya know. In case there is confusion, let me restate: the following comment is dripping with sarcasm.

I am currently having the time of my life.

Just wanted the universe to know.

I can’t get this song out of my head. I remember, as a child, when things were tough for me I would go find a place alone and sing it at the top of my lungs. Music has always been a major influence in my life, but I can not hold a note or sing in tune. But something about singing it as loud as I could, always made me feel better. That was during the very dark times of my life. I haven’t remembered waking up with it running through my head in maybe 30 years. Until this morning. Does that mean something? I know I am down, at the depths of something I can’t seem to put my finger on. Just an overwhelming something. A freind said today “I don’t like needing help.” For me that is an understatement. I don’t need help, I have always been in charge, I am always the strong one who makes things right. But this week, I asked for help. I don’t know when I slipped into this, but I just realized I am here. I thought I saw it coming and then I thought it was okay. Then I woke up one day and it had come right over me and I missed it.

So, I woke up this morning and the song was back. Maybe it means nothing. Maybe it means I need to start searching for my rainbow again, because Lord knows I am not doing well on this side of it.

My thoughts are consumed with the move. And because I can’t stop with entire the moving theme. Here are some tales of my previous moving experiences:

  1. Very Early 80s, from Vixen’s Mom’s house to “our” new home, 5 days before our wedding. All goes well (except that I leave the hose on for 12 hours at Mom’s and filled up the basement window wells while trying to water her roses) till the last load. With the truck full with the last of our goods the future-to-be Mr. Vixen (possibly having consumed a couple ice cold ones) instructs Vixen to follow him in the truck while he will ride his dirt bike to the new abode. This shall be done on the back roads to avoid possible meetings with police regarding dirt-only status of said motorcycle. Within 8 blocks of new abode, future-to-be Mr. Vixen decides to attempt wheelie on gravel road. Said motorcycle does not cooperate and dumps future-to-be Mr. Vixen onto said gravel road. This results in quite massive road-rash for future-to-be Mr. Vixen and an inability to stand up and walk the next morning which, in turn, results in Vixen taking him to a nearby emergency facility on a work day, and prompts her current assemployer to explain her services as an employee are no longer required. Ever.
  2. Late 80s, from tiny 1st house to new family home, includes 2 cubs ages 18 months and 4 years. This one goes wrong way before move in day. In order to procure the new homestead as cheaplyinexpensively as possible we have agreed in lieu of down-payment to perform sweat equity. We are to install an entire landscaping package: sprinklers, plants and sod. This must be performed prior to closing or no house for us. Days before this must be done, while doing a walk through, Mr. Vixen has a nasty fall while carrying 18 month old as he attempts to exit the new  homestead where there are no stairs. Mr. Vixen’s knee departs the realm of its normal resting place and 18 m.o. goes flying into a pile of re-bar. 18 m.o is ok, Mr. Vixen not so much. Another trip to an emergency facility is required. Mr. Vixen is outfitted with a full leg brace. Our moving company family has scheduled a 6 week trip to Alaska. A quick phone call to Vixen’s younger sister, 1300 miles away, results in a truck load of her old high school buddies arriving at the homestead and performing landscaping in exchange for ice cold ones. Actual moving of stuff is performed by Vixen 2-3 boxes at a time for the rest of eternity.
  3. Late 90s, 900 miles away, paid for by lovely employer.For this one, the actual moving is performed by a moving company (I heart moving companies paid for by someone else). They don’t actually move pets though, so the only drawback is the 900 mile drive Vixen (alone, as Mr. Vixen is already there working and has taken two cubs ages 6 and 10 years) must make in a small Hyundai with a Blue Tick Hound, a Bassett Hound, a Chihuahua and the 13 year old cub from hell. Said cub refusesis not enamored of the moving idea, which results in a kidnapping and then 900 miles of very, very angry cub. This adventure is further enhanced by the fact that only 120 miles into it, Vixen stops at a Walmart for leashes for dogs and promptly locks the dogs and the keys in the car. Not a single beast will hand her the keys through the open window, in fact the Bassett comes over and sits on them and stares at her dolefully.
  4. Same year as above, only 12 miles away.This should be easy. Only 12 miles, cubs can help carry things and we have a large rental truck. First load is packed, loaded, delivered and unpacked. During packing of second load after the demise of a large glass fronted stereo stand, it is noted that Mr. Vixen does not look well. He is, in fact, somewhat pale, sweaty and might even be clutching his chest? This requires yet another trip to an emergency facility, where Mr. Vixen spends the night. Luckily, my cubs KICK ASS and get a 17 year old friend to drive the rental truck with the rest of our stuff to the new house and unpack all the rest of our crap stuff. Mr. Vixen is release from torture emergency facility the next morning in time to return rental truck. He is fine.
  5. Present year, from current joint to points north, approx. 25 miles. Since this current home has seen us through 9 years of teenage to adult cubs, it has amassed quite a bit of density. Inside. As in it is packed. With crap. A full 2,450 square feet of crap. The new digs for Mr. Vixen and myself is 399 square feet. Yes you heard that right. I am moving into an RV. And youngest cubs space is a room 15’x15′. So the magic fairy arrived and moved everything for me and somehow made it fit. Oh, wait…never-mind I woke up.

Life hasn’t always been kind to me. But whatever it hands me, I create a plan and a backup plan in my head. They are not always the best ideas but I can function if I have these thoughts floating around in my head. I can take whatever is handed me, if I know what it is. Its the limbo I can’t take. The not knowing what the hell is going on, being unable to create some elaborate fantasy in my head (i.e., plan) to combat the worry. I can’t stand this slow torture of not having a firm hold on my life. Basic things like where am I going to live, where are my children going to lie there pretty little heads down at night, do I pack my stuff and move next month or do I hang in here as long as I can, in limbo land. I fricken hate limbo land. It destroys my mind and will. It zaps me like no other horrible thing that has happened in my life. Ladybug has two massive strokes at birth: I instantly have a plan, contact doctors, social workers, take care of NannyGoat. Macdougal develops a killer flesh eating bacteria and tries to die? I instantly have a plan. But this limbo shit? Its a piece of crap. A large steaming piece of crap, that I can smell but can’t see. If I could see it….I would have a plan about how to clean the shit up.

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