Christmas Trees (yes I'm crazy)

I'm still recovering from Christmas, the birth of my granddaughter and too much work.

The family was over for Christmas.  The only casualty was my coffee table, but that's a story for another day.

This post is to show my Christmas tree addiction.  The pictures aren't great, my 3MP camera is limited I thinks.  As are my skills.

Granddaughter!

Finally my granddaughter arrived.
8:00 am Monday, December 13th, 2010
8 pounds, 15 ounces
22 inches long

A head of  dark hair

Daughter finally had the first twinges of labor after she arrived at the hospital for her scheduled c-section.
Too late.  Surgery it was.  She and baby are doing well.

She said it was over in no time.  Baby girl arrived hungry.  Sucking on the doc's fingers at delivery.  By 9:30 she had already eaten 10cc of formula and had done a little nursing.

I was able to see her around noon.
I promised pictures.  So here they are.  Oh yeah.  I don't take very good pictures.

Nurse just woke her up.

Not sure she wants to be up.

Look at that Hair!

Mommy will be thrilled with this pic of her.

I've not ever posted pics of the grandson, so here's a couple recent ones of the little ham.

He's not really cross-eyed, just wanted to look at the camera.

Cars!

Rocks!

Grandma is Waiting. Patiently. Mostly.

And Waiting, waiting, waiting. 

Daughter had another appointment with her ob-gyn. 
New ultra sound. Baby about 7.5 lbs. 
In position. 

No further progression from last week. 

Due date 12/3. We're past that now. 

She set an appt. for c-sect on Monday 12/13. She'll be 10 days overdue by then. OB says that's long enough. 

She's hoping to go into labor and deliver before then. 

So? 

Waiting. For the phone to ring. 
Or for Monday. 

Sometime soon. There'll be a granddaughter. 

Then?

PICTURES!!!

Random Babble

It's been a busy couple of weeks. 

Trying to keep the restaurant together. Two of my waitresses are off for extended time. One surgery, the other crushed her hand in an accident, which will require surgery. 
One plague or another has visited most of my employees. Either the poop-n-pukes or the snot headed cough. 

Thanksgiving was good. The turkey over cooked itself a little (bad bird). But everything else was great. 
My daughter was a great help. Getting the house clean enough for company. And assisting me in the fooding.  

Sadly, once the festivities were over, I was blessed with the snot headed coughs and lost the next three days to Nyquil naps. Almost feeling human again. A shower will help with that. 

And. Daughter's doctor visit yesterday was promising. She has dilated 1cm and is showing signs of anytime now!  If you read my post Conflicted, you know this is exciting. 

Now. I need to start the next holiday insanity. Christmas is coming!  I love decorating. I'm a Christmas tree freak. I have, um, several.  

I'm babbling now. So. 
Til next time, Have a spiftacular day!

Now is the Time!

Ok.
So here I sit.
In my recliner.
Wondering why I feel like crap.

It occurs to me, as I sit, in my recliner, that it could be too much recliner sitting is making me feel like crap.
And bad eating habits.
And my job becoming more desk work than physical work.
Desk work followed by recliner sitting.
And bad food.

So, I'm going to try to correct this problem.

I have started with a daily vitamin. Yes, Centrum Silver. Laugh away. Hubby dear did.

And I'm going to find my yoga mat.
A couple of years ago, I was doing some yoga. Then got side tracked with the moving thing.
I will try to remember to start slowly.
Last time I figured I could start with a 10 minute session. That's a nice short workout.
I held the first pose for 20 seconds. My thigh muscle burned and my entire leg shook with exhaustion.
Well, I'd never done this before. Just have to work into it.
Two poses and 3 minutes later?
I was sure I was having a heart attack. I found my recliner and collapsed. Woke up an hour later.
But I kept at it. After a few weeks I could do 20 minutes. Then came the moving thing.

Now it's time to get back on track. I need to rebuild some muscle and lose some flabby stuff that someone dropped off here when I wasn't looking.

And I think I'll start back at 3 minutes. And work my way up again.

My Restaurant Hates Me

My daughter and I own a restaurant.  Or rather, it owns us. 
It's not fancy.  Probably more akin to a "greasy spoon" diner.  

My father managed restaurants, my mother was a bartender.  I remember growing up I thought having my own restaurant would be marvelous.  Creating exciting flavors, and serving them on pretty plates.  Having the happiest customers ever.

I'm just about over that now.

My daughter and I own the restaurant my parents bought in 1984.  We have inherited it.  We have a love/hate relationship with it.  Some days?  A lot of hate.

Owning a restaurant means you are on call 24/7.  The phone ringing at 3:30am is a given.  We are not only restaurant owners, we are cooks, dishwashers, servers, cashiers, bookkeepers, maintenance men, and social workers.

If someone calls in sick, we are very likely the ones to cover that shift.  If a piece of equipment breaks down, we try to troubleshoot it ourselves rather than call the real (overpriced cause you have to have it) repair services.  We do most of our own bookkeeping to keep down the cost of having an accountant to do everything.  We mediate differences between employees,  between customers. between employees and customers.

Some employees feel as long as they show up and clock in, they have earned pay.  Honestly?  Standing around watching the clock is not what I pay people to do.

Some feel that it is our job to arrange around their family life, social life, and appointments.  We try to be flexible.  We are at the bottom of the food chain is the retail world.  Minimum wage.  So flexible schedule is about the only "perk" we can offer.  But, really?  If one only works 3 days a week, can one not schedule their dental cleaning on one of the days they have off?

Some employees think employee meal is taking enough food home to feed the family.  Some think the coffee sale they put in their pocket instead of the cash register isn't going to hurt anything.  Some think we are making a fortune. Hah!

Some customers seem to think we acquire the food we serve for a reduced price or even for free.  They don't understand why we want to charge for extras.  I want to go to a hardware store, buy a hammer and ask why the nails don't come with it. 

Some customers think that if they eat 3/4 of a meal and decide they don't like it, they don't have to pay for it.  Why would someone eat most of a meal they didn't like?

I have listened to the medical woes of customers.  The marital problems of employees.  Tried to help out employees that are short on cash before payday.  Refereed the spats between servers.  Assured customers that to the best of our knowledge the eggs don't have salmonella.  Explained to customers and employees we HAVE called the soft drink machine people 5 times and they keep saying it's fixed every time and I can't FIX THE DAMN MACHINE MYSELF!!

I have explained to customers, more times than I can count that replacing hash browns with corned beef hash on the breakfast special for the same price just cannot be done.  That we use lemon juice packets, we are not upscale enough to keep real lemon slices on hand as I would throw out more than I served.  That we are a little bitty place without the space or equipment to do things like the high class place down the street does.  That's why our dinners are less that $6.00 a plate.

This business is not for the weak hearted.  It eats you alive.  Even for owners the pays sucks.  I'd make more money at Wally World.

Yet, in the end.  I'm still here.  Cause it's what I do.  And really?

Because I love it.

Conflicted

My daughter will be giving birth to my second grandchild in about 4 weeks.  I'm excited with her.  Because she has to be prepared, we know this one is a girl.  As we knew her first was a boy.

And not only is she prepared for the gender, with appropriate decor and clothing, she is prepared to have this baby naturally.

Her first pregnancy had a few issues.  She was plagued with high blood pressure.  Her doctor had her on bed rest for most of the final trimester.  

This time there isn't any problem with the blood pressure.  The measurements say she right on track.

One day before her due date, he insisted on inducing labor.  Her blood pressure was too high for his liking, and the baby seemed large.

The ob-gyn she has chosen for this second child told her there was no reason she couldn't have a vaginal delivery this time.

She wasn't really comfortable with the idea of inducing labor, but doctor knows what he's doing.  He's done this before.  Right?

She is adamant that she go into labor without drugs this time.  No inducing.  No epidural.

Once they induced labor, I watched as she became more and more uncomfortable.  As she refused the epidural.  As she failed to progress.
She finally accepted the epidural.  She relaxed.  Still no progression.

She is determined this time to not have a C-section.  She wants desperately to have a natural birth.

The doctor and nurses finally convinced her this baby wasn't coming.  They needed to do surgery.  In tears she finally gave in to the inevitable.  The surgery went well.  We were told we could go to recovery to see them.  Daddy, Grampa (Hubby dear) and Daddy's mother all cooed over the new baby.  I took a quick look to see that he was healthy.
Then, I went to my daughter.  She was cold with the after effects of surgery and surgical drugs.  She was tired.  I counted all her fingers and toes to make sure they were all there.  I stroked her hair.
I told her I loved her.

I understand she wants to do this differently.  It's important to her.  I'm trying to be as supportive as possible.

But....I'm afraid.  I don't want her to wait too long to go to surgery if it needs to be.  I don't want her to jeopardize herself for the need she feels for natural delivery. 

She is my baby.  She is my best friend.  She is my life.

Progress! Yay!

As I've posted before, I'm rearranging.  Moving furniture.  Paring down the "things"

Well.  I got an area done. 
A very important area.  My computer desk.  I'm giddy.

It was a chore. 
I made sure when I first moved here I'd have a small place for my desktop, and a corner for the laptop.  I had the internet hooked up before we were moved in.  I had given up my big desk and one printer so as not to take too much space.
But I missed my "office" space.  So, now due to the change in circumstances, I have rearranged for my desk.

It's on the opposite side of the room as the little desk I was using.  The cable line for the cable internet was available, but no phone jack. 
It only took Hubby dear 4 days to get around to running that for me.  Lots of cursing, laying on the floor (which was a task all its own considering the 1 dog and 3 cats and their questionable use of the facilities) and rewiring.
It took another hour to untangle and remember which cord went where. 
It took 10 more minutes to figure out, gee, you don't need a phone jack with digital voice service. Der.
And less than a minute for Hubby dear to realize that lying on the questionable floor was a totally unnecessary exercise.

He'll get over it. Eventually.

In the meantime, I'm all happified!  I have my desk, complete with the resident gargoyle and pretty beaded spiders (yes, I'm a wierdo).

Things

I've been living in my parents home again for a year now.  Mom passed in July, Daddy 6 years ago.  Finally this week, we've started to rearrange the house.  Right now I feel as though I've been living in a museum full of the personal things of people that have died.  And they are family.

There are things here that belonged to my Father's parents.  It was they that bought the house 60 years ago.  There are a few things that belonged to my Mother's parents.  Little things she got when they died.  There are things that belonged to my Father.  There are things that belonged to my Mother.  So many things.

I want my siblings to come over and help go through the things.  There are a few I would like to keep for sentimental reasons.  But most of these things?  Have become clutter.  I want to put my own personality in the rooms of this house I love. Some days I feel angry that I have all these things in my way. Some days I feel guilty for wanting to make space for my things. 

I want to live here.  I want to love here.  I don't want to be a caretaker of things. 

It is time to clean things out.

My Daughter What?

I was having a conversation with Hubby dear's youngest daughter.  She's 10 years older than my daughter.  When her father and I met she was 13.  She watched my daughter grow up.

Suddenly she says, "What was S's imaginary friend's name?  I remember she had one, but I can't remember the name."

I was blank.  That was so long ago.  She's 27 now.  Did she have an imaginary friend?  Damn, I should know!  She's MY daughter.
I thought for a little.  Then, yes!  I remember.  Her friend was Hakey.  And once...when she couldn't sleep for night terrors, she conjured a magic sword named Sunshine.  To let light into the darkness.  And her word for broken was "pootoo".  For a while, if anything was broken the whole family knew it was pootoo.

How could I forget?  What else have I forgotton?  How many precious bits are lost to me?

I didn't keep a diary.  Didn't have one of those cute baby books.  If blogging was around back then, I didn't have a clue. 

Maybe as I remember these little things, I'll just post them here.  And as the grandbabies grow, I'll make sure I don't forget.  Again. 

This blogging was a scary thing for me.  But maybe, it's not so scary after all.  Maybe...it's a little gift I can give myself.  When I forget something that may not have seemed important in the moment,  I can look back later and see the precious bit it really is.

Bathtub: a true adult temper tantrum

I want a bathtub.

When we moved here with my mother a year ago, we left behind a bathtub. We lived in an old mobile home, so the bathtub was small. Trailer sized. Couldn't stretch out. To get my head in the water, my butt was mashed against the far end. If I sucked my belly in, I might get a half inch of water cover. I hated that tub. It leaned a bit also. In the winter the bottom of it was freezing. In a trailer every wall is an outside wall. In an old trailer the walls are about two inches thin.

So, the tub stayed behind. Wasn't the kind of thing you generally move anyway.

There is no tub here. There are two shower stalls. One upstairs. One downstairs. Showers are good for quick cleaning. For when I get home from work smelling like a brine soaked, bacon wrapped French fry. To wash my hair.

But it's not a tub. Every time I drag myself to the shower,it mocks me. No stretching out. Have to stand there. Water just running away. No soaking. No bubbles.

I want a damn tub.

I want a tub I can take a nap in. I want a tub with water jets. Three settings. Relax, passout, and better than sex. I want bubbles and bath salts and loofas. I want a place around it for candles and a stereo. Space for the cats to perch if they're brave enough. I want to soak the day out of my body. I want to fill it with water hot enough to boil a lobster. Well, maybe just hot enough to loosen the tension knots. I want to float in a tub. With water lilies.

Sigh, Just a tub

Owed to Autumn

I took the dog outside this morning.  Weirdo dog cannot go out alone.  In the fenced in yard.  So I have to accompany him for his toilette.  In my pajamas and slippers.

Anyway, I'm waiting for fraidydog to do his thing, and hear the most wonderful noise.

Birds.  Birds singing and chirping. There were hundreds of chirpy conversations going on.  An ode to autumn.  A song of relief that the insanely hot weather of summer is gone.  A song of gathering and saving for a winter day.  Some calling each other for a last snack before heading south.

And the squirrels, gnawing on the harvest of black walnuts.  They sound like washboard players.  The one's in old bluegrass bands?  They cache most, eat some on the fly.  Their footprints and excavations for walnuts will be the only disturbance in the coming snows until spring. 

The chipmunks busy raiding the bird feeders for their own little storehouses.  Darting back and forth across the yard.  Making little squeaky noises as they gather. 

And the trees sighing to each other in the breeze.  Getting ready to shed their old drab green leaves for winter rest, having done the job of shading the house and the occasional person that braved the heat.  The reds and oranges and yellows are their bedtime kiss to us.  They are relieved to rest and throw roots to the job of gathering strength for spring.  When the bright green leaves will return, full of optimism for a new year.

I tend to hibernate more in summer than winter.  The heat and humidity wear me out.  But, fall is here!  I love the sounds and smells.  The crackling of brown leaves as I walk through them.  The smell of leaves burning in fall is a memory that has never faded.  Even though few do that anymore.  I miss that smell, it marries so well with the crisp air that is fall.  

So, I think I won't mind as much taking the dog outside.  If fact, I may go without as much prompting. 

Just to hear the trees wish me goodnight.

Creature Comfort

So. I'm loafing (again) in my chair. In front of the TV. My iPod in hand.
Been tweeting. Reading blogs. Replying to blogs. Trying to think of something remarkable to write.

Blank.

I could whine about the trials and tribulations of restaurant operation. But most of the tribulations are operator error.
I could complain about never-ending housework. But that is old news.

I think I'll write about the cat on my lap. Feel free to roll your eyes and move on. I understand.

So.
The cat on my lap is the newest of my three. When we moved into Mom's a year ago I had two.
This one was hanging around the back door, living under the steps and in the old cistern. Yes there is one of those here.
Anyway. After a short time I was able to coax her inside for short visits. When winter rolled in she was more than happy to become a house cat. And she was named. Sister Wee-un. I just call her Wee, six pounds of black fur and attitude.
She has made it clear to cat #1 that she intends to be TopCat. ASAP. Cat #1 is not yet ready to retire. Makes for interesting interactions. Cat #2 is enamored of her. He is wrapped, totally around her...paw.

Every time I sit today, she has found my lap. Quietly creeping in. Then practicing acupuncture on the tops of my legs. Until she has made them comfortable for herself.

And, I'm comforted my her warmth. Her trust. Cat people know, there is nothing quite like the company of a cat when you're tired, lonely, sad. They don't gaze at you the way a dog does, they just...be.
Once in a while, she'll reach out a snaky paw and tap my face, blink and mew. Then curl up tightly and purr her contentment with her little world.

And that little world? Includes me.

opening doors, finding skeletons

This blogging thing.  Is gonna cure me or kill me.  I'm not sure which way it'll go.

As I read my chosen ones, and those they've suggested, I sometimes dredge up an old memory. 

I realize I've shelved a lot of memories.  I just need to remember why.  I know some of the whys.

The very shy little girl... that didn't have friends because she was too afraid to talk to anyone.
The naive teenager... that didn't know what everyone else was talking about.
The young woman... who let herself finally go and didn't like what she'd become.
The single mother... who realized she wasn't the nurturing mommy type.
The wife... who even though she knew all the signs married the abusive man.
The adult child of an alcoholic... that can't mourn that parent properly.

There are many memories for each of those people.  They are not the person I am now. Or, are they?
 Is that why those memories are shelved?  Each of those people has a story.  Perhaps, as I get reaquainted with them...I'll introduce them.  In the meantime, there's only me.

Balancing Life...a contemplation of chaos

I have so many things I want to do.
I have  no concept of how to do them all.  Actually to do them all well.

I own a restaurant, which is a full time responsibility.
I bowl league twice a week.
I am twitterdicted, so I must check the timeline hourly (at least)
I beta test for 2 game developers.
I crochet (though not as much as I'd like anymore).
I love to read and haven't had the time.
I'm still organizing after our move, still have boxes to unpack.
I like to can my own food, which is usually a full day lost to prepping, boiling, waiting...
Hubby dear wants fed daily.
Three cats and one dog want fed daily.
I have now added blogging and the reading of blogs.
Grocery shopping needs done.  I hate grocery shopping.
And I have housework that never gets done.

I keep trying to figure out how to balance all this.  Is there a formula?  A schedule template?  And is there room in there somewhere for a nap?

I'd like to put some blame on Hubby dear for not being helpful enough.  But, he is the gardener, maintenance man and listener when I come home from work.  So, I'd be an asshat if I laid my lack of organization at his feet.  Especially since he ran most of the laundry yesterday while I had the dog and one cat at the vet.

I don't want to quit any activities.  But maybe we could add an extra few hours to the day, at least enough to get a nap. 

Think I'll work on that nap now, after I check my Twitter timeline, read a couple more blogs and see what's for dinner.  Oh, and it's time to feed the three cats and one dog.  They know what time it is,  and they're reminding me.

Short Confession of a Slob

I have a confession.  I'm a slob.  Been a slob my whole life.  Married a slob.  Well maybe slob is harsh.  Cluttered is closer.  .

And housework is something I have to make myself do.  I should be doing some right now.  But this has to be more important.  I've been a bit better at it since I'm in a real house, but the glamour is wearing off.  I even bought a new belt for the vacuum, and installed it, and vacuumed a couple of floors.  The rest of the floors need it yet. But, I required a break. 

In my head I know exactly what I want to get done, and how lovely it would be to not watch cat fluff roll across the floor like tumbleweeds.  But, really, do I have to?  Right now?

The floors want swept and mopped.
The end tables want cleared and dusted.  I have a habit of piling my life on table tops and stuffing bits into drawers.  I even banished coffee tables in my house because they become too stacked to see the TV.
There's a pile of junk mail, magazines, and paid bills that need filed, thrown out, shredded.
The kitchen counters need wiped and de-furred.
The bathrooms, just, eww.
There are still boxes to sort from the move.
Should be thinking about dinner.
And there's a load of laundry in the dryer to be folded.

I don't even have kids at home.  I have no excuse.  I just simply HATE housework.  I want a housekeeper.  If ever I won the lottery I'd set aside enough to hire a good housekeeper. 
I'm very jealous of people who can keep clean homes, actually I'm intimidated by people that keep clean homes.  I feel out of place in other people's clean homes.  I'm a clean house failure.

Sigh,  as I sit here avoiding housework, I realize the monitor needs cleaning.  Badly. 

Gramma and her iPod

As I've been sitting on my butt for the last three hours, with my iPod, reading, and replying occasionally, to tweets and blogs, I try to remember what I used to do before this little handful of technology entered my life. I can't remember. Since the the iPod entered my life/soul I've joined twitter, photobucket, google groups, skype, and I've just recently begun to "blog"(what does that mean, really?).

It all began innocently. A few games. Access to my email without going to the computer. Then came a silly little music game called TapTap Revenge. I tried it. I failed. I became annoyed. I tried again, and again. I got better. I made it to a top ten global leaderboard. I became a TTR addict. They had a twitter account, I signed up to win prizes. I was invited to join a "team" of a select few players to provide feedback. I needed a google account. I was Invited to become a beta tester.  I needed a skype account.

In the meantime, my twitter followers began to increase. From 2 family members to 20 mostly bowlers(did I mention I love to bowl) and TTR players/friends. I began following a few celebs. I gained a few more random followers. I gained a couple of local followers.

I needed a profile picture. I signed up to photobucket. I uploaded my picture. Somewhere along the way I started to become "social". I'm a loner by nature, my "real life" friends are few. I don't do lunches with the girls, my best friend is my daughter.

I retweeted a pretty saying and acquired pretty saying followers.  I followed some back.  My followers passed 100.  I tweet about coffee, several more(mostly trying to sell me their product), I followed anyway. Pushing 150.

I followed a tweeter called @salamicat.  I read her blog. I read blogs she recommended.  I thought about blogging (aren't you sorry now).  I started a blog.  For no good reason.  Well, maybe so someone besides my family could listen to me rant. 

Wow, this started as a story about how I thought I'd lost my beloved iPod once.  I have a grocery list app.  I have a lot of apps.  I have more apps than a gramma needs.  I'm an app addict.  Ok, back to the story.  Using my grocery list app, I went to the grocery store.  I brought my goodies and some food home.  It took an hour to unload, organize and put my purchases away.  I was singing to some song or other, don't remember what.  I sat down to relax, check emails and tweets, reached into my handbag (where the iPod lives) and.....NO IPOD!

I emptied the bag, muttering OMG OMG OMG!  My heart began to race.  I ran out to the car, under the seats, in the console.  NO IPOD!  OMG OMG OMG.

I began mentally retracing my steps.  Had the iPod out at the grocery, checking items off in my grocery list app.  So sure I put it back in the zipper compartment before I checked out.  It's gone!  What will I do? no one is going to turn in an iPod.  Someone is doing a happy dance.  With my iPod. 

I grabbed my keys, ready to go back to the store in hopes of a miracle.  Went to turn off the stereo as I left.
Stereo?  When did I turn on the stereo?  Oh.

Lookie there, in the iPod dock with the speaker.  Thank God, Hubby dear was not home to witness my meltdown.  He'd still be laughing.  The jerk.

Yes, you can go home again. pt2

So, here we were, less than a year after the move.  We were counting on Mom being around a few more years.  We'd barely settled into our little space at the back of the house and suddenly, we had an entire house to live in.  As the estate is settled, my brother will take over the mortgage for the time being and we'll pay rent. In time, I'll jointly own the property with him. It was made clear, if Hubby dear and I made this move, I intend to live the rest of my life here.

As we were redecorating the rooms in the back of the house we discovered a lot of "treasures".  The room we made into our bedroom was my parents room.  My parents chose to have separate rooms after the kids were all moved.  For five  or so years it was my Daddy's room.  He was a pack rat (a trait I've inherited) we found keys from cars long gone and locks that no longer exist.  An entire cabinet of knick knacks we had given him for birthdays, Father's days, and Christmases.  He was a Freemason, and there were dozens of books and trinkets from his time there.  I never knew Daddy to be a reader, but there were books I've not had time yet to explore.

Mom's things are more material, we siblings have our work cut out for us, trying to decide what to do with most of it.  She was busy for the last few years giving away or selling stuff. She has left little of her personality behind.  Her collection of swans and some puzzle books.  Since the house was also where Daddy grew up, I think she never made it her own.

That it was Daddy's home was made more apparent by the discovery of many of his mother's things still in the house.  My father's mother died in 1952 of cancer.  When she died my grandfather put all of her belongings in old steamer trunks and suitcases.  There are hundreds of pictures, a collection she had of postcards from 1910 until her death.  Utility statements from the 40's and 50's, letters from her family and friends, old dishes and kitchen utensils.  I often use a box grater that was hers.  I have found and read a few books that were hers.  And we haven't even begun to really sort through the trunks, they have her clothes and other personal belongings in them.  An adventure to come.

The property itself was neglected since Daddy died, and actually before.  Daddy was never a handyman.  He mowed grass.  And Mom's peonys.  We've reclaimed a lot of the yard, and the older neighbors have said it's the first flowers and gardens they've seen.  Although it's said Daddy's mother had roses and such.  We still see the irises she planted, and the pink tulips.  I remember those being around when I was a kid.  She had planted red cedars and they're still here.  Hubby dear's biggest complaint this summer was the cicadas.  He's never heard as many as loudly.  To me, they're a flashback to childhood.  They were perfect to me.


The transition was easier for me, I grew up here.  It took Hubby dear most of July.  He still watches TV in the back, I'm more actively in the main part of the house. As we're making this adjustment, we're starting to think about how we will remake this space into our own home. The room that was Mom's is in disarray, it will become our family room, and the makeshift living room in the back will return to its original purpose.  It will become a guest bedroom, a place for my grandson and the soon to arrive granddaughter to stay overnight.
 
This is a work in progress.  But I feel like I've come home.  All of my dream houses have had their roots in this house.  This is where I belong.  I am Home.

Yes, you can go home again. pt1

I remember hearing a long time ago the saying "you can never go home again".  I have to disagree. 

From 1988 to 2009, Hubby dear and I made our home in a 70's vintage mobile home.  It was 12' x 60' with a tip out.  The appliances which apparently came with it were harvest gold.  But it was home, on a reasonble sized lot in a mobile home park.  We were content with our small space.  We had made the little lot special with several mini-gardens and a fancy deck.  We even carved out room for a small veggie garden.

Then, in fall of 2008 my mother fell and broke a hip.  When she came home we realized there was a lot of work that needed to be done on the old house she lived in if it was to remain habitable.  Selling it was out of the question.  My siblings and I grew up there, and it was the one thing always promised to one of my brothers.  So, Hubby dear and I began to look into what it would take to fix the bad spots on the roof, evict the numerous racoons that had decided to make the attic home, and repair a few other things.  Fortunately, her home owners insurance covered that mess.

Two weeks later, Mom called.  The dining room ceiling had fallen.  Again, Hubby dear and I headed over to see what had really happened.  It was a suspended ceiling, and we thought maybe a couple of the tiles had fallen.  No, the entire suspened ceiling, rails and all had come down, probably due to the attic work the previous month.  Well, more phone calls, more hiring of fix-it people to replace the ceiling.  Brother had to pay for this, and he did without question.  We also put in a new laminate floor and painted the dark brown paneling a bright yellow.  Mom loved her new room.

After this incident, I sat down with Hubby dear and suggested maybe, just maybe one of we five siblings ought to move in with Mom.  I knew neither brother was wanting to be caretaker.  My two sisters weren't interested either.  Hubby dear knew where this was headed.

I told him we had a choice.  Move in and try to prevent the problems, or keep getting phone calls and cleaning up the mess.  After a lot of discussions between ourselves and with Mom, we finally decided to give up our little home and come back (for me) home.

I took the first seven months of 2009 to open the to back rooms to become our private living room and bedroom.  They had been closed since my father had passed away in 2004.  We emptied the rooms of accumulated stuff, we painted and floored.  Then we began packing.  It's amazing how much stuff you can get into a 12' x60' trailer over 20+ years.  Finally, in September 2009, we moved ourselves and pets into Mom's house. 

It worked out better than I had hoped.  Hubby dear had two acres of yard to play with, and we had a start at gardens as we had also moved as many of our plantings from the trailer park as we could.  We replaced the water heater within the first six months, one phone call that didn't have to be made.  I cooked meals for the three of us.  Mom had been eating from the microwave, if she remembered to eat.  She enjoyed our pets, they would visit her if I was at work and Hubby dear was outside.  We put a hummingbird feeder outside the dining room window, Mom spent her days at the dining room table doing puzzles and watching TV, she had never seen hummingbirds at a feeder.  We had other feeders where she could see the goldfinches, cardinals, and house finches.  Outside this window we also planted rose bushes, Mom always wanted a rose garden.  She said she was glad we had moved in with her.

Then, the first week of July, Mom had to be hospitalized.  With the heat this year, we guessed she had become dehydrated.  The ER doctor thought the same, some fluids, rest and a little rehab, and she'd be fine.  We were wrong.  The next day her kidneys began to shut down, followed quickly by the rest of her body.  She passed four days after her admission.  This was not part of the future I had seen....

Can I Do This?

Alrighty then!  I have been inspired to attempt blogging.  I have no clue what I'm doing or what I'll write about.  My life is a chaotic jumble of the mundane and insane.  I'm prone to political rants, yet sometimes I pleasantly surprise myself with a deep thought.  Although those deeper thoughts are probably planted in my psyche by the glowing eyes of one of my cats. 

As I sit at this keyboard, I am having a blank moment.  I can think of no rant.  There is no thought, deep or otherwise in my head.  Hmmm, fail.  Or not, after all I am sitting here.  I am typing.  We'll just see how this goes.