A Story in Pictures

What I sent.

What I wanted to send.

Yes, really.

On Writing

I have a few minutes to write before I’m expected at my carriage driving lesson, so I figured I’d take the time to “write between the cracks” as it were.  Yesterday I spent a couple of hours sorting through my Writing folder on my hard drive.  I tend to feel like I’m a seriously underachieving writer.  I often wish I was one of those people who felt compelled to write all the time.   Someone who found it so cathartic that it was like an addiction.  Instead, I’m a slow writer, I’m prone starting things I never finish or writing things that really have no end that anyone would recognize.  I rather like blogging for this reason.  It can follow any course I like.

What surprised me about cleaning up my writing folder was how much stuff I actually have written, even if it doesn’t all have formal structure.  Add to that the knowledge that this folder is a fraction of what I’ve written over the last ten or 15 years (due to data loss)  and I do feel a bit better about myself as a writer.  In fact, I then spent time thinking about how much non-work writing is probably sitting on, as a random example, my sister’s computer, and I realized I’m probably doing OK.  I may not live forever and I don’t have kids, but at least my nieces will having something to know me by when they are old (barring cool nano tech life extension that will keep me kicking ass until I’m 200).   I figure even if I am still kicking around in 60 years I’ll probably have other things to talk about (like why people keep serving me creamed peas and jello).

I’ve got an actual set of work papers that I ought to working on, except that it takes more focus than half an hour allows.  This is a set of 7 papers for a product that I worked with professionally for years.  It is also my first freelance writing gig (which is amazing since I wasn’t even looking for one).  It doesn’t pay great but they will be published on very well known site within the profession and I’m looking forward to having 1)something recent on my resume and 2) a writing gig that might help me get more writing gigs.  Really, writing is a great career for me since I can do it on my schedule, at home, and without having to see people I grow to dislike with searing intensity.  On the other hand I have real issues with making myself do things.  Even things I like.  As soon as I feel I *have* to do things I suddenly find a million other things to do.  So I’ll have to pretty much wrestle this demon to the ground, tie the fucker up, and lock it in the cellar if I want to do much paid writing.  At least I’m working on it.  

Random Free Writing

Disco.  The Starbuck’s is playing actual disco.  My brain is melting, do you have any idea how hard it is to write with this nonsense playing in the background.  Sometimes the coffee shop is ideal for writing, but now and again it is truly awful.   Anti-inspirational.  Fabulous.  OK, now it is some kind imitation of those forties style seduction songs like Mr. Bigg.  Still distracting.   Anyway, I figured that five minutes of free writing was still five minutes more writing than I’ll get done just sitting here kvetching about the horrible music.  Plus, it is kind of cathartic to write down that it is awful.  The mind, she works in mysterious ways.  So now Huw is just telling me all the time to not accidentally drive off a cliff.  At least he cares.  I need to figure out what to do in Paris, I mean what did I want to do that I missed last time?  Other than chocolate, flan and coffee?  I think the dollar is doing a bit better so this time it might be ok to buy a thing or two, nothing expensive, but just a keepsake or two.  Last time the exchange rate was so bad that I just didn’t want to.  Oh, and I want to go to that store where I got the card holder, I love that thing and I’d really like to have a backup.  The main thing is going to be figuring out how to control my sleeping so I can enjoy being in Paris rather than enjoying being in my hotel room.  

Oh, and my mind has been full of things having to do with moving, I suppose I could write them down, then at least I’ve got them out there.

Rent trash bin

spread manure

fix new fence (put up electric or tension wire or something)

find a boarding stable, so I have an idea where to go if we do sell quickly

new lease for the boys

arrange for the stager to come out

call the goat grazing place

contact linda about the taxes (not house related, but important)

I think I need to hose down the saddle and the hottub and then list both online, get them sold.  Do another pass for good will and then put some thing in storage bins.  End result: tidy

should I caulk around the kitchen tile?

fix cat run so it looks straight and tidy

Borrow Mitch's power washer  This will be used in chicken house and barn

spread or rack up the straw in the goat pen and tidy their fence as much as possible

clear out as many weeds as we can

figure out a better parking arrangement

once we are out of snow danger, move trailer to back

go through stuff in barn and sell as much as I can on craigslist, I know there are old halters and things.   Get synthetic saddle from Jen and sell that too.

clear up the ‘hay’ area that is now empty

find a lawn service

get cleaning quotes

hang up pot hanger.

clear out front hall as much as possible

How I Joined the Ranks of Idiots that Follow their Google Directions into a Lake

Well, today counts as the most dramatically stupid day I’ve had in some time.  It started off mundanely enough with dropping Huw at the airport and then heading to an appointment and a lunch date in Boulder.  All was good.  Harmonious with the universe.   Or so I thought. 

I had, what at the time seemed like the good idea, to try taking some back mountain roads before I headed home.   Everything was good, I saw some lovely country with fantastic rocks and a gorgeous lake.  My plan was that I’d end up in an area we have been considering for a buying a house, so that in addition to the pretty drive I’d now know the secret back way to the area.  Then I saw a real estate sign on a road called Chute and I was pretty sure I knew what listing was down the road so I headed over to take a look.  Well, my stars, if there were not three listings on this road so I kept on driving to see what else would be there.  Now, in my own defense the GPS was set to take me to a nearby town and it merrily showed the red line spilling out before me so I followed it.  

At this point I’d like to say that until recently I did not think I fell into the category of people who would follow a GPS somewhere foolish.  I thought this was the realm of idiots, and if it is, I’ve sadly joined them.  I followed that stupid red line right into a giant icy snowy mess in which I became mired.  In my full size four wheel drive truck.  The more I tried to get out of the mess the more I slowly slid sideways toward the edge of the mountain.  I got out to check.  It didn’t look good.  I tried again.  I slid closer.  I got out again.  Yes, it was slick, very very slick.  Yes, the truck was ever closer to a precipitous drop.  Yes, I was out of cell phone range.    Yes, I had cleverly put my hiking boots back in the house.

Great.

Concluding that I could only make things worse staying with the truck, I hiked about half a mile further on the road.  Still no signal.  Drat.  I hiked back.  Truck still positioned above oblivion.  I hiked back the way I came.  Half a mile later, there is nobody home at the first house.  Likewise the next house, though I tantalizingly get a phone signal for about a minute.  At the third house there is a big scary looking dog.  I keep going.  It is 30 degrees and I have a fleece.  Yea me.  About a mile or a bit more from the truck I finally get a regular phone signal.  I call Huw and leave a message saying where I am just in case I’m never seen again and authorities want to search for the body.  

Thus begins a game of calling triple A and getting calls back that come when there is no signal because I’m trying to move to a sunny spot.   I do manage to convey some information.  I am inappropriately dressed, miles from public convenience and stuck with spotty phone coverage.  No I am not near a major intersection.  No there is no close major road.  No, I’m not in danger, I’m pretty sure I could discourage a mountain lion with a stick.  There are sticks all around.  Yes I need help.  Yes they need to have chains.  Yes can I meet the driver at the main road.  Of course I can.  Ha ha.  So another mile an a half and I come to the main road and am overjoyed to see the tow truck driver.  

Back down the road we go.  He has a lovely lab named Curly.  He has heat and I am frozen.  Eventually he puts on chains and decides to back down the road.  We have a laugh about the possibility that he will need a tow truck to get his truck out.  We make it to my truck after a ride that can only be described as harrowing.  We then begin a process of winching my truck toward his, having him move forward and then winching me toward his truck again.  Eventually we get to the point where I can back up with out the winch for what seems like forever.  My neck still hurts from facing around backward for so long.  At last I’m out and I’m happy to pay the extra charges for chains and for being on a private road (after all, I’m quite sure the cost of removing the truck from a ravine would astronomical).