Losing It!
Becoming small. It’s a lot of work. Really? I would have
never believed it if you would have told me that a month ago. It seems so
simple. Just “get rid of it, give it away, throw it away, “be done with it”. If only it were that simple. You start down
that path, and then the complications set in, and the questions arise. Who, I remember that, remember how the…..”
and “that was so cute, and remember the day when we…..”? We found out something
about ourselves in “trying to be rid” of our possessions. It wasn’t what it
cost, or what we could get for it, it was the memories we associated with it
that had prompted us to “save’ it. It took a while, but we wrapped our heads
around the fact that keeping the memories did not require keeping the
associated object! And if any of you tell Diane anything different after all
the time it took me to convince her, I’ll be looking for youJ.
Garage/Moving Sale; come and get it (even for free)
Yes, we gave it away. Lots of it. Stuff. Junk. Yes, we know
we paid for it, but we used it, it did well for us, and in the end, it paid for
the moving van and gas to move the stuff we thought we wanted to keep. We even
had people barter with us, so we showed them, and lowered the price to below
what they started bartering at. Some of them caught on and laughed. Some of
them became frustrated, and demanded I accept the price. Others kept playing
the game until they got it for free. Yup. We actually sold an entertainment
center, a lighted glass display shelf, and a dining room table for $0 (zero)
dollars after all the dickering. We were glad to see the couple that ended up
with it pay that price, we know they needed it, and paid what they could
afford. A fair deal, no doubt. The one bright spot was the lady that saw some
of this happening, and tried to buy Diane’s exercise-treadmill machine for $25,
Di was asking $50. I told her I could take $40, but no less. She replied that
she really needed it, and had no money. With a delighted grin, I asked her how
she was able to put gas in the brand new Escalade she parked in front of the
driveway, and how much the down payment was, as there were still the new dealer
advertisers in the license plate frames, and I was thinking if I could get $40
for the treadmill I might go buy one like it myself. She wasn’t even
embarrassed, said she would be back later in the day to see if I would change
my mind, it would still be there. Back in her cool ride, off she went. Diane
sold it 5 minutes later to a Hispanic speaking couple, who gladly paid the $50
she was asking. My guess is they held down jobs, and worked for money…………………………………..
Bright spot of the day was when our neighbor “Biker Bob” of famed “Bob’s
Backhoe Service" came and picked through the mass. Now we had really made the
big time of junk sales, Bob showed up! Much to my delight, he gathered up lots
of treasure, made me an offer on the lot, and I bartered him down to half what he
was willing to pay. Puzzled he questioned why I would do such a thing. My reply
“why else would the good Lord bring together two of the craziest people on
Earth such as you and I, if not for us to engage in something totally beyond
reason”? With that we shook hands on the deal, exchanged a hug, and loaded up
his 29 model A pickup with the bestest ever A-Town business deal. I swear.
Our loss of a loved one.
I can’t say much about it yet, but I will in a future post. Even
this short passage brings tears from eye to cheek. Sunday afternoon, as the sale was winding
down, our beloved Cheyenne, who has been weakened and ill of late, decided it
was all too much for her. I found her on the porch, limp as a rag, and
struggling to breathe, totally incapacitated. I held her in my arms and on my
lap and comforted her, along with Diane, and we sent her off to doggie heaven
with all our love, to wait there for us. She deserves an entire post in her
behalf, coming soon.
Loading it Up, Moving it Out!
We’re still working on it. No, it’s all been loaded, and
unloaded, but we’re working through letting it go. We have way too much still,
and now we’ve hauled it to the mountains. I’m seriously thinking therapy is the
only answer. We knew we were crossing
back over the line, but we’re making progress. Baby steps, it’s going to take
baby steps…………………………………….
Swamper
That’s what they used to call the guy that rode with the
truck drivers back in the day. They were there to help load and unload, wash
the truck, you get the picture. Well, when I explained to George that I needed
a swamper, he signed right on. As soon as we got to the load/unload part, he
quickly re-negotiated his contract only to include the “riding along” duties,
and reminded me of his rights under the revised Fair Labor Standards Act.
We are Finally Home!
Yes , living out of boxes, but they are unloaded, and we are
here! I had a chance to sleep in late, and George and I took a walk in the
forested lava bed behind our house down to one of the Osprey nests I know
about, and had quite a show from a pair, feeding their young’uns a fat trout
from the lake. What an awesome sight.
A little bit about George
Most of you know about my best friend George, he is a
beagle, now twelve years young, and one of Cheyenne’s first pups. But most of
you don’t know how I came about deciding to keep George, or the circumstances
that brought us together. You see, George was born one stormy winter night,
January 30, 2002. Back then, I was working as a Public Works Section
Supervisors for the County Roads and Transportation Division. Part of my job
then, was to go out and inspect roadways on dark and stormy nights, and call
out and supervise field work crews to get those roads safe for morning commuter
traffic. Luck would have it, January 30, 2002 was a big (and very rare) snow
storm, all night long. Diane was left home alone with a pregnant Cheyenne, and
proud Papa to be Cody, and a snow storm. I got a call from her just before
daylight on my cell phone that Cheyenne had been giving birth to her litter,
and hiding them out in the now frozen garage so that Cody wouldn’t harm them.
Instinct for a dog, but bad news during a snow storm. I had her try and find
them all and get them all into then warm house, including Cody! I rushed home,
which took about 30 minutes from where I was, and found Cheyenne and her litter
in a well warmed living room wrapped in my sleeping bag, and all contained in a
kids wading pool. Good girl Diane! But Diane was in tears, and handed me a box
with yet 4 more pups inside it. Two of them obviously had expired long before,
and rigor was set in. The other two were still, not breathing, frigid, but
somewhat pliable. I quickly shoved them one each under my armpits. After a
moment, I removed the first, gave him a gentle rub or two, stretched out his
tiny li’l front arms, and placed his muzzle in my mouth, puffing ever so
gently. 5 puffs, 15 compressions, stretch the arms, 5 more puffs, 15 more
compressions. Two or three cycles like that, and we got a big yawn and a big
stretch out of each one of the. We were ecstatic. We laughed, we cried, we
promised Cheyenne we would feed them if she couldn’t, and we did. She in fact
had twelve other pups in the litter aside from these two, and more than her
hands full. We ended up supplementing them all with a baby bottle and
formulated supplement from the vet. One was named Lazarus from the Bible fable,
the other was named George because he was so curious and in to everything, it
fit with the then very popular cartoon, Curious George, except, he was no
monkey. Besides, I was into Jack Johnson’s music and the whole scene. We knew
we would not allow the two pups to be sold with the litter mates, as the
possibility existed that they had damaged nervous systems from the long term
with no oxygen to the brain. They both have had no ill effects that we know of from
the still births. We gave Lazarus to a coworker for his son to enjoy. George,
on the other hand, was different. I did not decide to keep him. He decided to
keep me. Right from the get go. From the day he opened his eyes (and before) I
was his Mom. He followed me everywhere, and ignored the litter, and Cheyenne.
If I was out of his sight for more than 30 seconds, he would pine, and howl,
and cry. As soon as I appeared, he would jump for joy and maul me with every
affection. Still to this day, we are inseparable by his doing. And I am
undoubtedly his enabler. I love him so. We have a rare bond that few will ever
know between human and dog. George will tell you, he is glad he chose me to be
his dog.
One more trip to the California Coast.
Tomorrow we head back down to pick up Diane’s car, and
Second Wind. We will list our big house (quite a nice place actually) to be
sold. I can honestly say I will not miss the place, any of it. Too many ghosts
of lives lived and times past. We are ready to move on, believe me. On to
Pacific Wonder, back to my roots, where I belong, and to share with Diane the
great wonderful world, and all its beauty, and glory, and fury and wonder,
outside the protective barriers of, “the accepted way of life” most Americans
live, responsibly so, but without “the realness" of life itself. We be cruisers soon enough!
