A Place For The Future Past

JoAnne here.

Without a doubt the hardest part of this journey has got to be finding the discipline necessary to continue in the face of adversity, setbacks, or just plain no news. I spoke with Maria a couple of days ago, who reported back that there was nothing new to report. Not bad news, but not good news either. Add to that dealing with time-sucking crisises like plumbing (fixed now — more or less, temporary at best), lost car keys, slow work week, unplanned expenses (truck needed $200 of maintenance work) and first of the month responsibilities (shop rent, mortgage, horse board, etc) and I didn’t want to get out of bed this morning. It’s alot for one person to handle.

Sure, I employ all the usual hunt-for-the-silver-lining tricks (good thing I bought that truck three days before losing car keys, good thing I’ve got the truck for hauling water, etc, etc) but there are times when it can be oh-so-overwhelming.

The old mantra of “It will SO be worth it in the end” falters at times, under the overpowering doubts and stress associated with keeping everything juggling and ready to go at a moments notice. Clients to sew for, meals to plan, bills to pay — as well as large chores that are too large to handle all at once — endlessly loom before me. Huge tasks — such as barn cleaning — must be done a little every day, until they are done and set aside, ready to turn and tackle the next one.

It’s a pleasant diversion to pull out the plans for the Project, except for the frustration of the delay in the process which is often stronger than the pleasure of planning. Life has taught me, through bitter experience, not to invest in fantasy. Or, not to invest more than I can afford to waste. And these days, waste is a dirty word.

JoAnne here.

My apologies to those who are advocates of mobile homes.

But when I was putting forth my wish list of homes on properties, there was one stipulation that was non-negotiable. NO MOBILE HOMES.

Yes for some they are wonderful, to plunk down on a parcel of land, for living out of while the REAL home gets built. But afterwards, they become a liability as they decay. Because mobile homes do NOT appreciate in value, they DEpreciate, they become literally more trouble than they are worth to maintain. So, when an agent sent me a MLS of a place, I always scroll down to see what kind of home it there. If it says “mobile home” I don’t bother to read any more about that place.

Today, another cheap water pipe blew. Cheap plastic pipe, used throughout this mobile home in which I live now, have lived in for nearly twenty years. With that pipe went today’s schedule —-KABLOOEY. When Mom was not here, I could race out to the shut-off valve at the street, twist it closed, and leave it until I could deal with, later. But with Mom here, it becomes a high priority to fix it immediately. SIGH

I first became aware of a smell of fresh water. Yes, smell. After poking around a bit, I discovered a tiny dribble, coming away from (naturally!) a hot water pipe, located right off of the hot water heater. Just a dribble? It could be postponed. I very lightly ran my fingertips over the spot, then went to Mom to report that we had a situation developing. As I was gently explaining (Mom tried to assure me that no fear, I could use her bathroom instead. SIGH. No, Mom, I have to shut off the water to the WHOLE house) I could hear that pipe blow. Suddenly I was racing to the toolbox, grabbing a crescent wrench, then out to the madly spinning meter. A quick twist and our water was shut off.

I KNEW I was on borrowed time with these cheap crappy plastic pipes, and it was part of the plan that once we got moved out of here, I’d have to shut the water off and replace the pipes pretty much through the back part of the house (both bathrooms) before selling this place. But with the new property deal dragging endlessly onward, I was becoming more and more fearful that sooner or later I would throw those mobile home dice and crap out.

I think there should be a board game called Home Sweet Home, where a throw of the dice dictates how many trips to the home improvement store a project or crisis will command.

SIGH

Off I go, to get plumbing supplies…..

JoAnne here.

How strange, you might think. Maybe even a little crazy. No, no, hear me out…

While we are waiting, my future land steward Emilie and her husband have been scavenging and storing good waste lumber and stuff. While that will continue, he has come up with a rather brilliant plan: pre-fab goat barns. Small units that can be combined to make larger units, but more importantly, mobile. So that they can be pre-built, small enough to fit in the back of a pickup truck and moved to the new site, then set up in temporary pen, for immediate housing for our precious, over-domesticated caprines. The idea is based on the surety that when moving day finally arrives, the list of things that must be done will be about a mile long, maybe two. And the faster we can get the goats safe and comfortable, the sooner we can then turn to the other items on the list.

Also the idea is to make their new pens temporary, because the goats will have a job to do too — brush and blackberry clearing, without having to resort to tethering them. Once they clear (and fertilize) a designated area, it will be simple to move the fencing and lift the barns to the new spot, leaving a cleared and fertilized area to prep for gardening.

Like I said, brilliant!

In the meantime, here I am on baby watch. Lady and Lulu’s due date approaches — May 1st. They are both getting truly huge, but I think Lulu will be first to freshen (goat talk for have her babies). I think she is carrying two kids, maybe three. In anticipation I am pulling together the delivery kit : old clean towels, scissors and string, iodine (for navels) molasses (for mom). I’m glad the date will be soon — Lulu’s feet are terribly overgrown, but it’s too near her due date to trim them now, the stress of getting their feet done has been known to cause early births and with a gestation period of five months, every day counts. Once she is up on the milking table (and secured) it will be a simple matter to do a foot trim as well.

In the garden, the spinach leaves are the size of quarters and the asparagus is coming up (in their temporary bed). Also the peas are coming in strong. Radishes, too…..

(JoAnne here)

My name is JoAnne Kirley. I run a little costume shop I started from scratch some 24 years ago. My two children (Janette and Michael) have grown and moved out, now my Mom lives with me, so my caretaker duties continue. Not that I mind — I'm very happy to be the soft place for my Mom to live out the rest of her days, she and Dad (who passed in 1989) were always there for me.

I've known Donna for years and years, mostly through the sci-fi/fantasy conventions. I'm usually invited as a pro costumer, she's in as a writer/artist (just to name two of her talents). I like to dress up at these conventions, usually in elegant and beautiful period costumes. The exception is fun too. I can recall with fondness one Rustycon (too many years ago to count except to remember my son was no more than thigh-high at the time, now he's 6'3"). The Friday night theme was a casino, so a couple of friends borrowed slinky, glittery 20's costumes and I chose to be their escort wearing a man's three piece pinstriped suit. Black fedora, black shirt, white tie — and makeup designed to repel. Dirty with a five o'clock shadow, mustache — and a nasty scar that travelled across my nose and down my cheek. Eeeeuuuuwwww.

Being an actress at heart, I soon perfected the walk and talk and manner. Spying Donna across the hall, I oiled my way over to her. With my sleeziest grin, I intoned "Hey baby, how's ya doin"

She gave me a single appalled look and expertly scooted safely away from my clearly disreputable self. You have to do that at these cons, it's a survival skill. She disappeared in seconds, and I went on to creep out my next victim. It was a fun night (grin)

The next day, now more elegantly attired, I approached her and was hailed heartily with a "HI JOANNE!!! When did you get in?" I reminded her that we had met the previous evening.

Blank stare.

So I repeated "Hey baby, how's ya doin'" (I tried to repeat the body language as well but it was tricky while wearing a Victorian corset)

Bingo! The light went on! OH MY GHOD THAT WAS YOU?????

hehehe I just love doing that ;-D

All the way back from looking at the site, I was channeling  Brother Dave.

Dear hearts, Brother Dave is like a cross between Peter Lorre and Truman Capote.  Ain't that weird?

He's great when you got a sore throat from talking your lil' brains out all weekend.  Not a breath gets near your throat; it's all in the lips.

So even if you is a mess, you can rejoice, dear hearts.