50/50 day

I spent most of the morning exactly where I am right now, on the couch, laptop on lap. I chatted with my brother for a while which was nice. I had a large mug of tea and successfully avoided coffee. I tried to build the fire up in the stove enough to warm up the place, to no avail. With no medium sized sticks I was never able to really get it roaring. Eventually it was warmer outside than inside so I just opened the doors. First half of the day wholly unproductive. 
Then Frandz came home and I knew he had already worked a 6 hour day and had another 6 or so hour shift ahead of him this evening. This got me moving. Also? I was cold. My toes were blue so I figure I might need to circulate a little blood. 


And now, back on the couch again I can say I have had a productive day. I picked up twigs and medium sticks for future fire building. I rolled a big old skid steer tire over into the garden area, cut up some potatoes and started the potato tire tower. I transplanted some lettuces, radishes and cabbage to a place where they will have more room to grow. Just took a banana bread out of the oven and I'm going to have bread to bake in another hour or so, the dough is rising by the oven.


Woot! Go me! Oh and I even took last night's load of laundry off the line and folded it. And I have another in the washer now. 


All I need to do is pack for the lake and take a shower. I might even shave my legs (ooh la la!) And if I have time before lake time I might just watch Twilight, it's a fall movie. 

the good foot

Do you love James Brown like I do? Then let's get on the good foot! Uhn!
I applied to work in a book store online last night and today I set up an appointment to apply/interview at a nearby country club on Monday. Go me!
 While being a waitress at a country club is not exactly my idea of a good time career goal I'm told the staff usually take home between $400 and $600 a week! Can you believe that? That is within the range of what I made in a full time professional job in the big city. In proportion to our cost of living that's serious cheddah. And I actually do enjoy being a waitress, as much as that surprises me. I always sort of thought I would suck at it but I'm a bit of a natural.
 I'm just a little scared of potentially ultra entitled country clubbers. I mean, I've got a great smile, I'm ultra super sweet and well mannered and I know how to thicken up that southern accent when need be. I should have them eating out of my hands and over tipping in no time. I just hate being treated like an peasant, an idiot or both. Also? People always think I am as much as a decade younger than I am. In someways this works to my advantage, I think. But it also means that people sometimes treat me like I'm a decade less experienced than I am and that's hard for me to deal with. What can I say?


Whatever employment I am able to gain/chose I want to leave myself enough time to paint. I've got 5 paintings in process. Three of them are pretty bad but think at least two of them have potential and I'd like to find out. And I have a painting I started a few years ago of my childhood dog that I would like to complete, for sentimental reasons. 
I still want to get that kiln built and make some pots too. Maybe even some freakie yard art or a pond sculpture. Some installations perhaps?


I'm going to try and muster up the courage to go talk to the two local potters I'm aware of and see if I can barter for or rent some kiln space in the mean time. Frandz and I are working out a name for our decrepit domicile, the doublewide. He says Victoria. I'm thinking Betty Lou. Either way I don't think the old gal will mind if I get her a little muddy. It would sort of tie in with the mushy parts of the floor anyway. 


I did take my remaining pots to the art gallery in town. Its an interesting sort of set up. You rent your space in the gallery but you get 100% of the income from any sale of your work. We'll see how it goes. I figure I'll give it through xmas. I'm just proud of myself for getting it out there. I'm planning on taking some photos and a few painting down too. It's a start. 


After losing my job...again, and a slew of other negative thoughts I was feeling pretty blue about the whole situation here again. But today I was driving down the road, listening to The Cure and feeling like everything was going to be alright. Snippets of blue sky were starting to peak out from behind the clouds, literally and figuratively. I had an all over feeling of well being. A feeling like some of the yuck is effectively being purged. The venom is in fact seeping out. It might even be nearing the end? I felt like regular me, optimistic. 


I think I'm on the good foot. 

lost my job...again

So the lovely little pub I was not making much money at has closed. I showed up for work on Tuesday and the owner was there waiting for me to tell me we were closing. bleh. He looked pretty torn up. My sympathy for his evident grief vastly out-weighed my own unemployment self pity. I wanted to hug the guy.  I worked there for a month. He ran the place for eight years. Another job lost to lack of business. Oh economy. I slid my resume under the door of a coffee shop the other week and never heard back. I drove by yesterday and they are closed too.


I did go and vote today. Love that peach sticker...maybe too much. I sort of want to wear it all the time. While I was there I chatted up the library ladies hoping to massage my employment potential there. I mean, it's a gubmint job so there are lots of bureaucratic hoops to jump through but throwing my name out a couple of times and showing them my happy shiny face can't hurt right? We shall see. They told me to pretty much stay on the library website and wait for job postings. Awesome!


In the mean time I am going to take advantage of my permanent vacation from work and go to the lake with my folks this weekend. I think that drinking coffee on the deck over that lake and knitting by a roaring fire will really get my head back in the job search game. Not. But I'm going anyway.


Also? We got 3 inches of rain in the last 2 days! The pond is full again! Frandz and I went down to the Party Palace yesterday afternoon and watched the raindrops ripple the surface. Amazingly relaxing. I finally conceded that the Party Palace needs to be torn down and rebuilt. Only because I want a covered, screened-in reading area. While the deck of the Party Palace does offer great deck chilling the interior leaves something to be desired. That thing being not getting insulation in your skin and lungs.

view from the Party Palace, late June

falltastic

Right now the crickets are chirping a slow, lazy song. The woods around my house glow all day long with a breathtaking golden light as the sun filters through the autumn leaves. The sky is pure cerulean. Crows are talking to each other. Everyday here for the past few weeks has just been amazingly beautiful. I am so happy to be here. 

work, jobs, ideas...

I am currently working as a waitress at a local pub type establishment. I really enjoy it for the most part. The people I work with are great. Right away I felt like I was part of a fun nutty family. Our pizza is amazing and I have been trying to avoid an all pizza diet, but it's hard, I crave it all the time. I love walking through the restaurant and seeing friends and families having fun together, it was one of my favorite things at my old job too. There are a lot of things that make me crazy though. Like telling customers we don't have any straws. Or coca cola. Or getting fussed at by a cook when I asked for an appetizer before an entree. All of this balances out pretty evenly. Which leaves one key variable, the money.
Even when we are "really busy" and I have been assigned the busiest sections I have not made as much as $100. Last night got close...but didn't quite make it. And this puts me at a bit of a crossroads. I need to make more money than I am now, but I don't want to fill my whole week with a bunch of low paying jobs and have no time left to paint (or blog, haha).

I went and applied at a bakery that needs full time help. I asked for $10 and hour. I have a feeling this is asking too much, even though I made $10 an hour baking almost a decade ago elsewhere, when minimum wage was still under six bucks. Also? The place smelled a little odd, not all fresh-baked good but sort middle school cafeteria. I left thinking "I could run a bakery." I don't want to sound like a snot but what I actually thought was "I could run a nicer, cuter, better smelling bakery." As I drove home I couldn't help but notice a few empty retail spaces and indulge in some serious daydreams.

I have also been trying to finagle my way in to the regional library system, into any position available. Frandz has been at the central branch doing some contracting on their renovation and also networking for me. I'm told I should go to our local branch, schmooze the library ladies and try to land a part time position to get my foot in the door.

I've also been working on landing a part time baby-sitting job, because kids make me happy.

I have also been considering going back to school. Sort of. Not really. But maybe?

And then there is the dream of owning my own business. There are some empty retail spaces in my little downtown area. I have been dreaming of a yarn store. Or a bakery. Or a toy store. The same thing happens anytime I consider grad school. Ceramics. Or Horticulture. Or Art Therapy. Or... I can never pick something and I figure if I can't commit to a subject I will probably burn out pretty fast and waste time and money.

But this time I am trying to take the business thing seriously. It seems like I can keep piecing together work I only semi enjoy, keep being frustrated with the crazy ways people run their businesses or run my own and only be frustrated with myself. Is it odd that this seems appealing?

I have started reading business plans. I am going to try and write one.

lack of focus...and technical skills

So I wrote this post on Tuesday, yes, Tuesday. I even included a really cute video of Sadie eating the melon...and then it wouldn't load or was processing or something and I was tired so I went to bed. The next afternoon is was still "processing". I took this to mean that it wasn't working nor should I expect it to. So I tried to delete it. No luck. So then I tried to post any way with a crappy invalid video link. No luck there either. So then I got discouraged and went to go paint and sort of forgot about it for a few days. 

I woke up late this morning and I guess all that sleep this giant cup of coffee did my brain some good because I realized I could copy and paste all the good stuff out of the broken post and repost it. After much ado, here is a nice 5 day old post for ya!

I've been putting off writing today because I cant seem to come up with one cohesive topic. I decided that doesn't matter.

When to start the fire...

Lighting the evening fire has become a favorite ritual all ready. I'm like a kid waiting for their favorite show to come on. And that show is fire.

But I am also trying to conserve wood because

a) it needs to last us all winter and while it seems like we have bunches we don't actually know how much we will need for the whole season

b) I'm sort of scared of certain power tools, namely the reciprocating saw we have been using on the fallen tree branches...I'm better at collecting and breaking up sticks anyway

So, when should I start the fire? I closed the doors and it's pretty comfy in here right now...but wouldn't a fire tip comfy into cozy? I am going to try and make myself wait until I am chilly.

Coffee is so awesome. I think I am emotionally addicted to it. I don't think I'm chemically addicted. I'm not one of those people who gets up in the morning and can't function with out it (although sometimes I pretend, because I'm not a morning person and it buys me some leeway). But I really look forward to it. I will often deprive myself of coffee in the morning so as not to develop said chemical addiction. Only to give in later in the afternoon or evening...because it just tastes to good. It's like an event for me. Smelling it, grinding it, boiling the water, smelling it, pouring it, smelling it, drinking it. I basically drink as much as I think I can get away with and not get migraines all the time. It's a thin line that I walk like a kid pretending a crack in the pavement is a tightrope.

let's bee friends!

My yard is amazingly beautiful. For some strange reason I occasionally have to remind myself to go outside. I gotta tell you there is some pretty fun stuff on this here interwebs and it can sort of suck you in. When I do finally drag myself outside I am so overwhelmed with beauty. I took pictures of my cosmos for like 10 minutes this afternoon.

mmmmmmelon

Sadie ate my cantaloupes. Right off the vine. All three of them. I sprouted some seeds from an particularly delicious melon that Frandz mom brought us and which I devoured. To my delight and surprise the seedlings actually thrived and produced three small green melons which were continuing to ripen. Which I actually had hope of enjoying myself. Until my crazy fruit and veggie loving little dog gobbled them up.

I guess since I tell my dog she is a hoodlum and a tiny punk all the time, going so far as to name her punk band Teeny Tines and the Tinies, I should have seen the rebellious behavior coming. Tenny Tines and the Tines have a sort of Joan Jett meets the Sex Pistols vibe.

Speaking of music...I want to buy some. On itunes. But I'm trying to be a super miser right now.

The bread I made last night is awesome toasted!

ok...attention span is shot!

freestyling with meatloaf and bread

Freestyling is my primary approach to cooking. You can't let yourself be bound by the restraints of a recipe. I see them as starting points, research a handful, interpret and recombine the data... then go for it. A friend of mine does the same thing but calls it "experimental cooking night" her creations are always delightful and satisfying.

BRB. Need more meatloafy goodness. Ok. Better now.

I started with a mirepoix, a chunky one. I added an egg, bread crumbs, worcestershire, tarragon, marjoram, tabasco, lots of fresh ground black pepper. Then I squished it all up together with my fingers, it was great! (do I have the opposite of sensory processing disorder? I want to experience a wide range of textures constantly...dough, yarn, clay...meat apparently...hmmm).
I put the squishedness in a loaf pan. The loaf pan has been on high rotation here lately (like Broken Bells was in July) as my banana bread is extremely popular, with Frandz*. There was some mirepoix still in the skillet, I threw some beer on it, added a little ketchup and then put it on top of the loaf. I then topped that with more ketchup. Yah ketchup!

At this point I have eaten about 1/4 of it. I need it to cool off faster so I can put it in the fridge so I will stop grazing it like a birthday cake...or a pie with many many tiny pieces cut off at varied angles.

And now I am working on bread. Freestyling with pastry and bread can be a bit trickier as they are more of an exact science then meat loaf. I am starting simple by subbing some home-ground oat flour for some of the regular flour...and cutting the yeast back a little...and the salt.
I'm planning on taking a loaf to give to Katana, who's cutting my hair in the morning...if it comes out well.

*somedays he will just eat a banana bread, slowly slice by slice, all day...nothing else.

hermit vs. "woods queer" a delicate balance

I moved to N GA to change the pace of my life. The ATL was really just more stimulation than I desired. At least, too much of an undesired sort of stimulation. None the less, I lived an urban lifestyle for so long sometimes I need to remind myself that I craved this decreased speed. Recently I am shocked by what I really miss. 


The novelty of being a hermit has worn a bit thin. This summer I absolutely savored thinking of a  friend, considering making plans (even indulging in thinking up a potential scenario in my head) and then not calling. I wrapped myself in my solitude like a cocoon, a blanket (literally wrapping myself in a blanket would have been only momentarily comforting as the doublewide would usually get up into the mid 90's). I broke from the chains of social obligation for the first time in my adult life!


But now I think I want them back... a little... for a while. Maybe something like a delicate sterling chain from Italy? 
I need thai food, I need sarcasm and irony tinged conversation, I need to witness something weird, like an art car, and I need live music.


The flip side is that while I was in this fuzzy-wuzzy-womb-room phase I got a little "woods queer" (woods' queer?) as my adopted kin in Bloomsville would say. When I first heard it said I never imagined that I would relate to this concept. 
The universe promptly provided deep understanding. Por ejemplo*: I was invited to a bridal shower for a lovely sweet girl that I grew up with. I wasn't going to miss it. At the same time I had sort of forgetten how to dress/act at this sort of function. Despite having been through to many; my own, those of friends and even attending some etiquette classes (because my mom was a debutant and I'm southern out the ying-yang). 
Somehow I cobbled together an outfit that I thought would cut the mustard, only to arrive feeling my outfit was visibly under accessorized. Feeling that middle school awkwardness. I made a few lame jokes and blurted a few over-shares. I actually cringed at myself, internally. Like a cast iron frying pan to the side of the head I realized I was already woods queer. 


So now I have to find some balance. I'm reading a lot. I'm watching all sorts of culture type things on the internet. I'm calling friends in other states. 
Maybe this blog will help too? Time will tell. 


*I googled the spelling of ejemplo (because I'm a horrible speller and rely heavily on spell check, mine doesn't check spanish) and I totally spelled it right, first try. Self high five me!**


**Self high five is a move I made up where I hold my left hand up, stiff and still, like it is someone else's hand waiting for a five, and enthusiastically and animatedly high five with my right hand. Sometimes I even say "yeah!" or "uhhhn!"...out loud. 

lament for white kitty

My first blog post details my painful, frequent and unexpected encounters with roadkill. Unfortunately a local kitty that I was really routing for has fallen victim. 

I first saw white kitty late at night, driving home from posting signs well into the small hours, (a contract of Frandz).

White kitty was a surprising sight; standing a little too close to the road. She* appeared like a vision, a spirit, suddenly flashing before our head lights, strikingly white in the thick, street-lightless pitch. She seemed young, spry, invincible. Her body was slender and pure white. In that moment, as she flashed before my eyes, she symbolized guardianship, protection in the dark, calm, confidence, comfort, fearlessness. 

Perhaps this ghostly sighting was foreshadowing?

Now white kitty lies motionless, still a little too close to traffic, in all her vibrant glory, glowing in the the sunlight. I am sad. Disappointed. And afraid her corpse will remain for a grotesquely long time. 

I knew white kitty had a late night habit of hanging out by the road, but I was really hoping this would not be her demise. Was I projecting? Hoping that I myself will never come to suffer for any bad or risky habit I might have? I'm still not sure. 

White kitty...sigh...I wish you were still with us. And not just physically. But creatively, vibrantly, fearlessly, like you were that very early morning. I know you would be keeping all the rats out of the barn and protecting the horses. 

RIP white kitty. Your spirit lives on in me. Not in a creepy way that will require an exorcism. But in a really cool way that will hopefully help me be less afraid of the dark. 

*I have decided she was female, I will not accept any challenges to this assumption. Asserting that she might have been male destroys all the Diana archeress of the night tie-ins. And guess what? I'm not going to check!

fresh baked bread for breakfast!

Right now I am eating a steaming hot slice of bread that just came out of the oven!
Yes, I am eating breakfast at 11:30 am! Hey, at least it's still morning.


Yes, despite the fire I started in the wood stove this morning it is still chilly enough in here to see lots of steam rising off the bread...I didn't build a big fire this morning. I knew it would be warming up outside (it's 70 now) and didn't want to waste the wood. 


But back to the bread! Oh glorious bread. I'm using a recipe a friend gave me that I'm told is from an old copy of Mother Earth News. This morning I kneaded in some oat flour I made, for extra whole grainy goodness. While the bread is quite tasty it did not appear to rise enough before I put it in the oven, as I feared. Despite placing the dough on the mantle over the wood stove, arguably one of the warmer places in the house. There are some doughy spots caused by the crust forming before the bread had expanded enough inside. This is going to take some experimenting and work. But in the mean time...oh wonderful crusty warm and tasty bread I sing your praises. 


Bread related goals for today:
Go buy some containers to keep dough, baked bread and large quantities of flour.
Make more dough.
Try not to eat all the bread before Frandz gets home. :)

the wood stove

My last post ended up a little more serious than intended. The post I was writing up until a few minutes ago was much the same. While I do want this blog to have some therapeutic benefit for me it's not called "Sadly Tragicson's Trip to Sad Vegas" It's "Urban Evacuation". So I'm going to try and stick more with that. I've emailed the other content I composed to myself and might use it later. 

This morning was one of those wonderfully chilly ones. I awoke to cold air on my face, my nose cool to the touch, the rest of me all cozy under a hand-me-down comforter from my Granny. This is when I have to really motivate to leave the cozy cave of downy comfort to go get some wood and start the fire up again. But the joy of heating my home this way seems to be doing the trick so far. Hopefully the novelty wont wear off until...March? 
Also? It was only 53 in my house this morning and in the upper 40's outside. The challenge may be different as we edge closer to freezing, and then drop below. But I'm up for the challenge. And I bought some shearling scuffs.


Reasons for choosing wood heat: 
Horror stories of astronomical propane bills.
If you looked down into my vents/under the house at the ducts you would not want that stuff blowing into your house either, please believe me. I will spare you the details. Ew.
Poor insulation. Why pay a bunch in propane when you know so much is leaking out? I feel like we might as well just burn money to keep ourselves warm. 
Lots of wood lying around our acreage for "free".
Fires are fun. 
That pioneery feeling that a wood stove lends to the daily routine. 


Frandz, with his burning passion for craigslist and internet research in general, located a Fischer stove in Carrollton, within our budget, that was specifically designed for mobile homes! Amazing! The Honey Bear is now installed, complete with a big pot of water on top to humidify the air. It works like a charm and has made the house as warm as 80 while it was in the 40s outside. I am duly impressed. 


I fear I may have an overly romanticized view of our stove. I keep bracing myself for the evening when the stove doesn't really make the house warm enough and we need to sleep on the floor in the den, right in front of the stove, to avoid hypothermia. Although I will enjoy cuddling my Sadie if this happens. 

north georgia, my destiny or a place where land is pretty cheap? (how I ended up here)

I never liked living in Atlanta. I liked the parks and the museums and all the great food. I was always grateful to live in a well wooded neighborhoods, but it killed me to see so many of the trees give way to mcmansions and shopping centers. To see the traffic grow thicker and harrier. To see smog develop in the air.


I always cherished the time my family spent in North GA and Western NC, renting cabins in state parks and camping. Whenever we left I dreamt of a day when I could stay, when I would visit the city instead. My dad read me all of the Little House on the Prairie series which fueled my imagination and dreams of homesteading. It shaped my identity as a pioneer girl in search of some type of modern frontier and my aspirations to be a renaissance woman...making my own bread, sewing my own clothes, growing my own food. I wondered if I was born in the wrong time. I reread all the Little House books in college, trying to keep my hopes alive.


After college a good friend moved to his family's acreage in KY. I visit as often as my schedule and budget will allow, which is never as often as I'd like. With every visit I vowed to myself that I would either one day live there or find my own corner of the world to be "my Kentucky".


Then I visited Lasqueti Island. A magical, wonderful, beautiful place full of homesteaders, cobbers, and more than everything my heart had dreamed of. Jugglers, fruit trees, artists, the free store, musicians, a marimba band with homemade marimbas, roadside stands full of flowers and cookies and vegtables, a costume ball with a community of all ages enjoying each other, cabins made from trees felled by hand!   I wept at how happy I was there. I wept at how I didn't feel I deserved to be that happy. My KY vows became a battle cry. I had to find my place to live my life the way I had dreamed and promised myself I would.


And them my life fell apart. I was in a terrible high speed car accident. My Granny (and last living grandparent) died. A string of other deaths; of friends, relatives, a mentor...I felt certain my own death was waiting just around the corner. There was a flood. I had panic attacks for the first time in my life. I was in one of the darkest places I had ever been, overwhelmed by grief so intense I had trouble connecting to it and really feeling it. Everyday I used all my energy and determination to stay glued together.
And then my husband left me without a word or a note. He refused any and all communication. And asked for divorce via email.


And in the midst of these tragedies (and a daunting feeling that there was more to come, that it would never end) I saw a light at the end of a very long tunnel. I knew this was my opportunity to make the life my heart desired. To escape the adult life in Atlanta my teenage self had promised would never exist. I took a month off of work, with the incredible understanding, compassion and assistance of my co-workers. I traveled to KY, to friends who are family in IN and to the John C. Campbell Folk School in NC. I learned to spin my own yarn, improved my knitting skills and edited the dickens out of my children's book. I sought perspective and advise from the many amazing women I met at folk school, women older and wiser than me who were divorced, never married or happily married for decades.
I cried. A lot. I journeyed and journal-ed. I went to therapy. I moved into my own tiny apartment and felt safe for the first time in months.


I had a constant vision of myself running from a bombed out city, heavy bags cutting into each hand with their weight, blood seeping from around the handles, no idea what was inside of them. And I kept telling this self "you just have to make it to some place safe....you can't put these bags down no matter what...you have to keep going...you have to carry yourself to a safer place...you have to hold it all together until you find a safe place..."


And then I met Frandz.


And the more we talked the more we realized we want the same handmade life. Want to grow our own food, build our own house, make our own bread. So we searched and researched and drove all over North GA. Frandz finagled a loan and in a too-good-too-be-true moment bought our favorite of everything we'd seen. I quit my job. We moved into a 25 year old doublewide on 5 amazing acres. I had a feeling that someone or something was going to take it all away from me any minute, tell me it was all over. Friends and family expressed excitement, concern, anger, joy, encouragement and disappointment. But I knew I was finally honoring my truest self and breathing life to my dreams. Something I felt I had to do to survive everything I had just been through. A runaway train, cut loose from everything, good and bad that had held me back before, hurdling toward whatever is to come.


So here I am. An urban evacuee at last. Making my home. Finding time to be an artist. Looking at floor plans for earth homes. Listening to the crickets and the breeze instead of traffic and sirens. Cobbling together my favorite parts of KY and Lasqueti, my childhood fantasies and my adult visions.


And I think I can finally start unpacking those mysterious heavy bags. And letting the wounds heal.

more good stuff

We have an amazing vet. Holy jeez. She is so amazing I wish she could be my doctor. She is so patient and incredibly informative. and funny. and a good story teller. and has great deals on doggie meds. and her assistant is crazy nice too.  I might just start taking the dogs in just so I can hang out with her.
"Oh, you don't see anything wrong with them? That's funny. They were acting so weird at home....tell me more about when you were in vet school." Then I would bat my non-mascara-ed eye-lashes.


We're working on designing a kiln (or maybe kilns) to build. This seems too good to be true. Something I have fantasized about too many times for it to actually be real. We're going to put in a forge too, but I'm going to push that it least one kiln go in first. Wow, I'm actually sort of speechless. Like if I talk about it too much I will jinx it.


I brought home some canvas stretchers from my parents' basement last night and there was even some paint that hadn't dried out yet. I feel like I owe it to myself to try and make art my career at least once in my life. The current phase of moderate employment seems ripe with opportunity. At least it does now that a buddy pointed it out. Babysteps, but steps none the less.


I'm going to babysit my summer charges this afternoon. I am so excited you would think I had one a trip to Disney World. I can't wait to see their precious faces and have them tell me all sorts of lovely nonsense. I'm going to come home floating. I hope they've gotten the planned double stroller so I can take the kids on "an adventure".


Also? My therapist told me I'm not crazy. I'm totally normal and so are my feelings. It seems small, and maybe even obvious, but it feels like a huge victory. And an immeasurable relief.

unexpected joys of my urban evacuation

grown from seeds from KY

While my move has included more hardship than I anticipated it has also brought a lot of unexpected joy. 


My neurotic little dog who was hell bent on murdering everyone in the city has become docile and, dare I say, happy. She loves being a country dog and would spend 24 hours a day hunting lizards and grasshoppers if I let her. She also gets to romp in the pond and roll in animal remains, which she clearly adores. 

gourd flower smells like watermelon

I have multiple gardens and flowers blooming everywhere. Every time I look at my cosmos and morning glories I feel so proud. My boyfriend and I planted a willow tree, some hydrangeas and gardenias. Watching them grow makes us enormously happy. And daydreaming of them being huge one day, with our children playing beneath them, is deeply satisfying. 

Add caption

I have two clotheslines. This brings me unexpected, immeasurable joy. I actually try to make sure I have clothes on the line when a friend is coming to visit. I am so damn proud of my clotheslines. I love to think of all the energy and money I am saving by not using the dryer, which also gives me some sort of weird smug pleasure. I also get this sort of historical nostalgia as I put my clothes on the line, which makes me feel grounded and timeless.
  

opening at dusk

I love driving on country roads, rarely going through a single traffic light and sometimes not even seeing another car. I believe that this alone is going to help me live longer. I could feel the stress of big city traffic aging me and seeping into other parts of my life, especially after living in a city with few viable alternatives to driving. I would often think of Henry Rollins' simile of someone wasting your time being equivalent to being stabbed with tiny daggers, killing you slowly. All the time sitting in traffic was time I could never get back, time I could have spent painting or reading or laughing with friends. No matter how I tried to adjust my attitude about traffic, telling myself it was "my NPR time" or simply trying to just accept it as part of my life, it made me angry and stressed everyday. 

I love seeing a large flock of wild turkeys cross my yard or driving down my gravel driveway late a night to see a doe and her two yearlings. These are the types of experience I was looking for when I moved here.
  
I love going running with my dogs off leash, watching them roam and run and sniff at will, being able to just be dogs, without the rules of city living. I love that on these runs I rarely see another human and have no need to feel self conscious...my running outfit isn't hip enough...I run weird...people are judging me because I am walking...all gone. 


I love the way the air smells, like trees and flowers and wet earth. Not like buses and cars and trash. I like the way the sky looks, clear and clean and blue, not brownish-gray. Seeing a healthy looking sky somehow makes me feel healthier too. 


I love heating our home with a wood burning stove, and having enough wood on our property to do so. I feel like Laura Ingalls Wilder in the best way. Hell, I might even make some maple syrup candy when it snows. 


I love checking the rain gauge and logging the rainfall. I know I could have done this in the city but I just never had the time. I feel closer to the earth. And that is why I am here. 


And maybe best of all? Whenever one of my friends does come to see me, with out fail, they tell me that I seem so happy, look so happy. And overall, I really am. 


Now I'm going to go wash my dog.

expected and unexpected pitfalls of my urban evacuation

I have a tendency to romanticize things. Why would moving to the country be any different? I tried to combat this tendency with a healthy dose of realism by telling myself things like:
 "As much as I want them to (and as much as I  know I would visit them if they moved an hour away) my city friends are not going to visit me on a regular basis." 
or 
"It is going to be hard to find challenging, satisfying, well-paying work here." 
or 
"It's going to take a while to make friends and find my community here." 
However, the real experience of this situation is harder to cope with than just telling myself these things. 
I had a job over the summer that I really enjoyed. I was an office manager and nanny. I worked alone, received fair pay for a reasonable amount of responsibility and got to play with little kids. I still had time to work out and garden. It was pretty much perfect for me and I was really happy. Sadly, this job ended abruptly and now my magic bubble has burst and I am forced to face some of the expected realities of my urban evacuation.  


I feel I am coping reasonably well. Reaching out to friends with similar experiences. Watching 30Rock and The Office on netflix to get a good laugh(the best medicine, no?). Giving my situation a comical name "the out of work country living loneliness blues". Talking to my therapist about it. Taking a waitress job at a local pub to give myself social interaction and a menial income. 


But nothing could have prepared me for the unexpected realities of my move. Like what not having any friends near by really means on a daily basis. Or making so little money I have rolled all my spare change and am going to be taking it to the bank to change it for bills to pay for food. Or watching a chain-smoking 42 year old granny bounce her grandbaby on her knee while the baby mama runs around karaoke night with her posse. (I'm not trying to be superior or judgmental here, but the thought of my own unborn children growing up in the thick of this was surprising and alarming to me. At the same time I was touched by the seeming cohesiveness and closeness of this family. Something I have seen missing in many well to do urban clans.) Or how about being explicitly told to "make sure I got" my $3 tip on a $45 ticket. As if this was some sort of generous gift. And I'm still not sure if this was a failure to do accurate math, a failure to know how to tip appropriately or what? 


Despite having some really dark days in the face of all this I keep on trying. I remind myself that it usually takes about year to adjust to a new place. I keeping putting in new applications for jobs I'm not really interested in to be able to pat myself on the back for trying. I try not to be too hard on myself (something I'm really bad about)  and let myself sleep in because I work nights. And I let myself cry when I need to. And on the whole I am still much happier and healthier than when I was in the big city.  

blogging...something I seem not to be so good at

So, I started my blog as a way to log my journey from being urban-against-my-will to a rural-bliss-goddess. My last and only blog post was in August. The whole idea is that I'm supposed to post daily, or close to it. Yeah, not so good at that. And guess what? I haven't even had a full time job since I moved out here. Sigh.


Additionally, I was hoping to use this blog as a way to "have my voice be heard" even if nobody read it. Faulty logic, I know. But it makes sense to me some how. The thing is I actually have to write for this to be effective.  


And? I think I have been intimidating myself blog-wise by taking the whole thing too damn seriously. I'm just going to write and not worry about anything. 


So, I'm going to try again. Even though I have difficulty following one blog on a daily basis. After sleeping late to recover from a 16+ hour migraine I decided that the most fruitful way to spend my morning was to drink a really big mug of coffee and read all of the October posts of my favorite blog www.starkravingmadmommy.com. No, I'm not a mom, but she cracks me up. And even though we have different problems it really helps me to read about someone else's real problems. It's not a  schadenfreude thing. It's more a I-have-permission-to-be-human thing. Which apparently I feel the need for. 


I predict what will likely occur is that I will make several posts on one day and then go postless for days on end. I foresee this pattern repeating endlessly, but I'm going to accept it and give myself permission. Because it's part of being human, at least for me.