Moving, Motions and Mohawk

OK. I am tired.

Dead tired.

Friday we began THE MOVE.

We took a little of this and a little of that so that the people that were moving us (my very, very dear friends, their kids, grandkids and great grand kids) wouldn't break them. (Good friends, not professional movers)

Saturday dawns and I am up and we get the dogs in the spouse's car along with all their accoutrements. (Dogs have lots of accoutrements) and he takes off for the new house.

Cats are in their carriers. Not happy at all. But safe.

Then we get the truck. Twenty six feet of truck.

Then we need another truck. Fourteen feet of another truck.

Then we need a trailer.

Where did I get all this CRAP!

And I have been throwing out stuff for a month. And I still have all this CRAP!

Up the mountain we go.

And 8 hours after we started it is off the trucks (and trailer) and my new home is full of CRAP!

TV guy is running around. Internet guy is running around. Thank god the phone just needed to be plugged in.

And the dogs are scared and the cats are in their room all freaked out.

And I have to go to work on Monday and tell the world why I can't go to trial on Tuesday! SO I am doing a motion.

Then everyone leaves. The house is quiet.

But Mohawk has trouble breathing all night. And I am up with him.

In the morning,  Mohawk gets really red eyes and gets really weak and won't walk.

I figure his heart is giving out. He is shaking. I wrap him in a blanket and head to the emergency ER that I saw when we were scoping out our new town.

They ex ray him and want to do an ultra sound. They take blood. He is a little anemic. They tell me to call in a few hours.

Then they get him stable and say to come get him. They have an emergency surgery and can't do the ultrasound until Monday. At noon.

Have I mentioned that I am trying to work, too?

Mo comes home. He is walking slow. He eats like there is no tomorrow.

Then he sits next to me and goes to sleep.

And I can't wake him.

He is breathing but he is non-responsive.

I figure we are losing him. He is 15 years old.

So I am up most of the night checking him. He lays next to me in bed and I have my hand on his chest. And he is breathing.

Until 2am.

And he wakes up. Shakes himself off. And lets me know that he has to go outside.

At 2am. On a freezing night on the mountain. And I can't find my clothes.

We go outside and he does his business.

We go back to bed. And he falls into a natural sleep.

Go for the ultrasound today and they can find nothing wrong.

He is still tired ( they had to sedate him for the ultra sound). But he is eating and responding and being Mohawk.

God, moving SUCKS!!

She is Something

She did it.

And she did it with flare, style and grace.

Oh, throw in a few ounces of guts and perseverance.

Plain doggedness. 

And then she gives her Valedictorian speech.

Now I KNOW that THE KID will come up with a twist to keep everyone's attention. She is really good at that.

But MR. ROGERS as graduation inspiration?

She can be quirky.

But the speech went like this(in part):

" When I thought about what brought us each to this particular point in time, I thought of Mr. Rogers who said........"Well, what is essential about you? And who are those who have helped you become the person that you are? Anyone who has ever graduated from a college, anyone who has ever been able to sustain a good work, has had at least one person and often many who have believed in him or her. We just don't get to be competent human beings without a lot of different investments from others.".....

Think about that and what it means to you. Who do you have to thank? We each have at least one person that invested in us and in our success. People that helped us choose our path and helped us walk that path, people who made us who we are. Maybe you came to Abraham Lincoln University because someone told you that you couldn't do it.
Personally, I blame my mom for my presence here today."

(At this point, tears are streaming down my face and I am sort of choking!)

So she keeps going......

"My mom is a lawyer, She didn't want to be a lawyer, but she was a single mother and felt that going to law school provided her with the best chance of making a living and a life....for me."

(FULL waterworks and Melodie is sniffling, too)

"So she went to law school when I was about 11 years old and I went with her. I attended her classes, went to the law library, and spent a lot of time waiting in the school's cafeteria. She was so busy with study groups and multiple jobs that "tag team babysitting" was invented. One of Mom's friends would babysit me for as long as their schedule allowed, , at which point another friend would take over as babysitter. I went everywhere they did. (I got to go to bars!) It was great fun.
I know those three years were hard work for my mom and her classmates. But I got to see law school: the students freaking out and running out of lectures, the study groups, and the parties after they'd gotten through their finals. Mom graduated, and

(at this point she chokes up and I just lose it)

26 years ago I walked with her across the stage when she received her diploma."

I was trying to film all of this on my camera. But my sniffles and shaking hands made it kind of, well, not good.

So I leave you with these photos, taken with a very full heart.

receiving the Scholarship Award

Giving her speech

Waiting to start

If this child is indicative of our next generation of leaders, then, I think, we will do just fine.

My Pride Runneth Over

 I went to the dress rehearsal for the Vocal Arts concert tonight. I had to see the show in rehearsal as I would be a bit busy this weekend. THE KID (as brother Dan called her) is graduating from law school.

Well, the ceremony is this weekend. She finished the program last August. 

And this week, she sat for the Bar Exam.

She was under strict instructions not to talk to me during the three days of the exam. I couldn't trust myself to not tell her what to do or ask her questions about it. Both are VERY bad during that marathon.  

So for three days I have heard nothing except a text each evening that said "I'm alive". Nothing else.

And today, on the last day I wanted to know how she was. But I knew better than to call.

 So I texted and told her she could call if she felt like it. 

And this is what came back. A post to my facebook wall.

 

"I'm posting this here because I know that my mom has kept people in the loop and those people may be curious. Please note, however, that we speak of these things here, and then we never speak of them again.

I have taken the bar exam. All three days. I have completed 18 hours of testing. We are taught to "be a sheep" because we don't want our answers to stand out. We are also taught that the exam is an endurance test. What we are not told is that the exam is so tiring *because* we are trying to be sheep. Have you ever spent an hour trying to determine how a sheep would answer a corporations question? I have.

I also wasn't warned that I would take a three day test in full allergy/asthma mode. I have a lovely hotel room with a very comfy bed. But I am allergic to down. There is down bedding everywhere. Not just the comforter, but all of the pillows. So I've "slept" without both and wheezed all night. For three nights.

So, that is the bar exam. An exam marked by sheep-like thoughts and duck-filled rooms.

I ask one thing. It's a big thing. PLEASE don't ask me how I did. I won't know until mid-May, and I'm not sure I want to know even then. Thanks!"

 I get it. It will be some time before her brain activates again.

I will talk to her tomorrow.

And I will watch her graduate from law school 26 years after she crossed the stage with me when I graduated. 

My pride runneth over.

Almost, Almost Done

There is an adage that says to finish you must take the first step.

We did that.

We began with the painting project.

Painting. Easy.

Empty house. Real easy.

Until you realize that the walls haven't seen a coat of paint in YEARS. And everything needs two coats of primer and two to three coats of color.

First day of first step

Oh, and I like red.

Part of the kitchen

 Then, just when you think things are going well,,,,,,,

The roof leaks.

And you bought the house "as is".

New roof going on

OK. We can recover from this and still move in on the right date.

Until........

wood rot.

Side deck wood rot

Resulting in another project...

Ripping out for the rebuild

Rebuild started

But, slowly, with a new Home Depot card, it begins to take shape.

Today, the back deck was partially replaced and made liveable.

Goodbye to the spa hole (yes, a hole in the deck from a hottub)

And the master bedroom was finally painted.

And I learned something. As much as I am a Green Bay fan, I also love the 49ner's. I didn't know I loved them enough to use their colors throughout my house!

Did I say I like red??????

Soon. Oh, so soon, I can taste it. We will be living here.

There will still be projects but I can do them when I feel like it. (And when I can afford it!)

Soon. Oh, so soon, I can sit on my deck and watch my oak trees,

 and my fruit trees,

and the hummingbirds that can't be owned

Soon, oh, so soon.

Strathmore

I remember.

A gnarly fig tree.

A lemon tree with thorns.

Three giant elm trees. (and the mess they made)

A giant attic full of secret doors and hideaways.

A giant, claw-footed bathtub.

A beautiful upright, grand piano.

A library shelf full of books and crayons and coloring books.

A Singer sewing machine.

A built in hutch full of beautiful china and crystal.

A musty smell.

Fresh apple dumplings with cinnamon milk.

Coffee soup.

A trash "incinerator". (a big oil barrel in the alley)

McComber's Market.

Nana's orange grove

The magnolia tree

A swamp cooler.

A screened in front porch.

A hidden sink.

Nana's closet.

A hide-a-bed in the living room.

All of this was at Nana'a house. In Strathmore, California

The house is gone. It burned to the ground one night long after Nana had passed. But I use to drive by it often and remember all these things.

Until I was in high school, Nana made ALL of my clothes. She was an incredible seamstress. And even in high school she would make my costumes for the plays that I was in.

She was no master cook but her apple dumplings were to DIE for. We have searched everywhere for the recipe but to no avail. They were steamed into white fluffy clouds of dough. There was a whole apple inside seasoned with cinnamon and sugar. And the sauce of sugared milk with cinnamon was the key to the whole thing.

A night at Nana's meant apple dumplings!

Going to church with her meant listening to her sing.  At one time she had a beautiful voice but as she aged and her hearing went so did her ability to stay on key. I loved it. She sang "lustfully" because she loved it.

She also played the piano. She was Julliard trained but never graduated because her father was diagnosed with tuberculosis and, in those days, that meant the whole family had the disease. So she wasn't allowed to stay.

But she would play for me and my brothers.

Memories.

So strong that I don't even have to close my eyes to be in the room with her. Or to be in the attic. Or to be picking lemons.

Memories.

Of what made me me.

Stressful Serenity

The house is not done yet. It is a work in progress.

I must say that I could do without unexpected hindrance to that progress.

Like a completely rotted out section of the deck where the dog fence has to go.

We have the posts set in cement. The no-climb wire is ready. But we needed to attach it to the house first so the dogs (especially Ms. Zelda-the Houdini dog) could not find exit points UNDER the house.

Ms. Zelda

And when we take off the fascia boards what to we find? Untreated Douglas fir that is in full dry rot. ==sigh==

None of the wood was reusable.

Except as firewood.

This required ANOTHER trip to Home Depot.

We are now hitting the sounds, flavor and feel of THE MONEY PIT.

To say that I am upset by this latest turn of events, would be an understatement.

So I head to the front porch to sit and contemplate my fate.

And I am witness to a brutal battle. BRUTAL, I tell you.

Much screaming and screeching and, well, you know....

When hummingbirds get protective of their nectar, they get protective of their nectar!

Flying at speeds that the US Air Force would envy, about six of these critters swarmed around my front yard, knocked me back an inch or two as they strafed my position, hid in the trees and otherwise had an all out war.

They would all stop occasionally to have a drink from the flowers on the manzanita or the  local bar.

Local hummingbird bar

And as I watched (and avoided) I saw some amazing things.

 Just standing there. Not 100 yards from me.

An oak tree coming into bud.

Fresh deer tracks.

And I remembered this view from the day before--

And I thought to myself-----

Why are you stressing out about the place that gives so much serenity?  Take a look around. Just look and listen and BREATHE.

Yeah, I am losing sleep over this place right now. But when we get here, when it is a livable place, it will give such peace to anyone and everyone that comes to our home.

A Little Jazz; A Little Blues

If you asked me right now what kind of music Dan liked, I would have to say "Every kind".

Blue Melon Band in concert in Montana

He loved music and concerts. He would drive hundreds of miles to a concert.

Dan Trying his hand at a cello

When Smitty was here over Christmas, he regaled everyone with the story of the VW. It seems that Dan had a VW in Germany in 1970. And he and Smitty and Don Johnson went to Hamburg looking for a guy that was suppose to be playing there.

The musician was a jazz and blues man. With a little ol' fashion rock n' roll.

He was suppose to be very good.

After all, they had an album by the guy.

The musician wasn't there. Or at least they couldn't find him.

But they had a blast in the VW.

Today, in the mail at the new house, I got a package from Amazon.

I couldn't for the life of me figure out who would send a package to that new address. And I had no idea what Amazon would send.

It was a CD of the album that Dan and Smitty had listened to 4 decades ago. It was the music that sent them to Hamburg.

It was a little jazz and a little blues.

Thank you so much, Smitty.

I love you!