Today is May 2, 2010.

To catch you up...I am here. In Rogers. Moved in, new address, new license, new plates, new phones, new neighbors... I will continue to catch you up from time to time, but I dont want to spoil what is my train of thought tonight. Its been hard. I have been living out of boxes in a large home that echoes and desperately needs more furniture. I still dont have a tv or radio hooked up. Ok. Enough of the sissy stuff. Here is the real deal. We had an earthquake three days ago, and two tornadoes touched down and killed five people somewhat south of us.

This shook me awake and I realized that I dont have an evacuation or emergency plan. I knew what to do back home in Michigan, but what about here? So this afternoon I researched some scary stuff and found out that I had believed some pretty significant Myths. Like, you should always go to the SW corner of the basement during a tornado. Well? Dont cock your head at me! That is precisely what I was taught as a kid and I knew nothing different, until today. Now I know to go to a protected area on the lowest floor, like under a stairwell, OR to go to an inner room or hallway, away from all windows. Protect your head. Thick tables make good protection from falling objects. Mattresses and thick comforters can cover you and protect you from flying objects. Bottled water and a flashlight aint a bad idea.

What else made today significant? I found many things today that I knew I had, but didnt know where they were. Precious things. My first baby shoes. My brother's (and later mine) figure skates. My red, amber and green candles that I kept on the hearth at home. My grandmothers portrait. I nailed my first thing up on the wall today: A large mirror over the tibetan tables. Buffet lamps went on next and a few decorative items, and POOF! Instant cozy corner. The house is starting to feel less strange, but only by micrometers.

The thing I cant figure out is this: why am I paralyzed at the thought of going back to Detroit for a visit?

Losses and Founds...

OK. It is less than 48 hours until the movers get here and start packing up my house. I have been clearing, sorting and redistributing or scrapping all the junk I have accumulated in nearly 20 years here. I've run across things I havent seen since I moved into this house, like some photos from a previous life (mine) and a trunk of clothes from the 80s. That is one of many examples.

On the l0ss side, my myriad hyacinths are just emerging, some of the 400 bulbs I planted last fall, which I will never see bloom. The species crocus are blooming in my perennial garden, and robins are back en mass. But it the trees..these magnificent 200+ yr old oak trees that I hear calling me, asking me how I can leave them, and I dont have an answer. I hear the creak of the wood, the sounds of living here, the sounds of my home. I am feeling the loss of this place on the planet. The only place I ever called HOME. These feelings suck. They suck. It sucks.

Now on the plus side, as there always is one, I found a few treasures that I thought were long gone. A blue topaz ring showed up. Not that I cared much for it, but I wondered where it went and imagined that other things had happened to it, not just being re-assigned a spot among myriad junk. I found my poetry folder, for which I'd grieved. I thought it was thrown away in a previous cleaning frenzy and even accused hub of trashing a huge part of my life. Oops. (Well, he was the one who put it in with unrelated things.) I found photos of dead relatives, younger us, younger me. I cant find my teddy bear from infancy, nor my baby shoes. I cant find some old love letters that I received in my late teens, early 20s. I cant find Christy in anything. My beloved Christy. The only one of my most sacred, treasured friends, that I truly lost through no fault of my own. I still miss her and I ache more now. She found me in Michigan nearly ten years ago...and I had her for about a year then. Suddenly poof. She was gone again. She'll never find me in the Ozarks. She always could rely on finding me here...

So, my birthday is in 7 days. I will turn 50. I will probably be in Arkansas on that day, or maybe not. Who knows. What I do know, is that this is a tough start to the second half-century of my time on this planet.

Unexpected Gifts...?

One of the few pleasures in moving seems to be the gathering of friends and family members to get some time with you before you leave. Most of them are aware that the more stuff they give us, the more we have to pack, so gifts have been small and thoughtful. For example, Cousin gave me some Vespa mugs that are adorable. Hub has a few momentos from coworkers and clients. Pictures seem to be a favorite and are very appreciated.

Yesterday was St Paddy's and I went to spend it with BFF. We drank green beer, ate green foods and cavorted late into the evening, when she presented me with a lovely pair of earrings from Northumberland, England. Wow. They are very beautiful!

On the flip side, we tried to return "Shadow" an old black cockapoo to Hub's mother, as we had been dog-sitting while she recovered from a recent illness. I brought Shadow back to mom and was abruptly waved away, with mom spouting, "I cant take care of her. You cant leave her here. Find her another home." And with that, I was stuck with a dog I didnt want. Who is going to take an aged small dog, with her cataracts and her bad house manners? We cant find a home for the poor thing; its crunch-time. And now she's been rejected by the only owner she has ever known, only to be cast into our chaos. So, the poor, displaced pup will have to adjust. I guess she is coming to Arkansas. Sigh. No more gifts, please.

I will be away feb 28 to Mar 8.

see you when I get back

Honey's Home!

It was so good to pick up Hub at the airport today. He was all smiles and so was I. I really have missed him so much, especially with the root canals and being alone with all that pain. Hub didnt bring much, just a small suitcase. We went out to eat and then came home. The birds went nuts. Our large Macaw Gypsy, made dramatic efforts to get close to Hub and when he got within touching distance, stretched out his long neck as far as it would go and shouted, "Hi HUB!" We were both taken aback! Never heard him say that before!

While we were out to eat, I asked Hub how he liked the temporary apartment. Thumbs down, was the response. Then I asked how the laundry was going for him and the corners of his mouth turned down in a suppressed smile.

"You are doing your laundry arent you?"

"Ummm, well, sorta."

"What do you mean, sorta?"

"Ummm..."

"Dont tell me. You havent done ANY laundry?"

"Ummm..."

"What are you doing for clean undies?"

By the look on his face, I already knew the answer. That man went out and bought new underwear instead of laundering his own!

"Well, I needed new everything so I just went and got it. I needed it anyway.... I suppose I should look into finding the laundry room. Uh, Yeah. Maybe that is what I will do when I get back. But I still have a week's worth of new stuff left!"

I informed hub that he had just written the newest blog entry, which made him cover his eyes with his hand.

"Fair enough, Tara. Fair enough."

Cartoon Classics

I was nervous today. The man from the moving company was to come over and assess our load for the moving company. I was dreading this for a long time because I am over a week behind on purging this place. That's not to say I havent done any more; Lord knows its only tuesday and there are 13 bags of trash on the side of the house. But still. I was planning on having the basement at least 1/2 way to acceptable. G_G_G_GONG_G_G_G (remember the Gong Show?) With those root canals last week, I not only got Gonged, I got TKO'd. So, I was nervous.

The phone rang ten minutes before he was due, and it was him, telling me he was on his way. Now, judging from his vocal demeanor, he was a laid back guy. He had a timidly familiar voice...one that sent me reeling through the years trying to place it. I couldnt imagine what he looked like, but he was not as asshole on the phone. Anyway, I still had to put on brave-face to open the door. I paced until he arrived. He was a smallish guy, jowly with kinda bulgy eyes, bald on top and a ben-franklin physique, but that voice...? And then it hit me! Droopy Dog! The cartoon about the anthropomorphic dog with the huge jowls and the whiney lisp! And suddenly, my cloud lifted and I was trying to suppress my amusement.

He was so cool! He was Droopy personified! He tottered through the house, holding his little clipboard, looking at me over his nose-glasses and chatting in his self-content little way. We meandered through the rooms and I had to suppress a laugh as I saw his little feet pattering around, moving faster than they were propelling him. I felt like I was stuck in a Roger Rabbit screen test. Hee hee!! Droopy wandered about, peeking into closets and cupboards, asking about certain pieces, particularly the hand-knotted oriental rug and the crystal chandelier, which he said they definitely would not handle.

I still found myself apologizing for the disorganized heaps and sticking closet doors and then Droopy began to chuckle. He was a really cool guy. He told me that he had been in business since the sixties (So he would remember the Gong Show and Droopy Dog!) and he had seen it all. He told me that his company held the record for the most tonnage hauled out of the smallest house in the decade of the 70s. Apparently, a couple living in a 1200 sf house, had 44,000 lbs of crap that took three moving vans 7 days to haul. They wouldnt part with a thing and his company had to pack and move multiple 7-foot high stacks of newspapers, boxes and boxes of rags, bottles tin cans, and probably more than a few kitchen sinks. Can you imagine moving all that shit across the country? So away went my anxiety and back came my smile. Droopy just smiled back. He assured me that we required only one van, even with the motorcycles and the miata. How about that? ::::Big grin:::::

Bizarro World

How Instant Karma's Gonna Getcha

Merl Squirrel was having a good day. He was supposed to be out hunting for food, but in his meanderings and daydreaming, happened upon a lovely old home in a centurion oak forest. He sees that the house has open eaves and climbs in to have a look around. Holy bonanza batman! The eaves go directly into a knee-wall, which goes directly into a human clothes closet! Delighted, Merl rushes to the nutbar and tells all his buddies about his new "find." He buys his buddies a round with the few tidbits he has found so far, and hangs all afternoon, drinking up his tidbits. Before it was totally dark, Merl, having spent all his tidbits on Nut brown ale, begrudgingly goes hunting for food. He is clearly pissed that his wife had so many kids. They had agreed to not have kids this year. They worked all summer and had all their stores packed away. They were completely ready for winter when Shirley announced she was knocked up. Now its nothing but mid-winter hunting for tidbits, when, dammit, they agreed to not have kids. Merl finds two acorns and knows that if he brings them home, Shirley Squirrel will make him relinquish at least one to their many children (as Merl 'forgot' to use condoms last fall). So, instead of going home, selfishly, Merl eats one acorn on the spot and carries the other acorn into his new hideout. He finds his way into the closet. "Ahhh, perfect, he thinks, "None of my ravenous children will find me here. I can enjoy my acorn in a heated house by myself. Now where shall I sit to dine on my prize acorn?"

The floor is drafty and cold, so Merl climbs up on the clothes bar but find the footing too smooth and has a hard time balancing. So he jumps onto the shoe locker and sits beside a well-loved pair of loafers. Meanwhile, back at the nest, poor Shirley looks at the clock, wondering where that no good bastard is. At the same time she worries, because he said he would bring back food. There isnt a thing in the pantry. She wonders if he is OK or has met the same fate as several other of his drinking buddies, rrrROADKILLlll. "Perish the thought, Shirley reasons, "he's smart and he's giving and he would do anything for the kids. He will find food for us. He's just a little late." She hums and comforts the children, knowing Merl will be home soon.

On the foot locker, Merl looks around. "Nice place" he thinks. "Maybe I will move the whole family in. No--Oh NO what was I thinking!? This can be my secret digs away from the bitch and the brats. I could even have a few buddies over, maybe a few chicks, or that tasty little chipmonk number I had dance for me at the nutbar... and as Merl continues to fantasize that he is da-man, he throws his arms up like Zorba the Greek and does a little dance upon the foot locker. But oops! Merl drops the acorn and it rolls deep into the toe of the well-loved loafers.

"Oh no you dont!" cries Merl and dives in after it to retrieve his hard-won prize. And this is where Instant Karma gets poor Merl. You see, the "owner" of the shoes has never worn socks with them. Since "Owner" forbade Tara to get rid of the smelly, disgusting, broken-down loafers, Tara put them as far toward the attic as she could, in an old foot locker. Whatever "Owner's" unnatural attachment to the loafers was, Tara didnt argue, but simply did what she thought was best. Now when poor Merl went loafer diving, he didnt anticipate asphyxiation, but that, unfortunately, is exactly what happened. As Merl shot toward the toe, he felt the air being sucked out of his lungs as if he had entered a portal to outer space. Fight as he may, Merl was overcome in milliseconds, and died, head stuck in the toxic abyss of the loafer.

Shirley, now unmistakably pissed, bursts in on the nutbar, only to find Merl's plastered friends, passed out, but no Merl. She shakes Earl, Merl's drinking buddy awake and demands to know where Merl is. Earl mumbles something and throws a paw toward the oak forest. "That Sonofabitch, Shirley hisses. "I dont like to go there at night. Too many owls live there." Shirley steals the tidbits out of Earl's pouch. "He's too soused to remember," she reasons, and her children get fed.

Now, the next morning, when Merl still does not return, Shirley finds Earl, decidely hungover, and tells him to go find that lazy, whoring bastard and bring him home. Earl gathers the buddies and they head off to the secret hideout, fearing that Merl was probably with that pretty young chipmonk that gave him a lapdance. They wend their way in and find Merl, stiff and dead with his head stuck in a smelly old loafer. "Pull him out! shouts Percy. "NO! No dont!" shouts Earl and blocks their way. "Something killed that stupid shithead and he wasnt supposed to be here anyway. I say we gnaw his body off and leave it in the road. As soon as a car runs him over, we can take Shirley over and show her that Merl is dog fodder now." The boys all agree, gnaw off Merl's body and carry him away. No one ever returns to the scene of the crime.

The following spring, Tara has the eaves closed on the charming old home, as she thought she'd heard a sort-of tap-dance, emanating from the knee-wall. She never checked on the old loafers and had forgotten all about them. So had the "Owner".

All was well until Tara began cleaning out closets for the move to Arkansas. She found the still-disgusting old loafers, having not seen them for years, and tossed them into a garbage box. But wait, something rolled out of one of the shoes. Tara picks up the strange, bone-colored object and realizes that it is the entire skull of a squirrel. It is complete with long, dark yellow incisors, and neat rows of molars in the back. No other bones. No fur, no feet...oh yes, there was a solitary acorn in the same loafer.

INVENTORY 2

One food dehydrator

Two coffee makers

Three french hens...


I didnt do a thing for a solid week with these four root canals taking turns kicking my ass. But now I have that sorry ass in gear again and the inventory is as follows: 13 bags of clothes and household items to the church, 19 bags of garbage. I think this junk multiplied when we werent looking.

The Clock is Ticking, ticking...

Ok back to the land of the living after four root canals. In my pharmacologically and dentally induced absence, the following things took place: The new house was inspected and had a few niggling details to fix, probably all in an afternoon. The moving company assessor is coming tuesday to take inventory of the contents which need to be moved. The birds have all decided that now is the time to act like assholes and have all gone hormonal on me. The moving van is coming on Mar 24th to load all of our belongings onto the semi. Move in day is whenever the van gets there after we close on Mar 26. My only worries over the move are the logistics of getting the birds there. Its going to be hard...some are being driven in my car, others are being flown...ugh. Chessie the greyhound will be fine. She is a great little traveler and good company besides. My dental bill is in excess of $2800 and growing, as I need two gold inlays now. Wow. So much to think about my brain hurts!

Oh and one other thing. My friend, with whom I spoke at length last night, posted this update on her facebook page: "How did I get on the sober end of a drunk dial last night?" (It musta been a funny phone call...)

Today is February 18th..

If you have been following this blog, you will know why I deleted that last four posts. The truth is, I have had four root canals in four days. My blog entries were totally narcotic-induced bappity bap about Canadian Club, Vicoden and pain. Hub says,"Get rid of that crap, a Tara. It's depressing as hell. I wanted to shoot myself after reading it."

There. Done. And to my many accolades, you may add *Saved husband's life by deleting depressing blog entrees.*

Tra-la-la! T'is not to worry! ::::::Skipping around the living room::::::

A series of rediculous screw-ups...

I had a trip planned months in advance, to go to Florida to meet some friends. In spite of circumstances that would dictate otherwise, Hub urged me to take the break and go have some fun with my Girls. Delta Airlines thought otherwise. They delayed my flight out of Detroit on friday morning because the crew "needed more sleep" and sent me to Cincinnati, knowing full well that I would have no connection to get to Florida. They couldnt even get me back to Detroit until the next day and offered me nothing as compensation. They said they could get me on a flight to florida SUNDAY but I was returning monday....IDIOTS! I was able to rent the last car that Dollar RentaCar had and I drove the 330 miles back home. It took me about 7 hours. Perhaps it was providence working again, as I woke up with a toothache to beat the band. I have been pacing all day with the entire left side of my jaw hot and red, and so painful I cant think straight. My dentist called me in an antibiotic and I am using ora-jel, and taking another Rx for pain, but nothing is helping. Its only saturday and I have to gut through this until monday, when I can get to my dentist.

Hub is enjoying 45 degree weather in AR, relaxing in his apartment and keeping tabs on how I am doing. It was 2 F when I left Cincinnati; its currently 28 F in Detroit. The house-buying details are moving slowly. I am waiting on Cowboy Jack to call me back about the home inspection... Apparently, all inspections are suspended for the weekend we NEED one because the state of Arkansas is requiring that all certified inspectors be present in Little Rock next Friday and Saturday. Leaving thursday and sunday for travel, that eats up four of the ten days we have to do this. We've already eaten the first four days trying to FIND an inspector. Not hearing from Jack is making me angry. He is being remiss and there is a possibility that this might kill the sale... Hello, Jack? Get on the stick, Buddy. There is a lot at stake here.

Strange phone call...

Imagine my confusion this morning when I received a phone call from someone about 250 miles from Detroit, asking about my new home. He identified himself and seemed to know things about me that a stranger should not have known. I was pleasant but cautious as he asked if he and his wife could come visit us in ARIZONA! He went on to say that they were tired of the snow and wanted a warm gettaway and they could rent bikes in Phoenix... OK. Now its making sense. He is a member of our national riding group and thinks we are in Arizona.

You should have heard the disappointment in his voice when he learned that I am still in Detroit, we havent moved into our new home yet, and oh, by the way, its in Arkansas (AR), not Arizona (AZ). He chuckled and apologized, then told he that he too, used to live in the Ozarks in southern Missouri. He went on about the beautiful scenery and perfect roads, cautioned me about cattle haulers and no-shoulders, and told me to ride safe. Then he said something very strange. He said, "I'm sorry about this call." I told him I was glad he called and I look forward to meeting him someday; I wasnt sorry at all. He replied, "Oh no, its not you, its just that I left my heart in the Ozarks and now you've gone and made me all homesick. To me, it was the prettiest place in the world, and I was so happy there."

Well, I guess I wouldnt go that far. Its not the prettiest place in the world, but it ranks right up there with scenic places to live. I wonder what our new neighbors will think when we have a bunch of leather-clad pirates pull up on dozens of powerful bikes and have a BBQ. The Ozarks will never be the same!

We got the house!

Hub and I placed a bid for the house and the seller countered, but only slightly. It didnt even make a dent in our plans. The seller did throw in the fridge, so that is one less thing I have to think about. Yay. Of course, it snowed about 8" last night here in Detroit, and I had to wait until the drive was cleared to get my car out. Then I had to go to Kinkos to print the documents, sign them and fax them back to Cowboy Jack. Oh and speaking of Cowboy Jack, he is just tickled pink over all of this. Of all the houses we looked at, Crazy Horse was the house he liked best anyway. He pointed out many of the details as we wandered through it, commented on the craftsmanship and also the heating and cooling system. He said it was top notch -- not typical for a standard builder's system. Well, I hope so. The house has two furnaces and two air conditioners and it better work; its less than 3 years old! Cowboy Jack has other reasons to be happy about this sale. His company has the listing agent for this home too, so all of that tasty commission goes right to them! (Jack did not limit the available homes to the ones that they were representing. We saw a number of homes that were for sale by other companies.)

Financing the beast and home inspection is next on the hit list. Then...a tentative closing date at the end of March. Could it be that I may be in my new home by my birthday? What more could I ask?
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A HUGE PARTAY! YEAH!!!!!
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I hired a painter to help spruce up the place a bit. I bought paint and had the guy in to paint the hall. As the painter was busily working, I was at my puter. The following dialogue took place:

Painter: Yes, Ma'am?

Me: (pulling my earbuds out and Snapping out of my cyber haze) Dah.. Huh? What? Is there something you need?

Painter: Ma'am, you called me.

Me: (shaking my head) I didnt.

Painter: (looking bewildered) I could have sworn I heard you say, "Stop. Come Here Please." My bad. (painter shrugs and returns to the hallway).

*~*~*

Painter: Um, Ma'am? Did you say something?

Me: ( totally startled again) Me? No, I didnt say anything.

Painter: Is there anyone else in the house Ma'am? Cuz I thought you said, "Hey! Stop! Come here! What are you doing?"

Noise from Back room: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! Good Boyyyy!

Painter: There! Who said that?

Noise from back room: NOOOOO! NOOOO! HEY! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA


By this time, the painter was as white as a sheet and it dawned on me that he was hearing the parrots. I tried to keep a straight face, and then I lost it and burst out with this wheezing, partially stifled guffaw that made my eyes and nose run. Then I broke wind with aplomb and completely lost it. All the while I was gasping and trying to explain that he was hearing parrots! It was no good. I got up, still unable to speak coherently, and beckoned him to come, and showed him the birds in the back room. With realization seeping in, relief spread across his face. Then he, too, laughed a little, shaking his head. That poor guy. I'm sure this is one for the boys at the bar tonight. Wish I could hear how he spins it.

INVENTORY

One sore back

Two itchy eyeballs

Three French Hens...

Clearing out the junk in this house is going to be a trip! It already is! I have only been working 4 hours and I have 14 bags of garbage and 3 bags of clothes/purses/ household items for the church.

Oh stop it. You stop thinking that. I have been here seventeen years now and more stuff has come in than gone out. Obviously. But its going out now---all of it. One way or another. I think I can- I think I can- I think I can- I think I can- I think I can- I think I can- I think I can....Chuggah chuggah WOOO WOOO!

Frightening...

These appraisers all look like celebrities. First we had Steve Lawrence and the Undertaker, now we have the Newscaster and Lilian Munster. Except Lilian Munster was scared of my house and let the newscaster wander from room to room as she stood, bug-eyed in one spot. She asked if I was alone here; Yes. Is my husband around; no. Do I have friends in the area that can help; not really. Do I have to do this alone; probably. She grew paler and paler with each of my answers until I insisted that she take a seat. She refused to move from her spot. I thought someone superglued her shoes to the floor. So I stood next to her instead of guiding the newscaster around. I knew where he was by floor squeaks and *other* telltale noises.

Squeaker squeaker ---upstairs hallway.

human groan, pop!--- he got the upstairs bathroom door open. Good man.

Eee Eee Eee Eee ---coming back down the stairs.

SCREAM! SQUAWK SQUAWK, ERIC~WHAT, BAP-BAP-BAP-BAP, HONK HONK, WEEOO WEEOO WEEOO WEEOO, STOP, HELLO BIRD, PRETTY BIRD, BAP-BAP-BAP!! ---Ah yes, the bird room. Sorry Dude, but Lilian Munster's got the vapors and I couldnt warn you.

CaCHUNK ---got the basement door open...and wait for it, 3--2--1---"whoa." Yep, he saw the basement.

He found his way back to the living room. I didnt see his face, but Lilian Munster did (she was holding her breath and I finally heard her exhale). He silently pointed toward the door, they made a hasty retreat as Lilian was stuttering something about a report. On the porch she turned to me and said, "I hope you can find some help. You really have your work cut out for you."

Thanks Lilian. I need your encouragement and positive attitude. Here, let me give you some clorox wipes to sanitize the bottoms of your shoes. Oh and perhaps you should take your clothes off outside before going back into your own house. You may have cockroaches and bedbugs clinging to your clothes. Come to think of it, stop by the drugstore on your way home for some Quell to delouse yourself. Psycho Bitch.

I wax philosophical....

Its Superbowl Sinday (sic) and I went over to Candy's with that chocolate cake, and the pita chips, hummus, Groudhog Day and Sleepless in Seattle. She added fresh fruit, red zinfandel and various crackers and dips. Neither of us had eaten all day, so that is what we proceeded to do. Eat and watch Groundhog Day. And eat. And did I mention we noshed? Then we snacked. Then we finished the food orgy with a thick slice of that chocolate cake (which tasted so good that it had to be very, very bad). I gulped the remains of my wineglass and gathered my stuff after the movie was over. I was clearly dazed and in a chocolate-induced hallucination all the way home. I fed the animals and let the dog out, then thought I would just *lay down for a second* on my bed. I woke from a vivid dream about 40 minutes later. Great. There goes my night. But I didnt care because the dream was marvelous...

In the dream I was a passenger in a van, down in The Inner City. Streets I knew. Dirty streets. Mean streets. I didnt feel lost or panicky in the dream. There was a familiar corner gas station where everyone in the hood hangs out. I got out of the van and began walking toward the gas station, the only white woman in eyesight. But still I felt totally at ease. Like we all knew each other and had immunity to anything bad happening. Then it began to rain. No one seemed to notice. And it didnt stop til the streets ran like rivers and all the folks stopped everything they were doing, and splashed and played in the (now) hip-high water. Happy children yelled and tried to run faster than the kid next to him, fat black ladies waddled and exclaimed "Oh Lord," hurrying, wading to find higher ground but giggling, and young guys stripped off their shirts, replaced their scowls with toothy broad smiles, and strutted through the waves, heads held high--no anger in their eyes. The water was warm, moving, and murky, but no one seemed to care. Someone passed me a foreign-looking slice of fruit and I bit into it. It was sweet and slick, like the flesh of a ripe peach.
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I woke up and marveled at the beauty and detail in that dream. Detroit, as I have never known it, but how I always wished it could be. A long time ago in college, an intelligent, but haughty girl called me a 'visionary' after hearing my presentation. She meant it as an insult. I took it as a compliment. I dont pretend to understand dreams and I dont give them much credence. I'm not one for magical thinking but I like to believe that dreams are trying to tell us something. The lack of fear mirrors my determination to conquer this move with a bold attitude; fear is a choice. The moving water, warm but murky seemed to represent cleansing by force--- I must de-clutter this house, de-clutter my life and break a few ties to this place. Something clean and new lies underneath but I cant see it just yet. I dont recognize the fruit, but I am willing to take a bite. And I think Arkansas is going to be sweet.

He made it to Decatur last night...

and has cruised into Missouri already. Hub sent me a pic of the flat, pasturelands of southern Illinois and then the great arch at St Louis. He should be at the Comfort Suites Bentonville by early evening. *sigh*

Today is superbowl sunday I am going over to my girlfriend Candy's house to watch chickflicks. I bought hummus and pita chips for a healthy snack, and then one of those decadent All-American Chocolate Cakes from Costco, as both of our men are traveling without us as I write. We can have some wine, cry over a sappy movie and eat cake. Sounds like the best we can make of our respective circumstances.

Well, He's off...

I helped Hub pack this morning and yes, we used suitcases and plastic bins, but he still put his gym clothes and some incidentals directly in the back of the car. We hugged for a long time. I have arranged temporary (corporate) housing for him and a two-night stay at Comfort Suites so he can start work on time Monday morning. Then when he is finished with work on tuesday, he can move into his 1-bedroom corporate apartment.

The house feels strangely empty, and I know it's a purely psychological phenomenon, as I have stayed alone for weeks on end when he has been traveling. I guess the difference is that I know he is not really traveling, but instead moving, and it makes me feel a slow, creepy-crawly wiggle in my stomach. I am going to go get boxes, as I know he will be calling me shortly to send stuff to him that he forgot or didnt think about. Right away, I know he will be making a trip for dress socks. I didnt remember to pack any for him, and I doubt he remembered either. But at least what I packed is in BINS and not floating around the back of the car. I hope he calls often.

Logistics Lesson One. Monitor Everything Hub Does.

Here I sit at my computer trying to compose another blog entry and basically blanking. Just like an answer to prayer, I looked at the clock. It's 9:45pm and Hub is supposed to be driving back to AR tomorrow. It occurs to me that he hasnt done much of anything today. I typed this conversation as soon as it was over:

Me: Hey, arent you supposed to be packing or something?

Hub: Yeah but that is nothin'. Im just throwing a few things in the car and going. No biggie.

Me: Wait. What do you mean? You mean you are packing your clothes and moving a majority of them to your temporary housing now, right?

Hub: Yeah. You know. Couple of suits, couple of sweaters, turtlenecks, few socks and underwear, like that.

Me: In a suitcase.

Hub: I wasnt planning on it.

Me: In a plastic bin?

Hub: No. I was just going to throw the shit in the car and drive. There's supposed to be a washer and dryer there in my unit. I will just put the soap in...and...um....push whatever button I am supposed to push.....and well, you know.

Me: Wha...? Dah... HUH???? Throw the shit in the car? No nothing? Clothes laying in the back of the car? Not in bags, not in bins, not in milk-crates? Just in the back of the car? You're shittin' me, right? (but somehow I am doubting this.)

Hub: No. I'm not shitting you. I moved that way before. It just means a few extra steps carrying stuff in and washing whatever I drop en route from the parking lot. No biggie, Tara.

Me: But if you pack it.....Oh man. I see I have to help you with this. Please let me pack your things. I swear you will thank me for doing it my way as opposed to yours. ( I was bracing myself for a fight on this. )

Hub: No. Really. I. Don't. Need. Help. I'll put my razor in a bag if it will make you feel any better.

Me: (panicking now) Honey, you need to let me help you with this. (I am having vivid images of corporate spies watching him tote piles of clothing from the back of his car to his quarters. The report to his boss would be something like this):

Subject appeared to be carrying underclothing from the back of his car into facility when he tripped over some shorts that he dropped and fell forward. Subject retrieved scattered undergarments from parking lot and proceeded to his quarters, uttering unintelligible noises.

Off the record, Mr. Mann, my recommendation is to re-verify that subject has a college degree.

OK. I see I have to protect this man from himself. I will be up early, stuffing plastic bins with organized piles of laundered clothing. I wish I could teleport to the other end to prevent him from living out of those bins. Or...should I.....

Nope. Cant let him muddle through this one. Not with those corporate spies out there. This illustrates of course, that Hub has cleverly tapped into my paranoia as a means to get me to do a lot of his work. Yep. I do believe he is that clever.

The Yankee Who Keeps Me Grounded....

Well thank goodness for Dina. Dina is a yankee through and through. A lifelong resident of an eastern seaboard state, Dina shoots from the hip and blows through my bullshit like an IED. SHe called me this morning at 8:10 am. She doesnt think I need to sleep in. I began telling her about the appraisers:

Yesterday, some appraisers came by to assess the value of our home here in Detroit. The honest value has dropped about $80K in the last two years as Detroit's economy has been swirling the drain. I was embarrassed at the disorganized, disheveled and downright cluttered junk that was everywhere, watching the appraisers step over piles and pick their way through the mine fields. One guy was a strong-jawed Steve Lawrence-type personality, the other, an undertaker. He creeped me out in his black trench coat, his lackluster, beady eyes taking it all in and wordlessly conveying that this was a disaster in the making. I was telling Dina all about the Undertaker, then switched gears and began filling her in on the details of our potential new house and all the unbelievable amenities that this house had to offer. I gave her a description of the floor plan, the to-die-for gourmet kitchen with pantry, the stained-glass transoms and the solid white oak interior doors. She listened in her way, to me extolling the fact that the house had five bathrooms, but that the master bath had a separate water closet, so I could take a dump while Hub was in the shower. Dina took aim and fired: "Well isnt that just like you, you greedy beeyoch. Five bathrooms in the house and you have to stink up the one that your husband is using." I felt myself thud back to earth. Yep, that's my Dina.

Farewell From the Freedom Cruisers...

Our dear friends, the Freedom Cruisers Riding Club Chapter 20, (FCRC) threw us a lovely farewell party at Logans Steakhouse. We were presented with an incredible collage of memorabilia, framed and ready to hang in our new office. It was a stunning momento and I could begin to feel panicky inside...the precursor to the deluge? Each member hugged us and had such kind words of encouragement, I was nearly losing it until my hero, "Loudy" showed up and wrapped me into her bear-like hug, popping my eyes and squeezing me 'til I squeaked. Then she shoved me back to give me the dead-on gaze of hers (and she has beautiful eyes that take you prisoner) and told me how happy she was for us, and how we would always be family. I felt the hurt rising inside of me and I said, "Please, dont make me cry." Turning on a dime, she had me busting out laughing in ten seconds. I wish someone could harness all the talent in that woman. She'd be a bobillionaire. I will miss every fiber in her, and her sister, "Scissors" who made the collage for us.

Then came the roasting, and lemme tell ya, they were merciless. "Crew-Cut" had the group laughing about how we'd all met long ago on Harsen's Island. Hub and I had just purchased our bikes and had ridden out to the Island , stopping to admire the bay. While we were standing there, a group of leather-clad bikers rode up and stopped behind us. Hub figured we were about to be jumped, but I put on my best Howdy-Doody smile and went to greet them. Soon we were all yapping and Hub and I were invited to join the group. Afterward, they were trying to assist us in finding our way back to the ferry, but being unfamiliar with standard hand-signals for riding in groups, Hub and I turned off, when all they were doing was pointing to a road hazard to the right. We didnt know if we had been ditched or ? so we stopped for ice cream and found our own way back to the ferry. That same week, I showed up alone at the meet-n-greet dinner and was treated like I was already family. That was nearly three years ago and we have enjoyed the best family that friends can possibly conjure. Crew-Cut then announced that I am forming my own chapter of the FCRC, which is the Bentonville Arkansas chapter 52, and I am the new president, which drew a round of applause as I took a deep bow. Of course along with the good, comes the bad and I had to give up my officers position with Chapter 20. I congratulated the new Safety Officer, Roosky Bear, and said I would call him during the week to get him up to speed. Roosky Bear smiled, in his quiet, warm way and said he looked forward to it. He was the very last to leave.

Then the roasting began, full force. Comments were made on how we were going to the land where family trees are actually wreaths, where the difference between rednecks and hillbillies are two: Rednecks wear shoes and are rednecks by choice. Poor Hillbillies. That soon we would be saying, "y'all" and "purteneer" (pretty near), and having to make judgment calls that pertain to "If I divorce my wife, is she still my sister?" It was almost non-stop. I couldnt sit down. I knew to order small, so my dinner consisted of a side-salad and sweet potato, and of course, Newcastle Brown Ale. I choked down about half of the food and gave up. It was hard to stand and eat, and I found sitting unbearable. So I wandered about, beer in hand, hugging and slapping leather vests, laughing, joking and taking a good ribbing. I sat for a few moments with "'Bacco", one of the younger members of the group with whom I'd formed a closer friendship. He had no mush, no well-wishes, no questions. He lisped with his pierced tongue, about every day things while his big gray eyes took a walk all over my face. My throat began to hurt and I knew if I sat much longer with him, I'd be face-planting into his smoky teeshirt, balling my eyes out and begging for mercy. Loudy, assessing the situation, redirected me away from 'Bacco and soon had me wheezing with laughter again. Lawd I am gonna miss these folks. Crusty, surviving renal cancer and a bike crash last year, Cardy and Li'l Bit with their new babies, and big ol' Cookie, who sent me a hug via his mom, Back-Talk, the prettiest and sweetest woman in the group.

We'd brought Jimmy Henry with us, and as we got back home, Jimmy came in the house. He plopped down on the sofa and I knew I had to boot his butt outta here. "Jimmy, I said, "you have to go. Its 9:45 and I want to go to bed." He slowly made his way to the door, taking way too much time with his coat and effects. I told Hub to lock the front door, as Jimmy always tried to come back in. I was here at the puter and Hub was reading a newspaper when the doorbell rang. Jimmy said, "Sorry I have to go to the bathroom!" darting past us and slamming the bathroom door. Hub and I exchanged glances. 20 minutes later he re-emerged, and said goodbye. Hub re-latched the deadbolt. Thirty seconds later the doorbell rang again. I rolled my eyes as Hub got up again to see what Jimmy wanted. He poked his head in the door and said, "Be careful, its starting to freeze-up out here," (as if we were planning on going out again) then he was gone. Or so we thought. "Hub, lock that door!" About 5 minutes later, Jimmy returned for the gloves that he'd left behind, pausing to engage us in conversation for another ten minutes. I had to practically push him out the front door again. I was losing patience with Jimmy. I hadnt shut the foyer door yet when the front door popped open again and Jimmy said, "Dont forget to lock your door." My demons were stirring and this time I shoved it closed with a resounding slam and loudly set the deadbolt. I am sure all the neighbors heard it echo. I returned to the puter and saw Jimmy's sunglasses, obviously sending out homing beeps to him, laying on the table.

It was after 11 pm before we were fairly sure Jimmy wasnt coming back...

Itchy-Twitchy and Miss Bitchy...

On our last night in Arkansas, we both tied one on at the manager's reception in the lobby of the hotel. Now I know better than to get drunk on cheap wine, but I did it anyway. And so did Hub. When we got back to the room, we ordered a pizza then began packing for the return home in the morning. Hub forgot his Aveeno skin lotion so he slathered up with the cheap stuff from the hotel, and smelling like a big jasmine blossom, went to bed. I didnt even read or watch tv; I was asleep in 10 seconds, and maybe stayed asleep for 20 minutes. And then the little earthquakes began. I woke to the bed shaking. What the...? Hub was scratching something (I dont want to know) and I went back to sleep. Thirty seconds later, it happened again. OK, no biggie, back to sleep. *WHACK* I got kicked in the leg, and mind you, this is a king size bed. OW! Ok, now I'm having trouble getting back to sleep. Hub appeared to be sleeping , but he would twitch and scratch about every 20 - 30 seconds, so I turned on my reading light and grabbed my book, trying to wait out the invisible fleas that were plaguing him. I figured he'd fall asleep and that would be the end of it. An hour later, he was still at it, but not conscious of any of it! He was flipping like a fish, scratching like a monkey and kicking like a mule until I simply couldnt take it anymore. I shook him awake and told him to go to sleep. "But I was asleep!" He protested. "You're not sleeping, I hissed. "You are as jumpy as a cat on a cactus, now please get rid of your fleas and go to sleep! We have to get up in 4 hours for the plane!" I slammed my book shut, huffed and turned over, muttering bad words under my breath. Having already said my prayers, I figured God didnt have his ears on, and if he did, he had to understand how a twitchy bedmate could bring out the devil in any of us.

Hub apologized and settled back down. I could tell from his soft snores that he had already gone back to sleep. Not me. I was aggravated and as awake as noon. So I opened up my book and began again. And so did he. Twitch, flop, scratch-scratch-scratch, wiggle, snort, kick, twitch. This time I gave him a shove and bellowed, "KNOCK IT OFF!" to which he startled awake. I could see by his bewilderment that he had no idea why I assaulted him. "QUIT TWITCHING!" I yelled. He apologized again and rolled over. I could feel my pulse in my temples. My drunk had worn off and now I was just plain mad with a headache. It was 1:00 a.m. and we had to get up at 4:30 for the flight. I drank a big glass of water and took tylenol and a sleeping pill, clearly forgetting the time I needed for the pill to work and also wear off. I tried to settle down again, closed my book and prayed for sleep. *WHACK* Another sharp kick to my shin which also woke Hub and he frowned at me and said, "Tara, what did you DO that for?" "Do WHAT?" "Kick me! What's going on with you? If you cant sleep, go sit on the sofa and quit annoying me!" At that point, I am sure my face split down the middle and my eyes bugged out on cartoon springs. Fangs burst forth from the demon that I could no longer drive down and I let out a string of words that would make satan lift a brow. I think I now had the boy's attention. I took a deep breath and hissed through clenched teeth, "Ok, Mr. Innocent Bystander. You just sit there a minute and figure it out." Thirty seconds later he scratched the inside of his arm. Ten seconds after that, it was his knee. He scratched here, there and everywhere. I watched with pursed lips and my arms tightly crossed as realization spread over him and he jumped out of bed. "What is in these sheets?!" he cried, scratching his back and his elbow.

The only thing we could figure was the Hub was allergic to the lotion. He got in the shower and using the hotel soap, tried to wash the itch off. But I think it was too late. That poor boy dried off and the scenario began again. Then he made my mistake and took a sleeping pill. I didnt know. I was out.

The wake-up call came 2 hours later and I figured it was a malfunction. I never answered. I just picked up the receiver and put it back down, returning to sleep. BREEEP BREEEP BREEEP there went the phone again. What is wrong with this crazy phone? I lifted the receiver, thinking someone was calling from home. A mechanized female voice, far too cheery, said, "Good morning! This is your wake up call. Have a nice day!" I rubbed my eyes which felt like sandpaper, and tears streaming from the sting, looked at the clock which seemed to be rotating counterclockwise. I shook my head. Gawd was I stoned. The clock said 4:40. Oh shit it really is time to get up. I nudged Hub and he groaned and muttered, "Stoppit Tara." I nudged him again and he sat straight up and yelled, "Oh f---, my head! WHAT?" I managed to get the message across, that we had to move. Now. We both struggled to get out of bed as if someone had glued us in. The sleeping pills. Now I know how they work. They double the effect of gravity, making it impossible to lift your limbs.

There wasnt much conversation between us as we were both suffering from double hangovers, one from cheap wine and the other from a sleeping pill that hadnt had time to wear off. Every movement was torturous and took maximal effort. Neither of us showered. No coffee in the lobby. We did only what was necessary to drag our sorry butts to the airport in the.....oh God, no.....frozen fog again. After scraping the ice off the windshield with our room key-card, (because 'we dont get weather like this') we realized that we couldnt see a hundred feet in front of us. Dammit all.

There were no food counters open at 5 am, so we sat, mute and painfully awake at the gate, our bloodshot eyes saying all that needed to be said. A smattering of other bleary-eyed travelers were there too, but the only sound was the flat screen with CNN blaring a bit too loud. Hub scrounged up some stale bagels and terrible coffee at a little stand that opened, clearly--everything was leftover from yesterday and tasted like it. I just couldnt choke it down.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we regret to inform you that due to the fog, all flights will be delayed. Please stay in your boarding area for further updates." (We didnt even look at each other. We knew better.)

Two hours later we boarded the plane, waiting for de-icing. The plane was so darn cold from sitting all night, we could see our breath inside. We taxied to the runway and then were again, delayed by the fog. Back to the gate for de-icing. More delays. An hour afterward we finally took off, looking forward to hot coffee that was never going to happen. Some witless maintenance person had drained the plane's water reserve to prevent freezing and there was no water and no way to flush the toilet on the plane. Everytime someone had to use the toilet, the flight attendant would hand a sanitizing towelette for hands. That was the best she could do.

Arriving in Detroit, my suitcase had both legs and a wheel broken off, and one of the wires was poking out from the seam, which had split open. We dragged it through the snowy parking lot to our car, and headed home. On the freeway, Hub got tagged for speeding and was written a ticket.

And that is about all I have to say for today. Goodnight.

I went to the Library

to get a book on Arkansas.

.
.
.
there werent any.

I checked the childrens' section and found some elementary school books that had Arkansas information in them, but the only other thing was a writers book from the WPA. The book was written in 1940. Of course things have changed since then, right?

Back to Detroit tomorrow morning...

We think we may have found a home! Can this really be happening already? I was out with Cowboy Jack for the last few days and still, that house on Crazy Horse Drive in Rogers is sticking with me. We took hub to see it today and he was so impressed he told me to make an offer. Wow. Why am I reluctant? Do I think there is something better out there? Not really.... Is the whole situation intimidating me? Perhaps.

If you want to see what we are looking at, the MLS# is 584583. You can find it on www.harrismchaney.com or any real estate site where you can search by MLS. You will get a virtual tour on harrismchaney. Hub is urging me to move quickly. Why am I so scared?

A hunting we will go...

House hunting. Some good, some not so good. Hub is at work today, but should have a fairly easy day just taking care of administrative things, then he will be free to do some house hunting with me. I am sure he is thrilled beyond measure at the thought of it. There is a lot available, but our concerns are that the house continue to increase in value and keep up its resale value. I have to have my kitchen, and the birds have to have a separate place that they can be comfy and cared for, but we can close a door and have some peace. Imagine shopping for a house with concerns for your birds. Crazy or devoted???

At Last, A spark of Hope...

Cowboy Jack and I went out and around, looking at some pretty houses on woody ravines, McMansions (yuck) in gated communities, and a few disasters for which Jack apologized. The sun came out for a while and burned off all the fog, making it much more enjoyable to ride around and see where I was going. Hub checked in from time to time. He was having a good day on the job, learning the ins and outs of the corporation and hanging out with his boss, who he said, is a lot like him. That scared me a bit, but when the boss has a temp come in to clean up his desk and files, I heaved a sigh of relief. Neatness is not one of my darling's strong points.

One house we visited was supposed to be vacant, but we found two giant schnauzers guarding the place and we had a devil of a time getting in. There was definitely someone living there, as the fridge was stuffed with food and toiletries scattered on the main bath. The dogs were great once they figured out we were not going to do any harm and they appreciated us letting them out to relieve themselves.

We ate at an Italian restaurant (See honey? There really are Italians in Arkansas!) and afterward had a meeting with Cowboy Jack at his office to gather info and talk logistics. Tomorrow I will be out again with Jack and Hub will be back at it at the HQ. At least there is some semblance of "normal" returning to this trip. Oh and people that live in Arkansas are called "Arkansans" not Arkansonians like I thought. Although I did learn that some people dont say AR-kan-saw, the say ar-KAN-zis, and that too, is correct.

It just doesnt stop

I got up with Hub and made sure he was on time to start work today. We had breakfast here in the hotel, then headed out into the white wasteland to get him to Walmart Training Center. First item on the agenda? Learning the Walmart Cheer! Oh thank you Lord that its him and not me. The GPS quit working for some unknown reason and sent us in repeating circles. We managed to find the training center on our own and I made it back to the hotel.

Back in the room, I got a call from Cowboy Jack and we are meeting today. At least he knows who to look for this time. I had to get ready, so after morning ablutions, I took a big dump and again, the toilet refused to flush. No please God, please cut me a break this time? Please? But God was busy with more important things than my big dump and small plumbing problem, so I cringed and called the front desk. McGuiver answered and I told him what was going on. He said he was looking for some zip-ties to fix the toilet mechanism. I dont really care how you fix it, Sweetie, just do it. Meanwhile I filled the wastepaper basket with water and did away with the nuclear waste in the bowl. I am beginning to think that someone back home has hired a witch doctor to cast some bad juju on this whole Arkansas thing. Mom? Would you sink to such measures? Um, yes.

And just when you think it cant get any worse...

It does. Frozen fog now. So in addition to the fact that nothing, not even the parking lot of this goddamn hotel is plowed, you cant see 50 yards in front of you. I fell hard on my left knee this morning, just walking over the rutted, crusted trenches from the hotel door to the crapbalt. A dark bruise raised immediately as Hub stifled his laughter. My lower back began to ache 30 minutes later but that has since subsided.

We attempted to do drive-bys and at least get a few curbside assessments of potential houses under our belts, but the road conditions, and later the fog stopped our attempts after only two houses. "But we never get weather like this."

We did have to make a trip to the Walmart to pick up a few things for hub. Wishing I had my camera, we passed by a 20-something couple that needed to be entered in the photos at "People of Walmart". He was goth from head to...well...not to toe, as he was not wearing shoes in this crap, but instead, pink fuzzy slippers. She was nearly naked with a zebra striped mini, no hose, stilettos and a deep plunging black shirt, no bra, no coat. There they stood, staring at a vending machine in the entrance. I guess they didnt notice that it was 20 degrees out. Morons.

Oh, is my attitude showing? Sorry. I'll work on it.

Where Angels and AAA Fear to Tread

We finally arrived at Northwest Arkansas Regional Airport (NWARA) at 1:30 pm, after several more delays due to icy conditions in Memphis. The entire region is blanketed in snow with ice everywhere. "But we never get weather like this," is the common lament... well, twice I have been here in the last three weeks, and twice the weather has been just like this. Its absolutely miserable.

Unca Sam rented us the cheapest substandard they could come up with, a chevy cobalt. WARNING: BE AFRAID. BE VERY AFRAID. This car is the worst piece of shit I have ever been in. We were given the keys and sent out to a car that was totally encrusted with 3/4" ice, all doors and the trunk were frozen shut, and there was no scraper because,"we never get weather like this." A couple of big guys in heavy weather clothing rolled by in a pickup truck and assisted in de-icing the car. I was laughing hysterically as they beat the living crap out of the car with heavy mallot-like scrapers, pounding the hood and the roof so violently that the whole car shook. One of them finally got a door open and turned over the engine. That helped somewhat in clearing the windows, but as to the body of the car---well, I wont be responsible for the damage.

First we checked into the comfort suites and were put in exactly the same room we had last time. Now, last time we were here, there was no heat and the pipes froze, ergo neither had we water. This time, we had heat and water, but the toilet broke and wouldnt flush. The desk clerk asked me for a paper clip or some "little metal thing" I could spare and McGuivered the toilet into almost-working order. After unpacking, we headed out in the crapbalt to drive by a few homes I was interested in seeing. The roads were awful, but we managed, somehow to make it to the furthest house on the list...and no further. And not back, either. The house was in a very hilly lake district and the crapbalt simply could not handle the conditions. We were stuck on an icy country road at the bottom of a steep curving hill. I tried more than twenty times to get up that hill, but the traction feature on the crapbalt could not be overridden and the accelerator would cut out at the slightest skid. We were completely stranded in freezing weather, with no hope of getting out.

Hub called AAA and they absolutely refused to help. Since our car was not broken down, and we were not in a ditch, nor in an accident, they considered a tow up the hill to be a courtesy and not an emergency. Now mind you, we are at least 30 minutes from civilization with no food, no water, no toilet, snow and ice so deep that walking was out of the question. Did AAA care that we were totally stranded and cold? Um, no. The best they would do is look up the nearest local towing company and give us the phone number. Hub called and was told we would have a 2 to 6 hour wait for a tow truck. So, with me hurling venomous insults and every curse I could conjure at the crapbalt, we sat trapped and waiting.

There were two people shoveling near the top of the hill and Hub walked over to see if they could assist us. They claimed to not speak English (Ha!) and offered no help. So what is the native language in NW Arkansas? Japanese? Click-talk?

After another 30 minutes or so, another couple walked up to our car. By that time my skull had split open and toxic ooze was spewing non-stop from my gob. I am sure I looked like the spawn of satan when they tapped on the window. Hub had long ago tuned me out and was staring blankly into the white wilderness. Gray and June Brown had been entertained by my valiant (foolish?) efforts and tenacity (pigheadedness?) in trying to conquer the hill in the crapbolt, and finallly took pity on us. They invited us into their lovely home while we waited for the tow truck. They proved to be remarkably good company and we passed the time by the fire with two burmese cats and hot tea.

The tow truck arrived long after dark and they were courteous, efficient and skilled in winching the crapbolt a total of less than 50 feet to a point that we could then resume our way out of Antarctica. They made sure we made it to the main road before they stopped to give us the bill. All the while, the one guy was telling hub what a good driver I was. He said that most women would be too afraid to keep up speed to handle the curves and other hills along the way to the main road. He said (to Hub, not to me) "My boss wants me to compliment your wife on her driving skills. She is a good, good driver! Most women would have stopped, ditched it or spun out by now but not your wife. She knows what it takes. She is a good driver!" Hub gave me the thumbs up and I felt less like an imbecile and more like a victim now. $270.00 later we were on our way. I am not complaining. And for those of you who think we got gouged, AAA and three other local companies would not come get us. (Oh trust me, I am not finished with AAA for leaving us to fend for ourselves on the tundra.) But these guys came as soon as they could, winched us to a safer point and made sure we made it to the main road. Pay the men, and smile, darlin'. Otherwise we would be eating snow for our thirst and probably peeing in it too.

The Crapbolt had had enough of my vicious browbeating and decided that if we were going to trade it in anyway, it may as well malfunction some more. So the key fob quit working and we had to manually unlock the doors, which were trying to freeze shut again. All of the alarms went off and the lights began to flash in the hotel parking lot and in spite of pushing every button on the fob, nothing worked. I had to get into the car and re-start it to make it shut the fock up. Then to lock it, I manually depressed all the door buttons before closing them. No alarm!

I have taken a pill now to sleep Hub is almost out already. He has already missed his first two days of work due to "We never get weather like this" and has to work saturday and sunday as a result. I will be stranded here without a car, but that is OK because if I got within proximity of another crapbalt, I might have to run the sucker into a lake and then offer to send AAA.

Stranded in Memphis, or Jamie got a gun....

We were supposed to fly to Arkansas again last night but our flight was canceled on their end for weather conditions. Ice storm in progress. Amazing, how the first time we went, courtesy of Unca Sam, it was in the single digits and the water pipes in our hotel froze. This time, apparently, the whole state is one big ice pond. Balmy in Detroit...

So this morning at zero-dark-thirty, we made the effortless 45 min drive to Detroit Metro Airport, bound to Arkansas via Memphis. Well, Memphis was as far as we would ever get. After our plane landed, we were boarded and deplaned twice before the airlines sent us packing, sans luggage. Yep--they would not return our luggage! They were generously doling out food vouchers which could only be used this day at the airport, but most of the vendors were already closed. Gee Thanks Guys. We had made friends with a gaggle of businessmen that were in the same situation as us. While Brian watched out belongings, the rest of us wandered the airport looking for a meal. The men all gravitated toward a place called Corky's BBQ, and whimpered like hungry mongrels that the restaurant was closed, yet the employees were still there. No sooner had one of the men sat up and begged, when a women threw open the gate and admitted us for pulled pork sandwiches! Wow! I ordered food for hub, but there was nothing for me. So I excused myself from the ravenous dogs and headed back to hub. On the way back, I saw a starbucks that was still open so I headed in to see if they had something for me. I noticed a small black bag sitting at an empty table and no one in the restaurant. I told the bored girl behind the counter that someone had left a bag and she phoned security.

Curiosity having the best of me, I opened the bag and did a double take, then felt my heart pound in my chest. In the bag, I found an MP3 player and earbuds, nicorette gum, and a fully loaded .45 Glock with two fully loaded magazines and a leather holster. After a quick check, I saw that the trigger lock was in place but how the HELL did this gun get through security? I felt it necessary to stay there until the bag was safely in the hands of the TSA, but unnecessary to tell the bored girl the contents of the bag. I waited and waited beside the bag, then asked to borrow her cellphone to tell hub why I was delayed. Her phone was out of minutes. No one came to claim the bag and no security showed up. After waiting nearly 15 minutes, a uniformed TSA agent meandered by and I flagged her down. I calmly told her that I didnt wish to alarm her, but that there was an abandoned bag containing a .45 glock and ammo. She stared at me. I watched her pupils dilate and her posture stiffen as she comprehended what I was saying. She got on her phone and called for a LEON team. Then she asked for my ID.

She was writing down my info when a pilot came running full tilt straight for us. His eyes were wild and he was pumping hard, nearly skidding to a stop as the TSA agent placed herself in his trajectory toward the bag. He was dripping sweat, visibly shaken, trembling and clearly panicking. After she affirmed that he was the owner of the...er...property, he dramatically begged her forgiveness and grabbed the bag, thanking her over and over again. I began to walk off, but I turned to him and admonished that he should be thanking ME for not going crazy when I found the bag. "You mean you looked inside?" he breathlessly stammered. "Of course I did. Who do you think called the TSA? But look, Dude, I'm like-minded, just not as careless as you. You got very lucky this time." He began running again as hub was approaching me. The disheveled pilot grasped our relationship and pointed to me, saying, "She is a lifesaver." Hub looked inquisitively at me, curious if this breathless man had anything to do with my delay. The corners of his mouth twisted into a sardonic smile as he said, "That guy will never forget this day." Um, neither will I.

We found a room at Comfort Suites Memphis and settled in. We may, however, be here for a while. The weather is treacherous, with a thick candy coating of ice over everything in sight. Memphis airport is closed. So is NW Arkansas Regional Airport. The hotel is filled with stranded folks exchanging war stories, but so far, no one has topped mine!

Janis Joplin meets the Marlboro Man

My first meeting with our relocation specialist, Ted, was arranged for 10:00 a.m. in the lobby of our hotel in Rogers, AR. Hub was already off to his new office, and Ted was going to introduce me to the area. The only thing I knew about Ted was that he was a realtor (spy) that hub's company provided, to put their best foot forward. Oh, and that Ted had been here for years and was a 60-ish. So I conjured a silver-haired southern boy in a suit and impractical dress shoes (in spite of single-digit temps) probably driving a Lincoln or a Caddy.

I had on jeans and a bulky sweater, my harness boots and a handwoven wool serape that I got in Mexico a hundred years ago. My unruly curls were forced into a ponytail at the back of my head. I had no makeup, no purse, just a cellphone and my wallet bulging in my front pocket. I wasnt exactly enthused, but I would be polite and appear interested, as Hub asked of me.

I bounced down to the lobby at 9:50 a.m. to look for the suit. I took a quick glance around and saw no one that screamed realtor nor spy, so I went outside. The sun shone brightly (!) but it was only 4 degrees out and everyone in Arkansas was apologizing for the weather. I lasted a few minutes, but Ted did not pull up before I decided that frozen tears and a runny nose would not make a good first impression. So I went back into the lobby and told the clerk that I was meeting someone, but they werent here, and would he kindly ring my room when my party arrives? Then I heard a voice in back of me say, "Tara?" I wheeled around to see a cowboy standing there, in a canvas shirt, a worn leather bomber (awesome), brown cords and boots.

"Ted?" ::::blink blink::::

He looked at me in the same uncomprehending way I was looking at him. He was expecting a bejeweled, Barbie, executive wife, coiffed, with perfect acrylic gels and an over-sized coach bag. Instead he was staring, gap-jawed at Janis Joplin, while I was staring, gap-jawed at the Marlboro Man. Then we both broke into wide grins and shook hands.

Ted was polished indeed. We first went to his office and he oriented me to a map of the area. On it I learned that Bentonville was furthest north, then came Rogers, then Springdale and then Fayetteville (Pronounced FAY-et-vil, not fay-ET-vil as us yankees say it) where we flew in. I took particular note of the large reservoir just to the east of where we were. Ted told me that was Beaver Lake, a two-dam valley reservoir with 550 miles of shoreline in the Ozarks. He handed me a welcome packet with data sheets on houses he picked through. At a glance, I could see that they were all McMansions in posh, treeless subdivisions. Then we got into his practical car (an SUV) and he began by showing me where Hub would be working, and the best of Bentonville. He drove by major shopping malls, Spas, Golf courses, Country clubs, the regional airfield (at which Hub's company keeps several private jets and pilots ready to go on a moment's notice) and some other luxurious amenities. I could feel my heart freeze solid.

"Jack," I began (I nicknamed him Cowboy Jack), "tell me something. If you were taking a vacation from work, just to hang around and not travel, what recreational activities would you be doing?" He replied, "Well, I would be up at Beaver Lake, either duck huntin' or fishin'." And that is where we headed next.

As we left suburbia, I could feel myself relax. Two lane roads made ascending pathways up into the higher regions, and the landscape changed from the overtaken pastureland suburbia, to hilly woodlands dotted with unique homes sprouting right out of the hillsides. I began to breathe normally as Ted again apologized for the weather, the winter, the leafless trees and brown fields. "You really are visiting us at the worst time of the year, you know. And we havent had a winter this cold in more than 20 years. It's beautiful here, really. You just cant see it now--- how beautiful it is most of the year." But that is just it. I could see it. I am from the mitten, where 7 months a year, my Harley sits in storage. Where six months a year, there are no leaves and you have to wear a heavy coat. Where five months a year the sun doesnt shine. Where four months a year you have to have the driveway plowed. What I was seeing, stretched before me was a large body of water that wasnt frozen solid in January. I saw forested hills roll endlessly in all directions. I saw two-laners without a single crack or pothole. I saw blue skies and the sun. The sun. The sun made me squint and wish I had my sunglasses, often forgotten and seldom really necessary in Michigan.

Ted drove along the reservoir to take me further up and show me his fishin' hole, but the roads became too icy and we headed back down. I chatted about our interest in firearms and how we has set up a shooting range when we owned 26 acres in western Michigan. With a twinkle in his eye and a more pronounced accent, he said, "Girl, I'm gettin' the feeling that what you need is some land out here. Maybe that is what we should be more focused on."

Finally, Ted and I were on the same page. The sun burned even brighter. I could feel the icicles around my heart start to drip, drip, drip.

Demographics

Hub and I were at the dinner table, having just finished carry-out Italian fare, when he turned to me and said, "Do they have any good Italian joints in Arkansas?" Font of knowledge that I am, I replied, "How the hell should I know? If there are Italians in Arkansas, there are probably Italian restaurants." Which led directly to the very next question: Who lives in Arkansas? This should be in the book that doesnt exist at Borders Books. So I googled Arkansas demographics and found a few things.

Population of the whole state, approx 2.6 million. Whites make up 75%, Blacks 20% and *other* 2%. So who are the missing 3%? Neanderthals? Fembots?

Arkansas was a one-party state (Democratic) from the early 1900s to 1974. From the data, Republicans began demanding to be recognized in the mid seventies. Maybe that is who the *missing 3%* are.

Arkansas was the 25th state admitted to the union. Only a few short years ago, the government settled a long dispute on the possessive form of the noun. The possessive form of Arkansas is "Arkansas's". The Jones's house is in Arkansas's foothills. Ok but why did it take an act of legislature to settle that argument? Perhaps it was the same folks who decided that all people must join a church.

I have a feeling that I may be in for some serious brainfreezes in my quest to integrate.

Manspeak

Hub came home and told me a story. He said that he and his best friend Charles, had had the "chat" earlier this week. This is what took place...

Me: What "chat" would that be?

Hub: You know. The man chat.

Me: No. I dont know what a man chat is. I have never been a man. What did Charles say?

Hub: Charles said, "Wow! Did you bullshit your way into this job the way you have bullshitted your way into all your jobs?" And I said, "yeah. Just like that." And Charles said, "Way to go, man." And I said, "thanks."

(I am pretty sure that the crease between my eyebrows gave Hub a hint that I was completely lost.)

Me: What do you mean you BULLSHITTED your way into this job? You have earned every dollar they offered you. You were selected among a hundred applicants to be *da Man*. Your compensation package would not be offered to a bullshitter. Why would you not defend yourself and tell Charles that you earned this, not that you bullshitted your way into this position?

Hub: I did.

Me: That is not what you just said.

Hub: Yeah I did. What Charles manspoke was, "I know you have been busting your balls for this, as you have done all along." And I answered in manspeak, "yep. Its been a long road to this place." And then Charles congratulated me on my efforts. Its just Manspeak.

Me: Why cant you just say that stuff? Why do you have to disguise the meaning with sophomoric idioms and one syllable responses? How do you know that Charles means all those noble things and not the vulgarities that came across?

Hub: I understood Charles perfectly and he understood me perfectly. You were the one who didnt understand.

Well, he had me there.

Joining is Mandatory

Hub's team took him to lunch and invited me today. We all met at the Roma Cafe, Detroit's oldest restaurant establishment in the Eastern Market area. Sam the waiter didnt fail me and held me in a long conversation, which stunned more than a few of Hub's co-workers. I didnt have anything to do with picking the restaurant, but I have patronized Roma's for almost 30 years. Sam (from Morocco) has been there the whole time.

I recognized almost everyone at the table: Chitra, Mischel, Andye, Brenda, Leah, and then there were a few I had not met before, but heard of: Neal, the new senior mgr (a recent southern transplant), Mithra and a guy from Korea that no one seemed to know very well. He sorta just showed up.

Much of the chitchat was in the vernacular of tax geeks which left me feeling like I was listening to a foreign language. Translations were infrequent. I turned to Neal and asked how things were going for he and his wife in the Midwest. Neal acknowledged the cultural differences and I thought I might help. I shared a little pearl with him about Midwesterners. I told him that we are nice, but not necessarily polite. We dont say Yes sir and Yes ma'am. We may not greet you when we walk into a room, at least not immediately. But its not personal and he should not think we are rude, perhaps just remiss. But Neal gave me a fantastic pearl of wisdom that I will not forget. He said that one of the first things on the order of business was to find a church and join it. I thought it odd that he should say that, but he went on to further explain that we will be bugged non-stop by everyone we meet to join their church and it wont stop. It wont stop UNTIL we join a church. Attendance is optional but joining is mandatory. Quid Pro Quo. Thank you, Neal.

I went to the bookstore

I went to Borders Books, to find books on Arkansas..
.
.
.
there arent any.

I mentioned this on my facebook page and BFF said, "I bet there are no books on Michigan available in the Arkansas Borders Books either." Then I felt my heart start to thump wildly as the notion sank in: If the Borders Books here denies Arkansas's significance, does Arkansas deny Borders Books significance?

The pattern Emerges

Since our announcement, and by the way, some of it was very difficult (remember the three sets of parents? More on that later) a pattern began to emerge that begged to be recorded. The funniest things in the world began to materialize, affirming my positive attitude and spurring me forward. For instance, when some of my friends on facebook began to respond, I began to howl with laughter. Bless them anyway.

Ned said, "Arkansas? For God's sake, what's in Arkansas? Well, I guess somebody has to live there."

My cousin said, "Oh My God Why? Why? Oh no! And of all the Godforsaken places...Arkansas. Oh you poor thing."

My doctor winked and said, "See ya on the flip-side."

My best friend burst into tears and said, "What? Arkansas? You're leaving me!!!???? You cant!" Then she grabbed onto me, buried her face into my neck and wailed like a kid who's dog just died. I held her as my tee shirt grew wetter and wetter from the marriage of tears and snot. I found myself comforting her and telling her its going to be OK. Its not the end of the world. I'm going to be back often. Then it hit me: all these things were what I was longing for someone to say to me.

where to start?

I am a midwesterner. Died in the wool, ne'er been elsewhere, midwesterner. I am starting to blog my startling mid-life change: We are moving to Arkansas. I live in a small home with my husband, several birds and a greyhound. We have no children, but Oh do we have parents. Three sets. More on that later. Hub took a job for Walmart, at the world HQ in Bentonville AR and that is where we are headed. It was sudden, but not surprising. It was a careful choice, of which I was included in every aspect. I support his need to advance his career and I will do all I can to be his support. He wont have to worry about me. Its not that big a deal, or so I have been telling myself. Women do this all the time. They do it with children, pregnancies, careers, and a whole litany of other things I dont have to worry about so I am NOT unique. I can do this.