A little gypsy in me...

I have got so many building plans in my head and on various scrap pieces of paper.  Some even on graph paper, like I know what I am doing.  We have had discussions, debates and decisions.  One of those decisions has been, and this is today, let’s do the many small projects first.  Oh, them’s mighty dangerous words, sir. 

I don’t think he knows how many small projects there are…or what I consider small and what he may consider to be small.  But, here’s a few, just to get started: A driveway change, a parking spaces change, a garage, a shed, new porches with overhangs on both the kitchen side and road side of the house, finish landscaping around my bridge and railings for the bridge, and low-voltage landscape lighting.

There is a new project to my ever growing list.  And here it is:

Now, my good friend Carolyn might say here “Hey! I’m the gypsy!” and she’s right, but, I don’t actually want this to GO anywhere.  I just want it in the woods.  I want there to be a desk in there and some opportunity for electricity but I don’t want there to be a toilet or a kitchen.  I don’t want to LIVE in it, for crying out loud. 

I love the idea of a small cottage in our space.  I like the idea of something whimsical.  A fun place to read, or relax, to dream or to plan ~ a get-away without going away.   These small homes can be built on trailer frames and be road worthy, if that’s what you are in to, but, that’s not what I am seeking.  I hear, but haven’t confirmed, that if built on a frame like this it doesn’t require a building permit or can be taxed.  I am checking that out, believe me.

Don’t be surprised if you see this, or something similar, along the way.  It will take some talking but I have lost the gazebo argument, and this is round 2. 

Panic in the snow.

Feeling refreshed after a week in a tropical paradise with some great times, big laughs and good people.  Hubs’ annual business get-away, this year to Playa Del Carmen, Mexico, ended with a big snowstorm and travel bans.  Perfect, I guess.

A few years ago, while driving on an interstate, a big part from the driveshaft of a truck fell into the middle of our driving lane.   There was an attempt to avoid it, but, we hit a corner of this monstrous piece of metal and were relieved we survived the encounter. A few hundred feet later, however, the car was shaking and thumping and we ended with a flat tire, in driving rain, at 70 miles per hour.

Hubs maneuvered to the side of the road where many other vehicles were pulled over after having also encountered the same piece of debris. The fact that there were others didn’t comfort me much as I left the vehicle, umbrella in hand and climbed to the top of the little hillside, away from the traffic.  It was there I felt my first and only panic attack as hubs decided he needed to change the tire on the car, on the driver’s side, as traffic continued to race by. Let’s just say I freaked out.  I broke down, begged him not to go to the side of the car, in the rain.  I cried.  I sobbed…I was outside of myself and my usual demeanor.  I pleaded with him to call emergency service, as for crying out loud, we have road side coverage.  Long story short, he changed the tire and we were on our way within an hour. I remained confused by the anxiety and fears that washed over me for a long time...but, like all memories, that confusion faded and I haven't had a second episode. 

We returned to the airport Saturday afternoon, anticipating a long bus ride home, only to learn there had been a few inches of snow in our area with whiteout conditions.  A travel ban was in effect, a state of emergency in our county and many traffic accidents on the highways. I began to experience the onset of my second panic attack. I tried hard to fight it down, to not let it gain a foothold.  I walked away from scores of people, I adjusted and readjusted my scarf, I checked my bag for my gloves.  Decisions were being made on what to do, how to proceed with the travel arrangements and the transportation of many people to their homes, at least two hours away, through a driving blizzard.  The buses were already on their way after having driven through the area with the worst conditions and were predicted to be two hours late. The news sites we could access on phones, and reaching out to people at home, were full of stories of accidents, injury and in the case of a small child, loss of life. 

I couldn’t do it.  I had an option as our son and daughter-in-law live in Chicago.  My son came to get me, and I am forever grateful.  Hubs needed to stay with the group.  I can’t really explain why, but I could not.   We have all heard the stories where a person misses a flight or train and there was a horrible crash that spared them. I recognize that my decision is not of that fabric…my decision was what was best for me.  The group arrived home a few hours later and my panic, my fear, might seem to be a bit misplaced in the big picture. There’s a part of me that knew the bus would be fine, that they would get home safe.  There was a bigger part of me that was firmly housed in the “what if” and it rooted me, and it held me in that panic.

Snow appetite

Like a lot of the country, I am not particularly a fan of the National Football League or it’s players.  Oh, there are some good ones, I’m sure, but the greed and the gluttony of professional football has caused some of the luster to tarnish for me.  I love high school sports, and I like college sports but the NFL is not something I appreciate. 

However, I like the Super Bowl in some aspects…the commercials are fun, the half time is usually a top notch performance and well, there’s the commercials.  That’s not really enough to make up for the amount of time you need to invest in actually watching the game so you have to have food, friends and family. 

This weekend we were blasted with mega inches of snow which prevented us from plowing out through our drifted shut driveway to a dear nephew’s home to enjoy the game.  We knew pretty early in the day that we would be hunkered down in our tight little house.  Keep in mind this is me, hubs and the little dog. It was a long day.

When there are long, snowy days like yesterday and there’s no chance I’m going anywhere, I do begin to feel slightly trapped.  Hubs paces, and whistles and as much as I love the guy, and I do, a pacing whistler is not a joy when you feel trapped in a small house already.  It was a beautiful snow but it was raw outside. The little dog wanted nothing to do with going out in it either,  probably feeling a little more on edge than usual, considering she couldn’t figure out what all the whistling was for. 

My usual solution to this kind of day is to eat.  I mean, eat whatever I can find to eat.  I practiced quite a lot of restraint but found myself planning what I would eat next ALL day.  I had gathered ingredients to make mini Rueben sandwiches for the party we would not attend so I knew those would be making an appearance.  But, a quick perusal of the fridge also revealed the ingredients for biscuits and gravy, popcorn, cheese and crackers, humus, fruit, vegetables, Girl Scout Cookies, potato soup, beer, wine, bread.  An all-diggity-dang-dong-day eating fest was about to unfold. 

I fought, and somewhat won, and did not empty the pantry and fridge.  I calmed myself down, ate somewhat reasonably and occupied my day with HGTV and house remodeling plans. I did make biscuits and gravy for a nice breakfast and was able to prepare just popcorn for an afternoon snack.  The mini sandwiches appeared at dinner alongside some delicious potato soup.  Cooking smells hung heavy in the closed up house all day and into the night and I cannot wait to open a window!

Snow days are great but I am glad this storm appears to be short lived.  While I don’t think I’ll get out today, hubs was able to drive to work and reported the road crews had done a fantastic job.  In a few days we will leave for our warm weather vacation.  I’ll spend a bit of time today with the handsome twins of HGTV and think paint colors for my bathroom refresh, and put another sketch down on paper to present to hubs when he gets home as to a new kitchen layout.  Nothing can make a man whistle like listening to remodeling ideas and paint colors.

"Oh these times are going through some changes, seems like I'm going outta my mind, yeah"

You know, I am a firm believer in if you don’t like your situation, change it ~ only you can.   

I live in a small, Midwestern town.  Like a lot of smaller towns, there’s a certain amount of upgrading that needs to happen and it’s not the life for everyone.  We have a fair share of the national problems that are cursing towns everywhere.  Petty crime, drugs, stupidity, unemployment or under-employment ~ all of it.   

The thing is we also have parks, lakes, playgrounds, historic buildings, schools, teachers, green space, flowers…so much.  Also, apparently, not for everyone.

Late last week it was being volleyed around Facebook that one of our main access routes was closed by police.  There had been a robbery attempt and witnesses reported the allegedly armed robber had run into a house.  Someone posted, from a bigger city two hours south of ours, what was going on because they had their news on, or were watching posts on a “big city” newspaper feed.  Their comment “How do I know what’s going on in YOUR town and YOU don’t”.  Valid point.

Forget this person was watching the news, had a scanner, was watching a more technologically current newspaper site, or keeping up with it on Facebook…that doesn’t bother me.  What bothers me is the posting of one young woman who responded something along the lines of "not keeping up with what’s going on in this *$#* town"  and how she was highly inconvenienced as couldn’t take her regular route home. 

I really don’t care that this person was inconvenienced, nor do I particularly care that she felt her situation could best be described by the use of profanity, a trait I find less than classy or necessary in, oh, I don’t know, 99% of all situations.  However,  I try not to use my own measuring stick on other people.  

Hey, I said I try.

But seriously, change your situation if you don’t like it.  Or try, this…change you. 

Something new?

I don’t have a dilemma a week or anything but this week I am trying to resolve an issue.  Many of you may have something similar going on and well, let’s talk about it.
 

What do I do with my hair? I started going pretty grey about 15 years ago, and now, it’s full blow silver and that’s okay.  I don’t mind that.  I stopped coloring it when I had a particularly stressful period going on and the color became too much for my suddenly sensitive scalp.  So, going “natural” with it was the only answer at the time.  I also had hives a couple times during this period of my life so I was a piece of work, let me tell ya.

Anyway, I’ve gone back and forth between the same hair styles since then.  I cut it short, it looks real nice, it grows too fast and turns into sort of a “bob”. I cut it again, miss a hair appointment, it grows too fast, I’m back to the bob and in desperate need for a haircut.

That’s where I am this week.  I don’t know why but I failed to make a regular hair appointment at my last appointment.   Five weeks is about optimal and sometimes I can push it to six, if it’s a slow growth period like winter.  So I have a big vacation coming up and rather than try to squeeze two appointments in to 8 weeks, I’m pushing my haircut to about 7.   It may or may not drive me crazy before then. 

I decided since I was at this point, with my hair a bit longer, maybe I should switch it up and began doing some research online for a new style.  Now, you have to know that I am not in to hair products so much but, I am working on accepting a bit of mousse and hairspray.  They do help, I get it.  But, it’s still pretty straight and silver ~ man, my hair is definitely silver.  It’s thinner than it used to be and just a bit cranky at times. 

 

I tried page after page of looking at hairstyles, particularly what might be recommended for women of a certain age.  Of course, I want to be Emmy Lou Harris but I find I am more Helen Mirren. However, I still didn’t find a style that I wanted to try, outside of Emmy Lou’s beautiful “shag”. My hair, while long, is not quite as long as hers, and she’s gorgeous and tall. 
 

The first article I read suggested that women without long graceful necks should not go short.  I do not have a long neck, friends, accept this about me, and I have worn my hair short for most of my life.  Armed now with the crime of having no neck and wearing short hair,  I began believing my hair should be a bit longer, but slightly layered and accepted the written advice of one expert that no layer should be shorter than above eye level.   It is healthy, it is thinner but maybe I should keep it a bit longer.   Just when I was settling in on it and thinking about what my hair could be, and convincing myself I could adopt a new look, I read these words:
 

“Women of a certain age just look smarter with short hair.”

So it goes, I guess.

Here it is, only the first few days of the new year, and I’ve already lost track of time.  I mean, things I thought were far off in the calendar are now right around the corner and, well, I’m not ready. 

The big thing looming over me right now is a trip to Mexico with hubs' work.  This is an annual trip to a fabulous tropical (usually) spot.  We've been to Jamaica, Mexico, a few times, Hawaii, Dominican Republic, Aruba and Spain.  The trips were on a hiatus for a few years while the economy was doing it’s spiral.  Last year was the reinstatement year, however.

This year’s trip is in four weeks.  To say I’m not ready is a bit of an understatement.  I haven’t given it enough thought, first of all, and well…I need to lose weight, slough off winter skin, buy some cute clothes, do something with the bags under my eyes, get my hair styled, develop a few anecdotes to share at dinners, whiten my teeth.  The list goes on. 

Last year, after years of having a particular couple with us on trips who assumed the role but no longer travel, I realized that we are maybe the oldest couple.  My God.  There is one other couple that may be older than us, but, I am sure we are a close second if it’s true, and, I don’t think they are going this year.  So, it’s us. Dang.

During a trip to Chicago last summer, I wandered in to a CB2 store.  It is sort of the industrialized version of Crate and Barrel, if you aren't familiar.  Kind of loft style.  So, I’m walking through the store, just picking, you know? A lot of “May I help you, ma’am?” coming my way.  Crazy loud music, but nothing I couldn't tolerate.  I was enjoying my visit, interesting things to see.  After about five or ten minutes in the store, I realized I was the oldest person in the joint.  Seriously, oldest…by far.  No wonder the sales staff thought I needed assistance.   Starting to feel a little self-conscious, I slowly strolled towards the front door, which was a glass cube of sorts.  Here’s the issue….I didn't know which of the high glass panels was actually the door.  I hovered around the cube, hoping someone would come in and give me a clue.  I looked at bathroom décor I had absolutely no interest for, to wait.  To see which of the panels magically opened so that I might make a dignified exit.

Dignified it was, as some bright shiny young person breezed in through the cube and I was able to dart out.  Escape, sweet escape.   

Another one bites the dust...

2015, huh? Alright, let’s go. 

Some of you may be wondering how I am doing with the diabetes thing.  It is not so much fun, actually, and I got a little big for my britches back in the fall and thought I could determine my own dosage of the medication I take.  Yes, I discovered, and was told, that I cannot ~ so I am trying to be a very good girl in order for my 2015 to be great.  This has proven to be a little difficult…I find it so very hard to be good.  I spent a little short week being really down about it and mad before kicking myself in the rear and getting back on with it.  Eeeeegads it is a pain. 

But, that’s not for today.  My goodness or lack thereof will be addressed later in the year, when I think about those things.  I’m like Scarlett O’Hara in that way…another day.

I have been giving much thought to planting and landscaping again.  There’s a reason for this envisioning…big trees have fallen over and bushes removed.  There is the one last year along the driveway, the big rhododendron we removed and last month, another gigantic “snag” fell over in the middle of the night and took out half of another tree with it.  This is not great ~ for one, we had to have the snag taken all the way down so it would not fall into the road. This happened a few days before Christmas and will deeply impact my budget for the next month. Not cool, tree.

Besides, this will change the feel of the woods for sure.  More light, yes, and it missed my transplanted rhododendron starts and my one good little dogwood I have along the road…all good news.  It also opens up some pretty good “dappled” sunlight.  I am pretty excited about the possibilities, really, but back in the back of my head, way back there, my anxious little self is asking a few questions. 

Which tree is going next? We have many pretty old and substantial trees and yes, some, like this last one, are dead but still standing.  At least for now.  Is this little house in danger of a big tree?  I have some friends who suffered some big tree damage in a storm a few years ago and I know it was difficult.  I don’t want big trees toppling over onto the house and there are a few that could. 

I am not going to think about it now, but I have a feeling it is catching up with us.