Outside Over There

Apologies for the lack of recent updates. I have been moving into a new apartment, etc., and haven't had time to craft anything of substance/interest.

More frequent updates in the blog if you are looking for something to chew on.

This post is in response to January's RAoJ prompt: Describe your dream house.

While Royce and I were in Louisiana, we went over the river to look at a house in Mississippi. A big Victorian house with a ridiculously low price tag. We've been thinking about moving south for quite some time, and have consistently been amazed at the low cost of real estate. This seemed like a dream, though. The house needed a lot of work, but basking in the enthusiasm of still-new love for my partner, all work seemed surmountable. I was sold. Really. I started to refer to it as "my house" and "our house." We hadn't even called the realtor back and I was already imagining where I'd put furniture, what color we'd paint walls. I got books about old house restoration. Every night I dreamed about that house.

You know there's a punchline, right? Like maybe the house was owned by one of my distant relatives, or maybe I had noted an incorrect asking price, or maybe it was condemned or something?

The punchline is that it was already sold when the realtor showed it to us. He "hadn't checked the file." He'd "just flown in from New Jersey." He "still had his suitcases in the car."

Well, not sold exactly, but in contract. Apparently there are title issues, as there often are with older homes. The realtor says that if the seller doesn't deliver the title shortly, maybe the buyer will get frustrated. Maybe the buyer will find another house he/she likes better. Maybe the deal will fall through and the house will be ours. Maybe.

Royce's mom is already looking for other houses for us. She took pictures of a few sprawling, crumbling behemoths, but my heart belongs to a certain gray-blue 1905 beauty.

The funny thing is that if we'd been able to buy the house, it would have meant years of back-breaking work, but my mind doesn't care. In my mind, in my dreams, I walk through the house and all the work is done. It's the house I get married in and have babies in, the house where family congregates for holidays, the house that I love to come home to every day after work. The house where my kids bring their friends to watch movies, the house with the verdant garden, the house that makes me feel like I'm living my life. And maybe the house where I die.

It has a library, two living rooms, a dining room, and a study. It has a kitchen that is full of light, and three bedrooms, one of which would be the perfect art studio. It has old cast-iron tubs in the bathrooms.

The back porch wraps around the house. We'd put a swing there.

I am crazy in love. Crazy like a fox.

QUITE POSSIBLY THE WORST NIGHT OF MY LIFE

Royce and I visited his mother and grandmother in Louisiana. So did his aunt. And her husband. And their son. And his two children.

Two queen-size beds.

Seven adults.

Two children.

Yes, you see the problem here already. Luckily, we were sort of guests-of-honor, being from California and all, so we got one of the beds to ourselves. I was trying not to think about how everyone else was fitting into one bed, a loveseat, and a recliner. Don't get me wrong, it was nice to see everyone. It was just a little crowded. And loud.

One night, I had a bad headache and went to bed early (by early I mean before everyone else, at about 2 a.m.). Uncle Dan was watching some Clint Eastwood movie while everyone else played a card game. Uncle Dan, you are probably not aware, is hard of hearing. And Clint Eastwood, you should be aware, usually stars in movies with a lot of shooting. Loud, repetitive shooting. Nobody ever just shoots one bullet. So people kept turning the TV down, on trips to the bathroom, and Uncle Dan kept turning it back up. BLAMBLAMBLAMBLAMBLAM. Headache girl was not getting much rest. Also, it was abnormally hot. And I couldn't breathe because (you also may not be aware), I am allergic to cats. Not to my own, and not to other people's if I have a chance to get desensitized. A week isn't long enough to get desensitized, though, so not only was I hot, tired, headachey, and AWAKE, I also couldn't breathe through my nose. And my eyes wouldn't stop watering. Also, and this is TMI, I really had to take a crap. Every time I went into the bathroom, someone walked in on me, either a small child or an old lady with Alzheimer's. There was no privacy! And they were staying for THREE MORE DAYS!

How long can you go without defecating before you die? I wondered. How long can I take this? Surely they will eventually turn off the television and go to sleep.

But then it was 3 a.m., and I was still hot, tired, headachey, not-breathing, and awake. BLAMBLAMBLAMBLAMBLAM. BLAM.

At this point I was balled up and feeling very sorry for myself, wondering how much it would cost to get a motel room and a rental car. Royce came in and gave me a hug, listened to me whine, and assured me that everyone would go to sleep soon. NOT. BLAMBLAM.

And then I started to feel kind of sick. And cold and shivery. And then not just kind of sick, really sick. Like maybe I was going to throw up. I went to the bathroom and gagged tentatively. Yep, vomit.

"PETER," Uncle Dan yelled from the living room. "YOU BETTER GET IN HERE, SHE'S THROWING UP!"

Great, so everybody knew. Although I was strangely touched. BLAMBLAMBLAM. Like I said, strangely.

But remember that part about people walking in on me? Yeah. People kept having to use the bathroom, so I would go back to the bedroom and gag until they got out, and apparently THEY were able to take a crap because when I'd get back in there...well...you get the picture.

Eventually someone got me a plastic bag, and then they upgraded my plastic bag to a mop bucket that smelled like Pine Sol. VAST IMPROVEMENT OVER CRAPPY TOILET, LET ME TELL YOU. The only downside was that now Royce was in bed, so he got to witness my vomit extravaganza.

Eventually I stopped puking and crawled into bed. I have never felt anything better than that moment, not puking, with Royce curled up against me. It was so warm and perfect. Finally, the television was off, all cookies were tossed, and the cat had left the bedroom.

BUT WAIT, THERE'S MORE.

A couple of hours later I was awakened by Royce's grandma. "Can you scoot over so I can climb in back?" she asked. She wanted to get in bed. I froze. "Uhhhh, okay." I scooted over. She got in. She put her arm around both of us. I held very still. Very, very, still.

Someone came looking for Grandma eventually, and she woke up and padded off.

"OH MY GOD," said Royce. "ARE YOU OKAY?"

And actually, I was okay. The most okay I had been all day.

Before we left to visit my parents Michael and Linnea surprised us with a pre-Christmas Christmas that was...I don't know. All the adjectives I can think of are saccharine and inadequate: precious, darling, sweet. I guess the word I am looking for is closer to "joyful." It surprised me, both in its joyfulness and its scope--I got many more gifts than I expected, all of them thoughtful and beautiful! Unfortunately the present I'd ordered for Linnea did not arrive in time. Sigh. Still, it felt celebratory.

Christmas in Oregon was rather uneventful. It was nice to see my parents and sister, nice to visit with my grandparents, nice to be back in the house where I grew up....Nice, but not earthshaking.

The drive up was great, though, and made me all nostalgic about last summer's road trip. Royce got us some books on tape, which was a real treat: Lord of the Rings (BBC radio version, not exactly a book on tape, but good nonetheless), and another by Stephen Hawking that we didn't have time to hear. I like going place with him. It makes me feel like we can do anything together.

Consumerism update: my dad LOVED the GPS thing we got him, and he and my mom have already gone geocaching. Apparently there is a cache less than 3 miles from their house, so it was a great place to start. He is hard to buy presents for, so it was nice to get him something that he enjoyed, and that both my parents will use for their various hiking, kayaking, and camping adventures.

My grandfather remembered me some of the time. The girls (Mom, G'ma, Ellen and I) went to church on Christmas Eve, while the boys stayed with Grandpa and watched TV. My grandpa thought we were going to my wedding! I'm sure he was confused that Royce stayed behind. Later, when he thought I couldn't hear, he asked my sister, "Do you know that girl?" And later still he asked me how I was liking it in Los Angeles, as he always does. For some reason he can remember that I live in California, but can't remember the city. I don't correct him anymore, because it's not important.

He's not driving anymore, which is a big change. He is Mister Automobile...he and my grandmother spent years on the road, and he drove every mile. My grandma says he was angry for a couple of days and refused to open her door and pull out her chair. My grandfather is the kind of guy who would race in circles around the car trying to open and close the doors for all the women, so it's pretty funny how he chose to express his anger. Now he just gives my grandmother "help" with her driving, from the passenger seat, which she says is fine with her. We are all glad that he did not have an accident and injure himself or someone else.

The church service with my grandmother was beautiful, as always. The meditation on my candle was "Wonder"...that is, wonder at the things God has in store for me. Do not worry about what you have to eat or drink. Your Father knows what you need. Instead, seek his kingdom, and these other things will be given to you as well. Do not be afraid any longer, little flock, for your Father is pleased to give you the kingdom. Sell your belongings and give to the poor. Make a purse for yourself that will not wear out, an inexhaustible treasure in heaven, that no thief can steal or moth destroy. For where your treasure is, there also will your heart be. [Luke 12: 29-34] That's a hell of a New Year's resolution.

My mother's meditation was "Love" and my sister's was "Christ in You" (HA HA). She was not pleased. The reverend said that we couldn't trade, because the first meditation would follow you even if you gave it away. Too funny. At the end of the service she found another candle that someone hasn't taken the meditation from, and it was "Joy." I wonder if the first will follow her.

The rest of the time in Oregon we spent being lazy, playing Quiddler and SET and Split, cooking, eating, watching movies on TV, playing with the kitties. I had PMS and was generally cranky, and I think Royce was a little bored, so it actually felt good to get back on the road at the end of the week.

I was in Oregon, then Louisiana, and I will update with details of my adventures shortly. Happy New Year!