sunny sunday fall morning….

I was cleaning up dishes in the kitchen, looking out my window at a squirrel sitting on an old wooden fence post, under a dilapidated apple tree, bright fall sunshine illuminating the squirrel's tail and left half of it's body,  the field behind it still shiny with remains of morning frost.
The smell of apple pancake baking in the oven.

And it was good. Hell, it was GREAT!

Until the goddamn dog started barking at the front window, yanking me harshly from my autumnal reverie.

I yelled at her to stop, always a fruitless endeavor (but sometimes I like to yell), as I walked into the living room to forcibly remove her from the window.

Immediate problem solved, I stared out the window, through the semi-bare branches of the old trees that   are scattered across my front yard.    There was a deer in our front yard, wandering out into the road.

A doe and her two fawns have been frequent visitors to the yard, and the neighboring fields since we moved in back in June.  We've found ourselves urging them across the street more than a couple of times on weekend mornings, as there's a 90 degree curve just up the road, and people tend to come around it far faster than they should.
"Come on… cross the road!!!!"

This morning, it appeared to be the doe, by herself. wandering across our yard, stopping in the middle of the road, just to add an element of suspense and alarm to my morning.

Turns out, she was waiting for the kids to catch up.   And then there were three.. wait… four… five  SIX of them, all in the middle of Riverview drive, wandering aimlessly across the street, and into the yard by the old barns and storage area across the street.   And, as one, they all took off in a run, shining copper in the morning sun, as they flew across the just-harvested soy bean field.

And it was good.    Hell, it was great!

The buzzer just went off, time to pull breakfast out of the oven….

How a hike in the woods and drive in the country can develop into a metaphor about ones' life, or some such nonsense.

Had a great evening, yesterday.  

Got out of work on time, got home quickly… even the radio was cooperating, playing great music for most of my ride.    (See old post about listening to RUSH on the radio...)

Changed from frumpy business casual to “F*ck the sweat and bug spray” hiking clothes, and we were parking the Subaru at the trail head by 4:30.   

Hiked a trail I’ve walked many times before, but not for many years.   Laughed with my wife about past trips, and how the…. ambiguous trail markers had led to some unexpectedly long hikes.   Only to come upon the very same trail markers, afresh.

The addition of a crappily drawn and copied trail map, courtesy of the state park, did not exactly clarify things.   But long-dormant memories of the geography, and of past mis-steps, won the day, and it worked out largely how I pictured it would. 

80 minutes of woods and inclines and peace... nice.

Took a minor detour on our drive home.  Swung through the metropolis that is Shelbyville, MI. 

We last lived in MI, before 2 months ago, in 1997, spending 1.5 years renting a converted chicken coop from a very nice family of Jehovah’s Witnesses there. 

 Cows woke us up on weekends; a walk around the block took 45 minutes; and we had to be careful to determine if the electric fences were turned on, whenever we’d go for a walk in the fields around the house.    It was an awesome time, and we loved it.

The fields are now either grown over, or dotted with new homes.  We could not even see our old house from the road, because all the trees and shrubs and such are 17 years older than they were, then.   You CAN go home again, but there are no guarantees that you'll be able to find it.... 

The place had evolved, in other words. Shocker…. 

Nature does that.  It changes, grows, evolves.

Which led my wife to state “My god, I hope WE’VE evolved.”     

And we have.  A huge amount, and mostly in positive ways.    We’re financially fairly stable, and have a great kid.  I’m working at a job I could not have dreamed of, 17 years ago.   My wife’s obtained a masters degree, and found a line of work for which she’s passionate.

We’ve worked hard over the last 17 years! 

And we live a healthier lifestyle, though my weight’s almost exactly what it was when I was 29 years old. (Not bragging, for sure.  Have you SEEN me?)   

But it’s possible we dream about the future less, now that our NOW is closer to what we USED to dream about.  I know I’m guilty of that.  

“What do I want to be when I finally grow up” has changed to the knowledge that, to my surprise, I’m a grown up.   Need to work on the dreaming part a bit, for sure.     

We used to have a fairly steady stream of guests. Wherever we lived, we had a steady stream of friends and (and increasingly their dates) showing up on our doorsteps with a gym bag and beer money and not much else.  This went well with our questionable leisure time activities and night (and occasionally day) time adventures.   

All of THEIR lives have evolved in positive ways as well, so it makes sense that our guest beds don’t get the use they once did.   Still miss the guests and the vibe tho’.    The hangovers and dumbovers - not so much.

Our NOW lives, while overall more healthy and secure and less cluttered with questionable leisure time activities, is not as close-to-the-bone as it used to be.   We used to get by with…not much, and we used to be pretty good at it.    Not sure if we could still do it as successfully, and fear having to find out.

And, as odd as it may sound, being broke and living hand-to-mouth in the middle of nowhere;  driving 20+ miles to a shit-paying job I hated everyday while Wendy was in nursing school – Far LESS stressful than my life FEELS, now.  I guess having absolutely nothing to lose took the edge off, back in the day, although I know there were moments….

But we’re smarter, and more responsible, and safer, and we’re parents, so the net positive evolution is certainly substantial.

Take a walk, take a drive and check out your old life. Hopefully you’ll be able to see it through the overgrowth and new construction and be able to navigate the old trails in spite of the ambiguous markers.

Remember to give yourself props for how far you’ve come.    But don’t overlook the positives you left behind, and give some thought as to how you can gather them up and find space for them still today.

Or some such nonsense....

Is Comcast the worst company in the whole wide world?

The world's a big place, but they're up there toward the top.......

It seemed simple enough.

He writes, laughing bitterly.

I’m just going to call Comcast and cancel my service, and have them pick up my equipment, because, hey – I’m moving.   And they don’t offer service at my new address.

Easy peasy.     So I called them, and the cust. Service (he laughs bitterly again at that title) rep. was very helpful.  Of course we’ll take care of that sir.    But it’ll be $200 dollars for tech. to come out to your house to pick up the equipment, as it’ll be considered a service call.

WTF?      Ok…   Option B was drive 55 blocks into dodgy part of S. Chicago when I didn’t have time to do so, and drop them off…. 

Option C – We’ll be happy to send you a kit sir, with box and pre-paid postage labels, and you can just drop everything off at UPS.     SWEET!!!

Until the kit never shows up.  And I end up driving all my equipment to the new house.

Only to find that the nearest Comcast location is 30 miles away.    

My phone rings on Saturday, June 21.   Why, it’s… COMCAST!      A service guy.  Seems he saw my for sale sign on the old house, and wanted to know if we were transferring service, or if we would like them to come pick up the equipment.    Told him I tried to schedule that, but balked at the $200 price tag.

“$200?  No sir, we don’t charge for picking up our equipment.”   And he offered to come by the old house, where no one was living at the time, and pick it up….  Nope.     But hey, could you find out what happened to my “kit”?       No sir, not my job.   Call customer service…

Yesterday, I received a terse, automated, text message on my phone.

“We want our shit back, please give it to us”.   Or something close to that. 

So I call customer service (he continues to laugh bitterly at this designation).

Sergio was not very customer service-y.    “Your account’s closed sir, so I can’t see notes on what may or may not have been offered to you.”    No problem, just send me the #$$% kit.

“Oh, I can’t do that, because your account’s closed, and you’ve changed addresses.”

Huh?

“We can only send those to the billing address, prior to the account closing.” 

“So, y’all did the job halfway with my initial phone call, and are refusing to fix your eror?”   F*ck that, put a supervisor on the line, please.

Sergio became snide, told me I could wait 20 minutes to talk to one, but he guaranteed me that they’d give me the same answer.  And he was smirking, I could it tell, even over the phone.

Options?

Drive to Battle Creek

Go on-line and print out labels and mail our stuff back to us.

At least I spent 20+ minutes of my life finding this out, time I will never get back...

So I attempted to print out labels this morning, only to find that…. I can’t print out labels, because my account’s closed and I’ve changed addresses.      

(Note to self, if I ever meet Sergio, I will have to beat him severely, while smirking)

So I find a # to the Battle Creek location, and… I’m on the phone with customer service call center again.

Please tell me what the problem is sir. 

Your rude unhelpful customer service folks are the problem.   

Ok, let me transfer you to customer service. 

“Wait, wait!  Just please, PLEASE provide for the phone # to the Battle Creek location. A # that will actually be answered by someone there.”

“What’s your last name again sir, so that I can pull up your account?”   

 It doesn’t matter!!!!!!!! A phone number!!! That’s it!!!!!!

Finally, after 17 minutes of being put on hold and explaining everything to her again in hopes that she might help, only to be assured that she could not, She coughed up the #.

So, 4-5 lengthy phone conversations, bad information regarding equipment pick up, half-completed account closing, No kits, rude dooshbags name Sergio... 2.5 weeks of playing silly buggers, and the net result is feeling good about getting a non 800#.

Which I dialed, relieved to be done with them.  The battle creek office will answer, I can verify that they’ll take the equipment, I won’t waste a huge trip, and I’ll be done with them all!  Yay!!!!!!

“Habitat!”   

huh?

“Is this comcast?”

“No, this is Habitat, you must have the wrong#.”   

Of course I do.

feeling adrift, and dinner with four guys named Jim.

So, last night I ate dinner with four guys named Jim.    Apparently, there's a 5th guy named Jim, but he no-showed....

When I was introduced around, I flashbacked to many dorm cafeteria dinners with 4-5 girls named Kim.  Only the Jims are WAY older, and not as pretty and have had way more life experiences than the 5 kims had at the time.

Come to think of it, I’ve just described myself…

Pork chops, I think.  (Not really versed on pork, heard tell of a large piece of pork, cut into 5/8 inch thick pieces..)  Baked beans, Miller Lite, some desert thingy that’s actually not bad for you, we were told, because it’s made entirely of sugar free / fat free alternatives to…real ingredients.

Did not need to know that last part...

And I had a nice time, all things considered, sitting at the picnic table; eating pork chops off a Styrofoam plate; making polite conversations with the aforementioned Jims and others who all get together once a week to share food and stories.   One of the folks there knows a lot about my new house and the history of the neighbors, and the name of the lady for whom the home was likely built, over a hundred years ago...   That was worth the price of admission, right there.... 

I hope to do so again, at least 1-2 more times this summer.    

In a way I would not have predicted, it actually helped me to feel like I belong… someplace.    A little less like I’m not 100%... anywhere at the moment.     

I’ve been floating on a bubble of temporary… everything for way too long,  so much so that the smallest thing, food with strangers as an example, feels significant.

 Last week it was a new library card, granted me outside of proof-of-residency guidelines, because… I know a guy.

Hope to be in my new home, with the things that make a house a home, like… my wife and daughter and my stuff, in less than 30 days.   Then, perhaps, I’ll feel like I actually belong someplace, one place,  all the way.  That will be a very good feeling.

Hey, if you’re gonna dream, dream big.

House Hunting, House Selling. or..Why I'm up at 4am every morning.

So, things have been a bit busy.

Seems we're moving.

Moving would indicate the vacating of one premises, and the subsequent inhabiting of another.
And we are, by god, trying to do both of those things.   I think it would be easier to just do one or the other, but there would be obvious gaps, so... people tend to do them, side by side.

It's been 15 years since we've done this.
After 12+ years of moving every 9-16 months, of  living in 11 different towns in three states, with well over a dozen different addresses mixed in there, we've stayed in one place for 15 years.

And now, we're off again.
And while I'm sure we'll be very happy wherever we end up, eventually, the process is not really all that pleasant, and If I ever actually sleep until my alarm goes off, ever again, I'll celebrate it.

We get nervous if we don't have enough people looking at our house, and we get crabby because someone wants to look at an inconvenient time.
How clean is clean enough when you're running late to get out the door in the morning?
Not that we could let anyone come in during the day anyhow, because of the 80lbs of people loving poochie that we've got taking up space in the spare bedroom.....

By far the bigger issue right now is finding a place at destination.  And we think we may have done so, depending on outcome of negotiations, pest inpection and well and septic inspection.     So yeah, only those things....

Which, if everything works out, is a HUGE relief, because honestly, everything else we've seen has been a home and garden freak show.  

Drove past the very first house we were to look at last week, and went to turn around in a driveway just past it.  Only to see several signs advising that we may just be shot if we were to pull into the driveway to turn around.   "If you can read this sign, you're in range!"  was my personal favorite.

"No sweetie, you can't have a play date next door at the Gunnutstafon's.   Maybe little Ellie could come over here, but she's got to take her shoes and side arm off at the door.      And when was the last time you saw our dog?   Do you hear banjo music?"

The photos on THAT house didn't show that you would constantly be wobbling about on uneven floors, to the extent that you feared you were suffering from vertigo.
Next....

The lovely pictures of the next house we visited, didn't show that your 2nd floor master bedroom's sliding door gave you access to... nothing.  the deck was long gone.  Watch that first step...
Next...

And some of the listings were thankfully so ridiculous, that we did not actually bother to visit those homes.
At the time, we shook our heads, but in reality, we're grateful for the ridiculous photos, as they saved us some time.

I think the best, by far, was the listing with a photo of the "partially finished"  basement. It had a futon, an air mattress with unmade bedding on top, and... a huge confederate flag with Hank Williams Jr's face in the middle of it, hanging from the wall.     It was, indeed, the focal point of the photo.

A distant second was listing with a the picture of the main bathroom, complete with 64 oz. truck stop coffee go mug sitting on the back of the toilet.     Perhaps it was full, and too heavy for the photographer to carry away before snapping the picture.

Seriously - what the hell were these folks thinking?     This is your homes' best foot forward?  Confederate flags and 1/2 gallon go-mugs on the toilet?

At least the house with pictures of wiring dangling loose by half-peeled wall paper was honest about it being a diamond in the rough.     A very small diamond... in a very big rough....

I had a buddy in college, who was fond of dropping trou and mooning the camera, whenever someone decided to take pics.   We saw far more pics of Lee's butt than we did of his face.     I kept wanting to photo shop one of those old photos into some of the ones from the various listings.  I figured, what did they have to lose?

So, we're hopeful we're done with one or both ends of things very soon.   Perhaps we'll be able to sleep again.    

Next few posts will likely be more about the big adventure.   Hope you enjoy them.

There he is!

Ah, people.  

They make the world go ‘round.   

They’re infinitely fascinating, ever-varying, and frequently boring.   

 But without ‘em, I’d be a lonely man. 

Living in the wild (everywhere would be “the wild”). 

Walking, barefoot.

With no hot water.   

And morning coffee would be a problem….

So, overall, in regards to people – Big fan.

But they don’t come without irritants.

And here’s today’s:

“There he is! / There you are!”

When “Hello, how are ya?”  just is just too darn slow and formal....

“There he is!” is, from my experience, primarily a “guy” thing.   Used mostly as a very impersonal greeting. 

Very impersonal greeting = words of no value, resulting in… nothing.

“There he is!”  Uttered by some random co-worker/ VERY casual acquaintance, usually as they’re walking past you.

“Oh, shit!  That’s a relief!  I was beginning to feel a bit lost.   But it’s ok now, because here I am!”  You reply, stepping in front of the person who said it.

You go in for a warm hug.

“Thank you.  Thank you SO much…”   And then you step back, and continue about your day like the exchange never happened.

“There He is!” accompanied by a wink and a finger-pistol point.

“This hiding spot sucks!”  you answer. "This game's stupid.  I quit!"  and then run off in a huff.

“Hey, there He is!”

“How long have you been looking for me?”

There he is!

"Oh my god, you're right!  There he is!  I can't believe it!  I mean he's RIGHT. THERE!.  "  you reply. gushingly, sucking some unsuspecting 3rd party into the inane exchange.

Honestly, I’d prefer a mumbled “Dude, ‘s’up?”   

Not sure where it originated, nor why.  Similary confused about the fact that it still has a fan base.  Would like it to go away......

Why I can never go to Trader Joes again.

Am blessed with quick access to Whole Foods, Trader Joes, and many other grocery stores, by my office.
It makes getting errands done very simple.
I'd rather bang out a grocery trip on my lunch hour, than try to fit one in at night.

And that's what I was doing today.   Like dozens of times before, I went to Trader Joes on my lunch hour, with 1.5 dozen  Trader Joe-y things on my list.  
Easy peasy.

And even though they recently moved everything around in the store, I was still banging out the list in quick time,  when.... it happened.

You ever, in your entire personal history of grocery shopping, at any time, grab the wrong cart while shopping, and start walking through the store with someone else's groceries?    Because it was right by your cart, and you were paying attention to the list in your hand, or.. whatever.

Rationalization aside - You just grabbed the wrong damn cart.     It's ok.  I don't judge.

Well, I did this today.   I was not paying attention.  It WAS right by where I had left mine, and had many of the same items, and I WAS looking at my list and I put a couple of items in it and... I walked away.

Trader Joe's is not a big store.  6 or so short aisles, at most, plus end caps, beer and wine and frozen stuff on the walls.  
So I had not gotten very far when I stopped pushing the wrong cart, to quick grab another item off my list.   Going to put that item in the cart, I realized that "similar" is not "The same", that the ladies hat and gloves in the cart were clearly not my size, nor matched my shoes, and I had made a mistake....

Oopsie.  

And as I was all of about 20 feet from where I had picked up the wrong cart, and a tad embarrassed that I was walking around with someone else's groceries (and hat and gloves), I left the cart where it was, NOT picking my items out of it, because I didn't want someone to come up and say "what are you doing with my cart!!!".  I nonchalantly walked back to MY cart, grabbing items as I went to replace the wrongfully carted items from my list as I did so.

My mistake corrected, I began to walk away from the scene of the incident with MY cart, containing MY groceries, when I heard it.....

You ever,  in your entire personal history of grocery shopping, at any time,  found that your cart was not where you THOUGHT you left it?   Ever?     And when this has happened (Because, don't lie, it has), did you look around for a bit to try and find it, before FREAKING THE HELL OUT?

See, I've done this, including the "look around first before freaking out" part, and you know - it's always worked out...

Well the couple at Trader Joe's today decided to just skip right to the FREAKING THE HELL OUT part.

And there I was, experiencing an old looney toons cartoon moment.
Devil on one shoulder, Angel on the other.
"They'll figure it out eventually. walk away!  do it!" said the little devil.
"No, that would not be right, you should tell them what happened, and ease their worry…." said the little angel.

Stoopid little angel.

So, couple's loudly lamenting their "lost" grocery cart, to a growing audience.
"It was right HERE a minute ago, someone stole our cart!!!!"    
Two flower-shirted employees, with concerned and sympathetic looks on their faces, tried to be reassuring, but it wasn't working.
"Have you looked around for it, maybe it got moved by accident…"   (damn right…)
"No, why would we look around for it, we know where we left it!!!!"

So, I happened to walk off with rude, irrational couple's cart.  Of course.  Couldn't walk off with nice, sense of humor person's cart, or sassy librarian's.. oops.  Never mind that one…

But the stooped little angel's still yammering in my ear, and I'm starting to feel bad for the employees….

"Excuse me."  I said.
They didn't hear me the first time, over the din of their own voices.
"Pardon me!" I say again, louder.
I stepped closer to them.   They finally stopped talking, and looked at me.
"Your cart's in the next aisle. You can't miss it.  I took it by accident.  I'm sorry!"
And I turned to walk away, before ending up a larger part of the floor show.
"You took our cart?!?!?!?" The woman asked loudly.
"Why would you do that???"

really?  Why would YOU, behave like YOU'RE behaving?  What's wrong with YOU?

But I chose a different response.

I quietly, with a very strained smile, repeated myself.
It.
is.
just.
around.
the.
corner.
It.
Was.
A.
Simple.
accident.
I'm.
sorry.

And I did turn and walk away, as the spluttering continued.  If I had lingered longer or paid more attention, I'd be able to tell you with certainty that they were taking the time to make sure the employees knew that THEY, the couple, had not misplaced their cart, SEE?!?!?!?!?  It was that bald little bespectacled man's fault, not ours.

the small crowd dispersed. Show's over folks, nothing to see here.
Tip your waitstaff.

I finished up my shopping, got the usual friendly service at check out, and was gone….

I can only guess at the scene they made when they got to check out, and realized they had extra paper towels, dish soap and cookies in their cart…..

And that's why I can never go back to this Trader Joe's again….