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Ries Builders: The Solle House Moab, Utah

chicken

 Silly chicken.

...and then the snow falls down

But I can't come out and play today.

I have a pile of paper work to do's. 

Even though the farm is under snow I have grain & feed to buy.

And of course there is the matter of walking the fence lines, removing the downed branches, and patching all the holes. Resetting the clocks from the power outages. Wiping down snowy dogs and shoveling the walks for the schooled kids.

  

But mostly I'm home-bound nursing a pulled or torn muscle behind my left knee from running too hard & too long in the wind.  The stairs are killing me.  My snow boots too heavy to bare wearing. I can''t imagine it would holdup to the work of a steep, snowy trail. And yet I can't imagine letting all this glorious snow go to waste...

the calm before the storm

At 9 am the wind began. 

Shortly after the trains started calling out from the yard. 

By 10 am the first tree gave to the storm- it will not be the only one to fall. 

It toppled across the road at the far north end of 10th, blocking all access.  

Down at the park the homeless have moved to the edges nearer the road to sleep in the daylight, out from under the trees folding in the wind- even they know not to trust them.

At 11, it is still warm.  Snowing ash tree seeds.  Gates slamming and the trees groaning. 

The light slowly retreating as if it agrees with me; today was just one big mistake. 

Perhaps we should start over tomorrow. 

  

the undiplomat

It's easy to sit here and talk about the neighbors but what would they say about me? 

First of all, I'm a jerk. 

I try very hard to keep to myself and fail miserably at doing so. How bad am I at it? Same bad as I am at it at work. Everyday I tell myself go in, keep your head down, mouth shut....yeah, that never happens.

And yet given the choice, I would choose total blackout isolation. I'm pretty sure my neighbors know this but.... I am the go-to-girl around these parts. 

Plus, I have a few habits that put me high up on the list of irregulars. First, I tend to do bizarre things, often & in public view. Second, I have a reputation for acting before I think. One and two might be related. Third, I suffer from Alice in Wonderland Syndrome, way too curious & always up for a good trespassing. And of course there is the whole taking off my shirt thing....

One might even say I am neighborhood-odd-enough to have a promising future as the Cat Lady. Although, I don't really like cats and I have a hard time keeping them alive. But Taxidermy Cat Lady, bring it on. 

I hide in my house a lot and don't answer the door.  And I am pretty sure I make plain as day horrible faces when certain neighbors stop by like the "not from Colorado" lady and most of all my neighbor J.       

I really am a jerk when it comes to him. 

Take yesterday, J starts into the street towards me as I am exiting my car. I start grabbing shit and barking orders at Beach trying to make a mad and obvious avoiding dash into the house.

There is J, limping as fast as he can, dodging cars speeding around him, calling my name. I make it to the porch steps as he calls out, "I just wanted to let you know... have you seen the front of your car?"

I stop still undecided: in the grand scheme of life how important is a car really?

"Did someone break into it?"

He limps closer. "No parking enforcement put an impound notice on it."

This gets my attention. The car in question is little red. Now she is still street legal for 2 more months. Runs like a champ. And she is parked in front of my own house.

"I thought you might have seen it but just wanted to let you know."

I thanked him, feeling like the jerk I am, for making him have to work so hard to help me. I walk out to the street. I get down & look at the chalk marks. 

Now here is my point of view. Please don't send me parking enforcement propaganda. 

If I got to vote a city/government-type organisations off the island it would be UTA and followed immediately by Parking Enforcement. Garbage cops on segways get Miss Congeniality.  

So let's please NOT come to my house and draw on my car. It pisses me right the fuck off. Because if some neighborhood kid did that, I would turn the hose on them.  

And I don't care what the law is about "on street storage", I never agreed to that, I have a short driveway, and the car can't come inside. I paid the money for a full year of street legal so I'm taking it. 

Besides, what if I just have zero life and I never go anywhere and here is parking enforcement rubbing that fact in?! What if there was a spider in it and so it was no longer okay to touch?! What if I am super OCD and I park my car in the exact same spot, same tire rotation every damn day?! I'm telling you it is possible. For 9 months I listened to the same 3 songs on the way to school 5 days a week. Parked in the same parking spot and sat in the same seat in lecture hall. I got skills.

And then there is this: my neighbors have already been calling me to ask what they can do about the sudden surge of Parking Enforcement attention we are getting. 

Honestly, the last thing I need is one more item to handle. Especially considering it is planting season & I am still dealing with the loose cocks down the block. How's 'bout we kill 2 birds w/ 1 stone. Let's round-up the roosters & illegally park them on the street.

weekending

spoons full of peanut butter

It wasn't what I was looking for. And I should know by now the risk I am taking when I open the lid to that particular black box. If I was smart I would label it "school" or "college". Then I would at least have some warning.

The last time I opened it searching for a stray car title I came up with my sisters autopsy results. It is that kind of box. 

But there is a lot of good stuff in there too, like the whole linage of early man meticulously mapped out, physics notes dotted with poetry, an inch thick packet of morphology sketches, and half a dozen articles in support of the theory that man evolved to run & ran to evolve. 

Then there are the surprises. Like this time. Pulling out an old note from a friend commenting on the results of a series of lab tests of mine. Not just any lab tests, the ones that would eventually lead to my diagnosis as a diabetic.

The blood draw done at student health after I passed out in class in front of 200+ of my peers while Dr. Linton, my physiology professor glared.

Everyone was so sure they knew what was wrong. Judges stacked the jury. They all pointed the finger straight at me: I was starving myself. 

And although that might have been partially true, it wasn't the cause: it was one of the symptoms. When I ate I couldn't concentrate. 

I was on campus 16+ hours a day balancing kids, school, a research grant, rotations, and nursing a baby. So I pushed back a few meals to buy myself the time I needed to think clearly. 

Then the hours between became days and I started dropping weight.

My Attendings in the hospital began to collective grumble about it. 

Individually, my professors on lower campus began pulling me aside to let me know if I ever needed anything their door was always open.

Except for Linton, who stepped right in, flat out accused me of being anorexic. And before I knew it I was on the ground at his feet.

I remember being really angry that no one would listen to me. I remember being slightly offended that it could be so easily believed I would be susceptible to such a shallow, feminine weakness. 

But I also remember wondering if I was flat out crazy. If I had made it all up & perhaps what was being said about me was true. 

What I don't ever remember was being hungry. 

In the letter he was mostly agreeing with everyone else. Telling me it was my fault. Atoms of his flash temper bleeding through in heavy sarcasm and doctor speak. Telling me that I was the only person with the power to fix this for all of us. And that I was not being fair to the people who care about me. 

Within a month, after half a dozen doctor visits my true diagnosis filtered its way out. The term "anorexia" dissolved from my doctors' notes replaced by words like hypokalemia and glucose. 

What never left was my angry. 

At the first moment I had seen what I might truly be capable of I was given an anchor to carry with me. An anchor whose line was just short enough to hold me away from what it was I truly wanted to do. 

I recall the look on my Attending's face when she told me I should seek a "calmer field of medicine" than the one I was chasing.  She explained that legally & ethically, on paper it was not a deal breaker but it was something 'very much not' in my favor.

Following her advice I turned up in ped's clinic. But only long enough to have my temper break through and get me kicked out. 

Instead of finding something else, something within range I simply gave up. Treading water until I finally found a good enough reason to let it pull me under. 

When I get stir crazy I tend to lean against the line to see how much slack I have. Of course, it is always the same.  I can't do what I want.  I can't live off of a spoonful of peanut butter and a pot coffee while running twice a day and writing all night.  I am certainly too old, or at least I should be, to want any of that anyway.                

When I read his letter now, I can see from the very beginning he was actually right about me, "...you are the only person here questioning whether or not you deserve this chance, the only person doubting who you are and where you belong... you are burning down your own house."

That was a life time ago and I think it is time to throw it all away.

              

"She may know but that doesn’t mean she is foolish enough to believe." 

~Pillars of Gomorrah, mlb