Alone in the Forest

 One of the questions I get asked the most when people find out that my husband passed away is, "Are you going to stay in your cabin? Aren't you afraid of being out in the middle of the forest all by yourself?"

Short answer is, "Yes. I'm staying in our cabin."

Because how can I leave it?

We'd looked for land for several years before we found this place, weirdly just three miles from where we were already living, but we'd never driven down this little road in all of our weekly drives all over the countryside in a 100-mile radius looking for "the one."

The listing hit the interwebs and I drove the three miles and I knew. I knew before I even stepped foot on it that this was our place. I called the realtor before I called my husband, and I told my husband that if it was as nice as I thought it was, there would be no "discussing and getting back to the realtor", we would sign the papers right there on the hood of his pickup truck, and he couldn't say no- because it was my birthday. 

We designed the cabin, and I was here for every single nail being hammered. When they poured the slab, we made sure we put our handprints in it. After all the big stuff that only young people (and/or professionals) should do, we finished it out ourselves. Sealing, staining, tiling, painting...all of it.

And it's perfect. The perfect size and layout, maybe not for most people, but was perfect for the three of us. 

And still perfect for me.

As for being afraid out here in the middle of the forest, I can say confidently that I've never been afraid in the forest in my life, no matter where it was.

When I was a small child, at my grandparents' shared cabin in central Wisconsin, I loved the pine forest that surrounded the cabin, even though it was a planted pine plantation. Without other kinds of trees in the way, you could stand in the middle of it, close your eyes and hear "the train in the wind" and your footsteps fell silent on the softest bed of pine needles, because anything with crunchy leaves was acres away.

During my teen years, I'd spend weeks in the summer at my grandparents' "new" cabin. I'd get up in the morning, pack a lunch, take my little Sheltie, and we'd legitimately try to get lost on the winding back roads of central Wisconsin, sometimes cross-country through the pine plantations. 

As a young adult, I was first a camp counselor, then camp director, for our council's Girl Scout day camp. I loved the big log lodge with its free-form rock fireplace- the one in our cabin is styled as a miniature of that staid old dragon. 

Do you see a common denominator between me/pine forests and cabins?

That's why it had to be the Pineywoods of Texas I moved to when I moved to Texas, and why we had to build a log cabin to be our forever home. They are safe, and strong, and have always protected me in a world that's been full of some epic deceptions and assaults (some very physical).

Even at night, nothing scares me out here. The sounds of the forest are the normal noises of a living society I have chosen to be a part of. Weather permitting, the windows and skylights are open so I can hear it all playing out. It's the background of my best sleep. 

I'm a tree hugger, plain and simple. 

I love to sit on the ground with my toes in the dirt and my back against a big pine tree. When I close my eyes, I can feel the top of the tree swaying 100' above me, I can hear it softly creaking. 

The forest is my mother, my protector, my home.

I am its daughter, its steward, its voice. 

So, that's the long answer. 

Just a Guinea Pig

 Her name was Giddy Sophia. 

I've been raising and showing guinea pigs for over 40 years, and I love them all. They all have names and pedigrees and their own little personalities. 

Along the way there have been just a handful who have been...bigger than life. 

Sophia was the biggest. 

When she was born, I was thrilled with her markings. They were almost perfect in a pattern that almost never even gets close to almost perfect. There was only one patch that was not perfect- it was a mixture of colors, but they were contained in that one patch and didn't bleed out into the others. I knew that was a fault, and considered letting her go to a pet home. 

The guinea pig show world is rife with cutthroat competition, and I'm very particular about which ones I keep, and even more particular about which ones join the show team.

Yes. I will interject here that this all sounds ridiculous, and I will admit that if I have learned one thing in the four decades plus of doing this that it's I can never ever EVER make fun of anyone else's hobby. Ever. 

Back to Sophia.

I decided to go ahead and show her. Her one side was perfection, and the other side was almost perfection, and she had...something about her. A twinkle in her eye that said, "Look at me. Just look at me!"

Her first big show was a national show here in Texas, and there was a little photo booth set up for people to take photos of their animals just for fun or to showcase a win. There was also a camera crew there doing a documentary on people who raise and show small animals. They wanted to take some footage of a guinea pig in the photo booth, so I put little 5-month-old Sophia up there. Wearing a tiny cowboy hat. Then I stepped back so they could film her. 

The cameraman said, "Won't she run away? There's a lot of noise and people..." and I said, "Nope. She's fine." And she was. She sat with that cowboy hat on for about 15 minutes, little head up, proud as could be.

Most guinea pigs tolerate the shows. There's travel and new noises and sights and those damn judges who expect you to sit still so they can see you. Sophia loved it. She loved the travel and she loved the judges and she really loved showing off. Most guinea pigs will "sit pretty" for a few seconds, and then wander off or scurry away. Not Sophia.

Once she was set anywhere, she'd pose herself impeccably and not move a hair till she was picked up again. She wasn't scared, she was a professional. You could see it in her eyes. "Look at me!"

Her last show was the national guinea pig show in California, and I decided to see how she liked taking travel photos. She. Loved. It. I set her on a petrified log and took a close up. I backed up to get the entire log *and* the teepee behind it. She never moved. 

At the show, while she was being judged along with several others, a truly vicious fight broke out between two guinea pigs- one had hopped over into the other one's pen, and everyone turned to watch that. It lasted about 30 seconds, and when everyone turned back, the other pigs had high-tailed it to the ends of the judging table, but Sophia was still posing. "What are you all doing? Look at me!"

My favorite photo from the trip was taken at a gas station in Winslow Arizona...on the corner of course. But it was a corner on an interstate highway. There was a hotel sign right up on the side of the road for the Winslow Hotel, and I hesitated. Semi-trucks were barreling past, and so many cars, and way too many motorcycles. I perched her on the top of the sign and said, "Stay right there" and she gazed down at me *blink blink* "Where would I go? You put me here, so of course I will stay here." I backed up three, six, twelve big steps to get the whole sign in the photo, and then hurried back to her. She was gazing off into the distance. "I am as tall as a tree! Look at me!"

I decided that even though she was retired from showing, she enjoyed going, so I would continue to take her to shows. I bought her a special carrier, and a brass plate for the front. It says, 

The Queen Has Arrived

BIS Giddy Sophia

Head Tour Guide

Even with her messed up patch, Sophia won multiple Best in Shows. 

Our first show after April in California was in June, and Sophia in her purple carrier rode shotgun while the others were in their show carriers in the back seat. At the show, she helped me do the show secretary duties and pass out donuts. 

Just a few weeks ago, we went to the first show of the season (shows run fall thru spring here in Texas), and she supervised the show as only a queen could do. I had two chairs with me. One for myself, and one for Sophia's carrier. 

Even though she was retired from showing, Sophia preferred to live with the show team here in the house rather than out in the guinea pig barn (yes, they have their own barn). 

When I cleaned their pens yesterday, she was perfectly fine.

This morning, she looked a little...off. I took her out and listened for congestion and there was none. No symptoms at all other than seeming preoccupied with something going on inside her. She wasn't in pain or struggling to breathe, no nasal discharge or diarrhea. She was definitely not thin. 

I had a terrible feeling of dread and I held her. She snuggled in as I recounted all our adventures, and all those we were still going to have. She was not even two years old and should have had a lifespan of at least five years. 

I put her back and gave her her morning apple and she nibbled at it. 

I told her I'd see her tonight after work.

She stopped eating. *blink blink* "We've had a grand time, mom. Look at *us*!"

Then she started nibbling again.

When I got home tonight, she was gone. 

Oh, my Sophia. 

For the rest of my life, whenever I see a good perching spot for a photo op, I will see you there, sitting as regal as a furry potato can be, gazing proudly into the distance.

"Look at me!"

Old Dog/New Beginning

 I like my new job.

It is nothing like my old job, and that's part of why I like it, even though I liked my old job, too.

My old job had routine, a comfortable routine born of three decades of doing essentially the same thing, just learning new twists along the way as technology advanced and the business grew from 7 employees to over 30. 

My old job was as a credentialed hospital administrator for a busy animal emergency hospital. I dressed business-casual, the last year under new ownership in logo t-shirts and dress jeans. Other than taking care of the plants outside, or getting the mail, it was an inside job. 

My new job is working for an online auction and estate sale service. Other than inputting lots and editing on the computer, it's outside in the non-climate-controlled warehouse. I'm in jeans and t-shirts, with no jewelry, because it's a lot of moving stuff, getting dirty, and sweating. 

My new job has routine, too. Some would say a monotonous routine, but I find it relaxing and interesting. You never know what's going to be in the next box, or come off of the trailer. 

I like putting things in order. I like not being the boss. I like not talking to anyone on the phone. 

I like being outside rather than inside, even though it's still in the 90's during the day, and for the first time in a very long time, I need a quick shower after I get home, in addition to my regular shower after morning chores. 

Do I miss my old job? No. No, I do not. Which seems weird, since I was there almost half my life, but it's the truth. 

Looking for a new job was pretty demoralizing. I will never tell anyone I'm the best at anything, but I do know some things, and I can do some things well. And even though "age discrimination" is supposedly not a thing that should be done, there's no way any employer looked at my resume and added up my last two jobs (30 years and 12 years) and didn't say, "Damn. She's fucking old."

Everyone was looking for a, "Driven, go-getter with exceptional rock star skills to be a team player in our aggressively growing company!' and just reading that made me exhausted. 

Luckily for me, the job I ended up with through a friend (never underestimate networking, even and maybe especially if you're looking for something completely different from what you were doing) requires me to show up on time and work my designated hours in a pleasant atmosphere accurately and cheerfully with people I enjoy spending time with. I can do that.

I like my new job. 

Twilight Zone

 The last 24 hours are top contenders for the weirdest day...ever. And if you know even a little bit about me, you know that's quite the bar to hurdle.

I'ma try to lay it out in an orderly and succinct fashion without getting too long. Try.

I had a guest here who was a repeat guest. She's a lovely young woman with a darling son. She expressed interest in long-term renting, and I told her I don't do actual 'with a lease renting', but one of the demographics I do cater to is folks who need a month or two, like traveling nurses or the guys who transfer between refineries, or electrical linemen. 

There were a few things that were a little 'off' about her, but not in a dangerous or toxic way, and she was always helpful and friendly. The first time she booked, it took Air BnB a few times to get her payment to go through but honestly, that's not unusual. She also had one real stinker of a review, which I asked her about, and when she was here the first time, she left the cottage absolutely spotless.

As an aside- I always ask people about bad reviews, especially if they have several that are glowing, because there are weird and picky and judgmental hosts, just like there are messy and strange guests. So far, I've never been let down by trusting one of these folks.

Anyway. This time, she wanted to extend her weekend to fill up the 2-week gap I had available. She tried to extend it from her end and the system wouldn't let her. So, I sent her an extension offer from my end, and all she should have needed to do was accept it, but it wouldn't let her. I sat next to her and watched it not let her. So, I called the Superhost help line and they told me she had some "flags" on her account, and it wouldn't let her book more than 2 nights in a row. I had never heard of such a thing. 

I asked if there was a work-around, since I wanted her to stay, and they told me to manually block out the dates for her and send a payment request in the amount of the additional nights. Payment request is usually used if a guest takes or breaks something, but I made sure to put in the details exactly what we were doing and why.

It still wouldn't let her pay. 

That was yesterday. I told her we would try again today.

Incidentally, this time, her mom came with them. She told her mom what a great place this is, and mom up and drove here from New York State. Mom is also very nice. They both expressed wanting to rent on a permanent basis. Possibly both guest houses. They weren't pushy. Just appealing. 

Today is the one-year anniversary of my husband's death, so you can imagine that last night was not a good night. I had finally fallen into a fitful sleep about 1a, and at 1:30a I got a text message from my guest. "We heard a lot of noises and the dogs were barking, so we left. Are you ok?"

Ummm...yes. Yes, I'm fine. I said I also heard the dogs, but it was their regular on-patrol barking, and she probably never had heard it before since last night was one of the first cool nights where the A/C could be off and the windows opened. I drifted back to sleep.

Because there was nothing to be scared of. I've never been afraid in the forest in my life. I am a forest-dweller. 

Thirty minutes later, another text. "Can you keep an eye on the cabin and check it in the morning? Most of our stuff is still in there. Don't go over there by yourself! You should have the police go with you. What we heard was really scary- there was definitely someone outside the cabin. Look for footprints or something." 

Whatever. Yes. 

Thirty minutes later, another text. "Are you still OK? It's so dark out there and that noise was very frightening. Just checking on you!"

MY DUDE. FOR THE LOVE OF CHRISTMAS. OMG. WTF.

Back to sleep. 

Five. Freaking. Thirty. "Good morning! I hope it was quiet out there the rest of the night. We will be back about noon. Going to get breakfast with the family."

I did not even respond to that one. 

I had my alarm set for 8a since I did not have to work today.

7:02a "I forgot my wallet."

At 8:15a, I went over to the cabin, unaccompanied by the police, since I knew there would be nothing there.

At 9a, I sent her a text telling her that nothing and no one had been at the cabin and it was probably a racoon or possum the dogs chased under there, and  I have decided that I can't afford to do leased rentals because I make much more money with the short-term rentals and I need to focus on that with the Air BnBs now being my main source of income (which is true), to please check out today yet, since she doesn't feel safe here, and that I would rescind my request for payment and we just won't worry about the three nights she'd overstayed her original booking. Then, I crossed my fingers that she'd do it, and leave the place clean. 

At 10:30, I got a text from my ex-boss...the one who fired me the end of July. He remembered what today was and asked how I am doing. I said mostly non-suicidal, but today is especially horrible.

He asked if I wanted him to buy me lunch and I said, "Yes. Yes, I do."

He said, "Great. Lillie (his wife) will meet us there" and I said, "Oh, god. You're not going to fire me again, are you?" and there was a pause before he texted, "I can do that?"  

He told me to pick the restaurant and I picked a nice expensive one. Then I requested that we sit outside since it was cold in there. It was only 90 today. I made sure Lillie and I were in the shade and he...was not.

They asked about my new job and the Air BnB's and I asked about the clinic. 

We actually had a very nice lunch. 

We actually said we need to do it again. 

Then, I came home, and the guest had packed up and gone, and the cabin was spotless, so I canceled my request for payment and did my normal between guest cleaning.

Now, it's 11p and I'm hella exhausted. 

Wonder what the weirdest day ever can lob at me in the next hour...

Oh, Babies. You Are Perfect Little Sunshines. Love, Grammie

 One of the ads I looked at when job hunting in the last 40+ days, was for office admin of a Children's Home in the Tyler area. 

The job itself was something I could absolutely do, and the thought of being part of helping kids was very appealing, so I hopped over to their website. 

Oh. Oh, no. 

*I am not implying that the lovely-looking family who owns this place are not in fact, a lovely family, or that they believe they are nothing but an absolute refuge for the kids who are placed there. 

But, when I got to the page that stated there's a chapel on the property and that attending chapel is mandatory for all residents *and staff* that it started going all sideways in my brain. They claim to be non-dominational, but they do believe in the three steps to getting into Heaven: Admit you are flawed by design due to original sin, ask for forgiveness, and accept Jesus as your savior. 

Look, I have nothing against whatever people believe in for their spiritual peace, as long as it doesn't hurt other people. And that's the issue here.

I cannot think of a worse thing for a child who has been abused, neglected or abandoned to be told than, "Yeah, you were born broken, but we're gonna fix you right up here!"

No shit, they are broken. But it was *not* something they were born with. Do not dare let these broken little birds deduce that they somehow deserved the hell they went through. 

Children are not born as little lumps of clay to be molded into what you want them to be. They actually come straight out of the box with their own strengths, weaknesses, personalities, and emotions. 

They are not flawed and they are not broken. They are perfect little sunshines, and the duty of the grownups around them is to encourage them to become fully themselves; not little replicas of their parents, not what their parents wished *they* had become, just fully themselves, and to do it with love and kindness and respect, actual respect for that tiny human. 

Every one of these kids already thinks they deserved the shit hand Life has dealt them, because the people they were supposed to trust told them so and backed it up with violence or neglect every day. 

They did not, not one of them, and I can't think of anything more monstrous than to let them believe that they did, even if the "end result" is another pair of angel wings stamped on your bible. 

Anyway.

I didn't apply for that job, but it's OK, because I got a job yesterday that I think I'm going to like.

No one is born sinful or broken. Everyone is their own sun, waiting to shine on everything around them and being the real light this world needs.

Pass it on.

Urgently Hiring, Old People Need Not Apply

 So, I've been retired now for 43 days; a surprise retirement, shall we say.

And I'm finding out that no one wants a 64-year-old person as their new hire. 

Oh, I'm sure my old age and decrepitude is not the only factor. I'm being a little particular about my potential hours, because I have a farm to run and two Air BnB's to clean and maintain and keep up with. Also, I have fibromyalgia, and I flat cannot keep up with a full-time gig anymore. Therefore, "part time, 2nd shiftish, three days a week" is what I'm looking for. 

I mean, part-time so no one will have to give me benefits. 2nd shift, that weird shift neither morning people or night people want. 

Beyond that, I ain't picky. I've worked on a poultry farm, sold Christmas trees out of the back of a van that smelled of tuna fish, been a teacher's aide, bank teller, busser in a supper club, worked as a florist and a vet tech, all that to say...work is work and I'm not afraid of any of it.

I know it's illegal to discriminate against old people when hiring, but I know it's done, even if unconsciously, and I'm here to tell you the reasons are insane.

Again, no one says it out loud, but I can see it in their faces (and have heard it in private conversations).

"You're in your 60's- you're not going to want to work for long."

"How will you learn anything new?"

"You're over-qualified for this role and I'm suspicious about hiring you."

Here's what I want to say (but I need to make a good impression).

Listen, we are the last generation who found a job and kept it. I was at my last job for 30 years. I took about 4 sick days. Everyone after us *expects* to change jobs about every five years, sometimes less. We. Will. Show. Up. 

I learn new things all the time. I love learning new things. Right this minute, I'm using a computer instead of a chisel on the side of a cave wall. We. Can. Adapt. 

Yes, hiring person, I am over-qualified for (fill in the blank of whatever entry-level job I'm applying for), but that's OK. You know why? Because I need the money, and I'm tired. I'm done trying to lead the pack in the Rat Race, and I'm honestly looking forward to being a tiny cog in the wheel of your business. 

No, I won't get bored and quit. No, I don't want *your* job someday. Because of the grand and hilarious circumstances of Life, I find myself over 60 years old, without a penny in savings, no IRA or investment income, widowed (and because of a laundry list of health problems, there was no life insurance), and with a before-full-retirement-age Social Security check. I'm not going to quit because I need the money. I need the money. That's it. My absolute ulterior motive. I know it's not a lot of money, especially when you see what I made at my last job. I know that. Since I'm pre-full-retirement age, I'm limited to what I can make working outside the home. Give. Me. The. Job.

You won't regret it. 

And I will probably be here after you move on to a different job.