Sunday Morning, Coming Down

It was a good day yesterday, against all odds…there was an inspection of the house in the AM and I had to take the dogs and get out early. And stay out. I gave one dog a Dramamine to help avoid the car sickness (it worked) and headed to Bastrop to a dog park that I’d seen before – always empty but if it had a fence and a place to hang out that’d be fine.

They settled in for the ride but I was surprised to see the park rather busy for a very chilly and windy morning. As soon as I parked they were both making noises I hadn’t heard from them before – the hoots and howls made me laugh. I got them offloaded, glad to have put the harness on Artik instead of relying on the collar. I made a circuit of the park, letting them smell through the fence and greet dogs with safety. And then it was into the Big Dog section which was, thankfully, empty. They ran, smelled, had a lovely time just getting tree-mail when the very fine shepherd arrived. Max was young but a perfect match in temperament for Artik.

They ran, fought, played, and she FINALLY was rolled, surprised at not being the dominant one. Take that, spoiled girl! Ranger, however, was not happy that someone was with his girlfriend. He tried to run, tried to dominate, but in the end I had to make him quiet down, his old bones no match for the youthful sport. We stayed for over an hour but I was getting hungry and I knew they would be, too. Off to Starbucks nearby.

We feasted on egg bites, wasting more time, before heading toward home. I assumed almost 2.5 hours would suffice. However, I found both the inspector and the buyers there. I wanted to put the dogs in the house and probably ought to have asked the agent to have them do the interior first. He said it’d be another 90 mins, the buyers saying he was an hour late. I put the dogs in the back bedroom, the buyers deciding they’d had enough and left with me. Another Starbucks run to just waste time and I got home to find he’d left the oven on (very unsat) and about 6 breakers off (WTF?). Not to mention having left the vent upstairs in the bathroom running. Honestly – how hard is it to return things to the way they were? I notified the agent just in case it was their recommendation vs. the buyers selection.

I will say this – our inspector was a piece of crap in comparison. Sheesh. I am betting they try to ding us for $20k of “issues”. We’ll see. But I am not yet feeling comfy with it…end of January is the closing.

I haven’t heard anything from any of the MANY applications and that is including about 6 manual labor/unskilled places. The latter is less surprising – they know it is a temp job until something better comes. But I had hoped to hear something between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Let’s hope the new year will bring new budgets and finally responses…

I keep looking out the window at the view and wondering what my next vista will be. Will it even be Texas? Or will I take the spoils of war and wander north? I think it a hazardous thing to up and go without a job so I’ve applications in but…there are so many little things that come up – as if the universe is saying it is time to do the wild things, the scary things that I’ve avoided for so long. To live my own life rather than in service to others.

I can remember a long time ago when I visited my sister in Arvada, CO – the very air there was intoxicating. I’d opened the window in the morning to as fresh a breeze as I’d ever known. Later, a friend of hers took me to Boulder Falls – this was back when they allowed you to climb above and beyond the falls. There is a steep mountain behind and as we lay on the rocks, watching the world, I saw a tiny movement near the top. It was then I realized it was a person and the scale made me suddenly dizzy – as though I were floating off the rock or falling down the ravine. I grabbed hold of the warm stone under my hands and clung to it. I have never forgotten that moment.

And then there were the days in Boulder after – many years later – and the one year alone. My word, I was so brave, then. Not only flying there but renting a car and driving in snow to the hotel, driving to the park and walking the heights alone. And then taking the steep steps and breath killing altitude to see Dream Lake. I found it surprising how quickly my system moved from No Air! to Ah, clean air. Just a brief picnic of cheese and an apple and in that space of time my body moved to an understanding of the place. I’d had to put my long johns on in the port-o-let, knowing that they’d be needed since I didn’t have proper snow gear. I was so thrilled….every view a painting…

I haven’t been back since. But I never forget the sigh of relief at the site of those flat irons – or the sadness that hits when the slip from view as you drive back to the airport, back to a world without walls, with a sky so wide…Oh, I have done my homework. I know Colorado is not for me. I have demands and one is no state income tax. Why leave here to take that kind of hit to a paycheck? Wyoming is still wild, still classic west. And that is the draw…a place where it might be a throwback to a place and people who hold similar views, appreciate the same things…and the snow…

I have a love of snow like an Inuit. The first icy grains to the thick and fluffy flakes, the deep squelch when your boot compresses it, the squeak when it is so cold that the compression seems to make an ice-cube underfoot. And the glistening skin of a rime on top in the moonlight, making it look like it was coated in diamonds or glitter. So like the sea in sunlight with the glinting, moving light. But I tell myself that is not all there is – there is also the gearing up just to walk the dog, the constant slush at the doorway, the car always covered in a crust of dirt and ice…It is not all fun.

The rational side says to just stay put – stay safe, and you can always fly to the snow, drive to the snow, you can visit it and walk away from it, take no risks for it at all. The safety is tempting. It is classic Me to stay as safe as I can, as predictable a path as possible. I had too much insecurity in my life and don’t seek to add to it. But you cannot help but wonder what might happen if you threw away safety and jumped headlong into risk. Is it too late for adventures? Too old for schemes and games? Or is it only me that takes on that mantle of crone? Just my mind telling me it’s all over – just another 20 years of drudgery and pain and then farewell to all that? Is that a lie suited to ensure the safety of the flesh against the hazard of the yearning spirit?

These are the things I consider as the rain falls on windows smudging a view I love, a view that I ache to replace with something as good or better. Who can blame me? Have I not paid my fare?

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