Unlike the Wicked Witch in Oz (and I still say that the damned shoes belonged to her sister by right of inheritance), houses don't fall out of the sky on me, but rather, in my lap.

Since I moved into this house, I knew that I would be moving. I have never felt "at home" here; partly because I consistently anticipated the move, and partly because this house isn't me. It is too new, too modern, too sleek--it lacks charm and it lacks character. When I moved in, people told me that I would give it both, but I haven't because I haven't felt rooted.

With B & J (my son and his GF who lived with me for the last year) moving out, the prospect of my own move rose before me. I had/have a couple a months to look around, so I was not in a hurry. I feared, however, being consigned to an apartment in Springfield surrounded by concrete, asphalt, and people. Though I don't believe in fate, per se, either the Moirae or the Norns seem to believe in me. I decided to meander down to my old haunts last week, and took a road I rarely take. There, on the side of said road, was a "House for Rent" sign.

I used to drive by that house everyday on my way to school, and noted the last time it was for rent was a couple of years ago when I wasn't in the market. It sets alone, no neighbors; it has a greenhouse and a big sign saying, "Greenhouse, wholesale, only." I stopped, called the number on the sign, and talked to the man, Mark who owns the house. When I told him I couldn't pay the rent until September 20th., he drug his invisible feet a bit, but I said a few things about myself and he began to warm up. He said I could see the house the next day.

So I did. It is an old farmhouse, built in the 20s 0r 30s. The two bedrooms are minuscule, but the living room is fine and it has a big kitchen and a utility room. The bathroom was added later and the tub, sink, and commode are pink. Yes, pink. It needs a bit of painting and ceiling work, but as I poked through the place, I knew it could be me.

After meeting me, Mark was amenable to waiting for my rent check and even said I could begin to move my stuff in right away. He would have the carpets cleaned and I am going to ask him about painting. I spent most of yesterday cleaning to my satisfaction and my original opinion stands: I can make this place into a home.

The rent is a bit above the cap I set, but I will not be in an apartment. There are beds I can dig in and I can hang my windchimes in the trees. And again, NO neighbors! Mark has a nursery and there are hundreds of mung beans in pots all over the place, but behind them, there is a woods.

And so, I will be moving.

Moving makes me reflect back over the last year and the things that have happened to me. There has been happiness, some disappointment, a bit of heartbreak, joy, and the appreciation for having been able to live with B &J without a harsh words being spoken between us. And, of course, the move makes me contemplate the future: where will I be in another year?

Houses fall into my lap--although I do not always leave them happily, since I have been in Missouri and needed to move, a house has "just" appeared. There is a tinge of regret over leaving this place--my landlady has been exceptionally kind and hates to see me go--and there is a bit of anxiety over the future.

I take a deep breath and step forward: a new phase begins.
* * *


Chapter 23: After the Squirrel Raid

Battered, bruised, and covered with a plethora of bites and scratches, Gwen awoke the morning after the squirrel raid feeling dizzy but victorious. It was a hard battle, and her dreams during the night were filled with images of armored rodents, flashing tiny light sabers, and a fairly large, fiery battering ram fashioned in the visage of a rabid squirrel. The chant of the bushy tailed brigade echoed in her sleeping ears, "Grond! Grond! Grond!"

And so, our heroine awoke with a shudder, shaking off the brutal blandishments of the night and blanching in the bright morning sun. She promised to propitiate the rain gods later in the day; if not for the drenching shower that they had sent, extinguishing the flame of Grond and sending the squirrels scattering, Gwen had no idea of what her fate would have been.

Arising, she went to the hole in the wall--covered by a tarp she knitted out of old Mart of the Wal bags--and looked out.

Gwen blanched.

A river flowed through her front yard. Apparently, as she slept, the rain continued unabated (and she had thought the sound of running water in her dreams meant that she needed to urinate). As she watched, several arks floated by. Utnapishtim gaily waved at her, but Noah sneered and shouted, "Hey, girly, you gonna die!" Deucalion paid her no heed at all.

Gwen sighed, but at least the torrent had washed the mammoth carcasses away. When the yard dried out in a few centuries, at least she wouldn't have to contend with their messy remains.

Turning away from the delugial sight, Gwen wondered where Beowulf and Jorindel might be. They COULD built a raft, perhaps, and float home. She muttered, "Stupid ****ing weather gods" under her breath and instantly, a lightning bolt hit a tree on the other side of the river.

"Yeah, yeah, you couldn't hit my broadside," Gwen shouted, mooning the ungrateful deities.

When it became clear that, indeed, they COULDN'T hit her broadside, Gwen dropped her skirt and wondered if she had any clean underwear.

If not, she could wash some in the river.

Now, what for breakfast?
* * *

It has been brought to attention that the "Jedi" squirrels are NOT Jedi but Sith Lords. Of course they are! How could I have been so blind???

I will wear red shoes.

I won't sing, "Popeye the Sailor Man" unless asked.