Had IT UP to HERE!!!

Tags

Equador, Panama, rain, retirement, snow, South America

This was not supposed to happen. I figured I was safe after barely surviving the winter. I mean I nearly lost my precious mind this last winter. It was awful.

Spring came on early and it was pretty darn nice. We planted early, and mostly we did okay, no hard frosts came our way.

Spring was glorious for the most part. Now it’s summer, and well, you can have it. It’s rained with minor exceptions for nearly two weeks.

It’s not raining to day. We got probably two inches yesterday in downpours that went on for a good two hours.

It’s going to return to raining tonight, and then all day tomorrow and well, they think we might get a break next Thursday. Even when it doesn’t rain it’s too wet to do a thing, even sit out. It’s like sitting in a swamp.

The garden is slowly falling apart. The second crop of corn is rooted so shallowly that it all went over in the storms yesterday. We have one reliable one now. I suspect we will not do well with much of the rest of it. Which is fine. I can get stuff at the farmer’s market at a cheap price, not as cheap as free of course, but cheap.

The crime is that the Contrarian has worked hard on his garden as always. This is the third row that has gone to hell. Climate change has made its appearance and apparently our gardening days are over here. Too wet.

So, I was happy to see when I  brought up my mail today, a news feature on the “Five best places to retire to outside the US.” You can bet I hurried on over, forgetting the mail.

And I found paradise, in the names of Panama and Equador. They are rated as the two top retirement spots in the WORLD. And, hang onto your hats, you can live WELL on social security only. Both are near the equator so the weather is lovely YEAR round.

There are some other places, and I’m learning that there are all kinds of websites to investigate this stuff. As well, there are plenty of expats who blog and tell of their experiences in moving out of country.

No doubt there are issues to be confronted, care to be taken, but all in all, I’ve decided–I’m heading out of this bleepin’ country in a couple of years. Happily the Contrarian agrees. While I suspect it’s a bit harder for him to swallow, this gardening disaster seems to seal the deal.

Panama looks the best right now. But that’s only after an hour of investigation. They use the dollar, there are first class hospitals, lots of huge American communities, cheap rental prices, and very good real estate prices. As with most places, country living is cheaper than city, but a city apartment (2 bedroom) is a whopping $350 per month. I can love that quickly.

Panamanian driving is also on the right side with steering on the left. The Contrarian would have a fit without that.

Close to mountains and the beach. A dream come true.

But, there is lots of time, and lots of studying to do. Heck there is even a place in China that is recommended. I think that is a bit much, but frankly, living well, in a good climate are about my only two requirements at this point.

It would be helpful if the country was stable–which Panama certainly is with no military at all. The Contrarian suggests it will stay that way given it’s importance internationally in shipping. Costa Rica, next door is another place to investigate.

Mexico remains always a choice, depending of course where.

Like I said, the main requirement is NO SNOW. The second is not too much rain–or at least the kind that is typical of the tropics–a downpour for twenty minutes and then back to sunshine.

Utopia here I come!

I’m abolutely not giving in to depression, that’s all I can say, and this is what is working to stave off that demon today! I’m spending my day looking at retirement living. 

Have a good one yourself!

No U-Turns, Follow the Map

Tags

basketball, blogs, Books, Contrarian, crafting, health care reform, Hollywood, life in the meadow, March Madness, pedophilia, right wing, Roman Catholic Church, Sandra Bullock, snow, spring

Oh, excuse me. Don’t mind me. I’m just dribbling. A little idea here, a little factoid there. Nothing much to alert the press about. Surely no need to take to the bomb shelter. Just the sleepy weekend fare.

The Contrarian is cooking today. “Stay out of the kitchen, woman–I’m in charge!” Okay, as I creep away, hiding behind a computer. Forewarned is forearmed. Naw. Actually he produces a great meal sometimes, and an edible one at all times. It’s safe to continue.

We got a couple of inches of snow last night. I did not explode in expletives however. I took it in “stride” as my new found peace dictates. I’m embracing the beauty, smiling at the bright blue sky, and recalling the three fat robins perched outside the bedroom window on the lilac bushes. “Agnes, I said we should wait a week. Now we have to get all wet in this mess!”

We are up to our eyeballs in March Madness. It’s the year of the upset. They predicted there wouldn’t be any or darn few. They were wrong. So were  those folks who created the brackets this year. So wrong. Being right, means four one’s end up in the final four. Not this year. Prince charming is gonna have his choice of Cinderellas this year.

The Roman Catholic church continues to grapple for a hold on sanity as it spirals into hell for it’s treatment of pedophile priests. The cover up seems to still be uncovering and it’s dirtying more and more of the higher ups. It’s sad, pathetic, horrific. The harm that they have done is so far reaching as to be nearly incalculable. All Christendom is tainted. I cannot not imagine how this was reconciled as somehow being Christ-like by offending clergy and superiors.

The health care reform bill seems poised to pass amidst all the hoopla. Everyone is counting heads, trying to maintain the suspense. There is no end to the lies and silly walks the opposition seems ready to pull. Now it’s some vast mean offense against God to vote on Sunday. I think Jesus actually spoke to that–the sabbath being created for man and not man for the sabbath? Something like that. But Monday should be interesting. If it passes (as I suspect it will), we shall wait and see if the earth still spins on Monday, or if it is burnt to a cinder by Satan’s minions. Cast your bets.

Sandra Bullock, after making all kinds of speeches about her wonderful husband, Jesse James (the name should have alerted the girl no?), has left him for his years long infidelity. Some people care, and I wonder why. I mean as a human, I am sad she is sad, but beyond that? Doesn’t cross my radar. Yet, we, the great egalitarian society (so we protest against clear evidence to the contrary) continue to place people on pedestals and expect them not to be like “us.” Go figure that one out.

I’ve bogged down in my knitting, which always happens. Remember, I am not addicted to any craft–no passion. So, after a few weeks, I get tired of purling and knitting and yarn overing and all that. I’m poised to return to crochet, some lacy edgings that I can sew together for a spring shawl? I’ll get a quarter or so done, before that wanes too. It’s me, and I’ve come to accept it. Somehow, they all get done, over time.

I’m about to finish a book on Christian women in the fourth century. It’s not as good as I expected. Next on the agenda is a tome on the Reformation. It’s a subject I’m woefully not well versed in. I’m interested in reading some Camus and some Philo as well. I’m itching for a trip to the bookstore next week, if the weather allows it.

I’ve spent some hours this morning reading blogs. It’s so refreshing to do. I learn a lot, am uplifted. I laugh, I nod in agreement, and once or twice, I yelped in horror. Thanks Randal, I really really needed that pic seared into my skull! I try always to spend some time with cheeseburger and hotdog pics. They always make me happy. Jan always has words of wisdom. Madpriest takes us to task on things we should be taken to task for. Dave reminds us of things that fully sensory folks take for granted. Blisterina takes awesome photos that just make the spirit soar. I could go on, but you probably read them all too, and more than me.

So, have yourselves a pleasant Saturday. Remember to take some time to have fun, relax and stop to smell a rose or two along the way.

This CAN Be Your Life!

Tags

Iowa, life in the meadow, snow, winter, wood stoves

You are surely tired of listening to me moan, and I am just as surely tired of having so much to moan about. After all, nobody every said that “life was a bowl of cherries.” You can ponder the meaning of that trite phrase, while I proceed to well, errrr, moan.

Just when you think it can’t get a lot worse, you betcha, it does. I related at least on Facebook that on the way out on the lane, we got stuck on Ash Wednesday, and had to hump our way back to the house, along most of the entire one half mile that we lovingly call our lane.

You would think that that would be enough. You see, nobody really “gets” why we are always claiming that we are “snowed” in. I mean, to most anybody, an inch is hardly a big deal when it comes to snow. But when it is blown across a couple of miles of open field, and suddenly slams into a tree line courtesy of a 25 mph wind, well, it ends up being more like eight for us.

So we called a local fellow, whom the Contrarian has known all his life, and arranged for him to come  over in the morning, and blow the snow elsewhere than the car width we needed to get free of the winter grip. We then enjoyed the evening, watching the Olympics. Famous last word, ENJOY.

I was wakened the next morning to “It’s seven, babe, you better stay in here, the stove is smoking a lot.” I cursed, and brought to mind Dorothy Parker, and got up to investigate the “fresh hell” that awaited. Indeed, a cloud of smoke hung in the living room and into the kitchen. The Contrarian was ensconced in his office with door shut. He looked glum.

“I have no idea what is wrong now, but it won’t stop smoking.” And indeed, it was bursting through the seams of the stove pipe at an alarming rate. Before long, I realized that such could not continue, and I opened the front door, got a floor fan, and started sucking it out into the meadow. That of course, cooled the room significantly since it was all of about 4 degrees outside. Balmy huh?

We finally opened the wickedly mean device, and started hauling out partially embered wood into the ash tray and carting it out and throwing it into the snow, listening to it sizzle. Well, it’s one way to melt snow I guess. Finally, having lost all its combustibles, the smoking stopped.

We waited. I sat at the kitchen table, with a room heater going, and drank coffee, and watched the top of the hill, ready to give the alert when Joe’s blower would send cascades of snow flying through the air. That didn’t happen until nearly 11 am. Then the Contrarian squeezed in beside him, and they returned down to the Bronco and unstuck it. Soon, transportation returned to the house.

A trip to another buddy, and we had an extension ladder and a chimney brush. Steve climbed up and got the cap off the chimney. “Crank it up Parker, get that fire going as hot as you can.” A wide open bedroom window was our means of communication. I stood outside and yelled in “Crank it up Parker”. . . well you get the idea. Soon the smoke was billowing out the chimney, the Contrarian crowed, “she’s drawing like a champ!” Dark smoke poured forth, and the cap, sitting on its side, on top, began to melt creosote which Steven scraped off in chunks.

After a good bit of this, he sent the roto rooter chimney brush down into the belly of the beast. That caused smoking to start again indoors, since the flue was now jammed with lots of soot. Off with the top, and clearing of that, all the while the doors are flung wide once more.

The cats have retreated to an icy cold bedroom, and look utterly ticked off at the whole affair. The dogs find the house finally nice and pleasant for them. I’m wondering why the West was ever settled, since this crap is totally unacceptable to any woman surely. There is a reason the dude said, “Go west, young man.” He did not say, “Go west, young woman.” Women know better. He’d have been hit with a parasol for sure.

Well, eventually, the creosote stopped running, and the stove continued drawing, and the heat exchange between outside and inside started to favor staying indoors for warmth once more. Steve returned home, nobody fell off the roof, and I escaped down the luge track to drive to Center Point, a nearby village. Actually village is too kind, its a sprawly town, with no decent “main street.” But it does have a McDonalds.

After all this fun, I was good for nothing but (hanging head in shame) fast food. So things are normal for the moment. And, wonder of wonders, praise be to God, and kick the can, things are still normal today. It’s warm, its not smokey, and I went shopping.

You see, there is another “inch” predicted tonight, and they are being very coy about the next system coming in Sunday through Monday. I think this is the winter that will never end, but if it does, well, I’m going to shake my fist proudly at having survived the unholy winter of  09/10.  Bragging rights are mine–I may have a t-shirt made.

In the meantime, anyone interested in 80 acres of real estate in Iowa? Fifty prime growin’ land, and thirty in meadow. Just tell yourself that the beauty outweighs the minor inconveniences you might face. Yeah, tell yourself  THAT, please.

Enough Already!

Tags

Humor, Iowa, life in the meadow, snow, winter

I wish it were only caffeine. Here in the meadow, we are used to a certain adversity that is just part and parcel (whatever that quaint phrase means) of living in rurality. I mean it’s not like McDonald’s is a block away; in fact, the nearest one is closer to ten miles away.

So it should come as no surprise (indeed I’ve related a sufficient number of nasty meadow incidents thus far) that another “wrath of God”, shitty luck, fate, clash of the Titans, would occur. This one brought me to the brink of a glimpse of insanity.  I do not jest!

I have concluded that I am good for about three catastrophes in a winter, and then I’m done. Prepare the straight jacket, fluff up the padded room, I have a reservation. Let’s go.

It started Sunday with a thoroughly wild-eyed, this must be a roller coaster, ride in and out, traveling to and from church. The melting had created a deep flow of slush that the bronco could barely traverse without much sliding and twisting. It was pretty much gun and go, and hope for the best, as I sailed over dell and over the farmer perhaps too. Have to wait till spring and look for a body.

By Wednesday, it had frozen up again, and the Contrarian went out to get wood, and then check the lane. The first blow landed as he was working to draw another limb free and over to the splitter. It fell in a way not anticipated, and onto the chain saw, bending the bar. End of cutting wood.

So, logically, the Contrarian proceeded to the hill, hopefully to  smooth down the frozen tundra and make a good path to get out to buy a new bar. Perfect confidence is derailed as he discovers that the lane has blown in for about fifty feet or more. He works with great difficulty to get enough traction to get up, and starts pushing it down this side. After about three times, he figures he’s got a good beginning and will finish in the morning.

After much work, he manages to work his way up the hill by going cross country through the meadow and emerging at the gate. He makes his way to the road, and is thinking that he can approach the drifted area easier from the other side. That works until, a tractor tire goes flat.

Now we are tractorless, sawless, and nearly woodless. I am frankly near hysteria here. Thoughts of freezing slowly to death plant themselves firmly in my cerebellum. I babble, I cry, I rant, I curse the gods of nature and consider offering a cat in sacrifice. We have after all, four. Shrug. . . .  well it was a thought, but I discarded it.

Days go by, Thursday afternoon, Friday morning, and I am getting panicky. We are using our few sticks judiciously, and running space heaters. In all actuality, it was quite warm most of the time. But nobody seemed home, and I became convinced that Troy Mills had been wiped from the map by some mysterious alien abduction. (Take me, take me! Please!)

Finally, contact is made with the outside world, but little in the way of help comes with it. I’m all in favor of calling anybody I can think of. (Call the Troy Store and ask them to put a note on their door: “Snow removal needed immediately! with phone number.) Later the Contrarian confesses that such a thing would never happen. “Why don’t you just prepare a sign that I can wear in town: INCOMPETENT HUSBAND.”

Okay, that maybe was going too far, but I’m a desperate woman. I’m wondering whether the movies about the Donner family are scheduled for broadcast anytime soon, and I think the Contrarian is sizing me up for a good roast, should the situation not improve quickly.

For two days, I spent the better part of the day off line, needing to keep the line open for a call of salvation from winter’s determined intent to kill us all. And my heart sank lower than a belly crawlin’ snake. It was a time of highs and lows, mostly the later, but we managed to buck each other up as needed, to get by.

Finally we get word, last night, that the Calvary has arrived, or at least is in town, and will saddle up in the morning and save us. Joe, has a gigantus tractor, enclosed cab, and the mother of all snow blower attachments. I can hear the sound of trumpets blaring, and I think a distant refrain of God Save the Queen, which I figured was my imagination.

Great plumes of snow sailed twenty feet in the air, and arced over the icy landscape. Superman in the usual winter garb of car-hards and yooper hat,  crested the hill and rolled down. The behemoth shook with pleasure as she spewed her last mouth of snow and snorted a hearty “YOU ARE FREE!”

Manly talk ensued, between the Contrarian and Joe with the usual handshake and highdeeho. Within moments the Contrarian was off to another friend to get a couple of armloads of wood and then off to the big city to secure bars and oil, more gas, and vittles. I guess I will make it to church on time after all.

So that is my tale. Funny how personal crap overcomes all the real tragedy in the world.  Looking back, it doesn’t seem it was all that bad, but it was scary at times. And wood working is going to be much harder now, without the tractor to pull logs. The bronco can fill in for that, given the location of the tree now being dismantled. The tractor can’t be dealt with until it warms up a good deal more, unless an air compressor is located and the leak is a slow one, in which case, he might be able to hobble around with it until Spring.

Such is life in the meadow. Not nearly as convenient as suburbia, but then, I doubt suburban stories can match the sheer drama of our ups or downs. Just know, that all is safe, and well once again. . . .though I must say, I am getting a bit old for all this drama. Town is starting to look good.