Still Here

 Contrary to Cujo's announcement about our new home, we still don't have a buyer for the park. Still here for now. Packing, sorting and packing some more. And waiting. Some days are better than others. Having packed up all my playthings such as my sewing machine and craft supplies, I have no outlet for keeping myself occupied.

That might have to change, as gardening this time of year is minimal to non-existant. I feel no compulsion to ready a winter garden and in my mind I am already in a different place. I can't just sit and watch TV. Solitaire and crossword puzzles are losing appeal.

Still attached to a phone with mostly telemarketers to amuse myself with. I can choose any of my personalities on any given call. But that is getting old, too. Reading blogs is time consuming, but spotty lately. Someone here must be trying to stream movies and I keep getting knocked off. 

Every little annoyance seems magnified and I imagine the perfection of my new home. Of course, I know it will not be perfection, as nothing ever is. Maybe God is trying to show me something. If that is true, I hope it becomes apparent sooner than later.

Being in the house most of the day has been somewhat relaxing, as the dogs are close. Eddie is always a comforting presence, as well as Cujo. Speaking of my old round guy, it has come to my attention that he seems to be growing fatter every day. I was baffled at first. 

Then I realized that if I filled the food bowl with the weight conscious formula dog food in the morning, HeWho was replacing it again in the late afternoon and it would still be half full when we went to bed. Being the geat detective that I am, I suddenly knew the reason for the weight gain of my fat little guy. He has been getting up in the middle of the night and eating all the kibble left! Little stinker!

One problem solved. Mr. BoJangles has decided that he should acompany me in the store everytime the bell rings. I won't deny that he is absolutely adorable and loves to meet people, but if they happen to bring their dog along he goes berserk. His hackles rise dramatically and his bark becomes threatening. He stands on his hind legs with his forepaws on the windowsill in order to command the attention of anyone there. If he decides that the person outside finds him to be cute he will hop into my lap so they can see all of him. He sticks his face under the slot that the clipboard with the registration goes through, and will lick fingers if they are offered.

He can sense those who do not care for dogs and will simply walk away. Since his very special surgery that made sure he will never father little ones, he has mellowed. He is more apt to cuddle now. Eddie still has not made his second appearance to have surgery. I doubt his manhood removal would have the same results, as Eddie is the most mellow dog ever. 

Toni Louise tries to go into the store with me, her only thought is  hoping for someone to open the door to outside to facilitate her escape. I can read her mind. Cujo is disinterested in accompaning me to help others. Just too much trouble and no treats are involved. He is more likely to nap while waiting for my return. The only place he is likely to follow me is the kitchen with high hopes of me dropping food. 

I suppose I will go see what today holds ....

New Home!

 Cujo here. It has been a hectic morning in our house. Mom drank her coffee and said she had some serious work to do. Us dogs stayed in our spots on the couch, ready for our early morning nap (not to be confused with our mid morning nap, then there is the early afternoon and mid afternoon, followed by a nice early evening snooze before bed). She headed to her bedroom, as usual and we expected to see her emerge in suitable attire for whatever task was at hand.

Dad and Toni Louise were still in bed. Mom dresses in the dark, so she won't disturb them. She calls it being considerate. Next thing we heard was the water in the shower. Okay, this means her task will be inside and not in her gardens, as she will delay her shower to work there (she calls it playing in the dirt). No matter to us sleepy hounds.

The water was still running when we heard Mom tell Toni Loise that she was getting a much needed bath! Wait a minute, it is my turn to have a bath! Toni no longer fights about the indignity of the bath, having reaized that it makes no difference to Mom. Dad got up and dressed and was sitting in his chair when Mom called out that she could use some help. Dad came out with a very wet Toni, followed by Mom and a dry towel. She finished drying Toni and scooped me up for my bath!

I was so happy, I don't know if I have told you all how much I enjoy a nice warm bath! I am not a fan of the blow dryer and Mom let's me skip that part. I have very short hair and it dries quickly as I run zoomies through the house. Now, while I was about the business of drying myself, I heard Mom tell Dad to grab the demon dog and deliver him to the bathroom. 

That would be Mr. BoJangles, in case you didn't know. He is not a fan of getting wet and has been known to give Mom a nip or two during the bathing process. I once heard her remind him that she bites back and that he was lucky he was soapy that moment! He did quite well today and Eddie was waiting patiently for his turn. I suppose he forgot his bath of only a few days ago.

Mom said her back was killing her. Bo wondered how her back would kill her and started asking really dumb questions. He went so far as to ask if her back was going to shoot her! Demon dog, indeed!

Toni has been unseen since the morning bath. She will usually make her presence unknown when Mom takes any of us dogs in for a bath. She has never been first before. Pretty clever of Mom to surprise her this morning. 

And now for the big news of the day. We have a new home!! We will be living in North Carolina! It is two day trips away. We went there earlier this year in the motorhome. Then we got in the car and drove there. Us dogs got out and I personally marked many spots as I walked around with Mom before we went up some steps onto a porch. Dad was there and he talked with Mom while us dogs sniffed the entire porch. We went back the next day and met a man there who let us inside to look at the house part. 

We liked it and so did Mom and Dad. It was quite small, just one bedroom. I like small places and in this place I can see Mom from every room. I like to know where she is. Sometimes she will get up in the middle of the night because she can't sleep and I am always available to keep her company. 

I don't know when we will move there, but Mom is packing every day. I am giddy with anticipation!

Show Me The Money

 As I stand looking at all the boxes of stuff I can't bear to part with and wondering where it will fit, I realize that is the least of my worries ...

It is November and this has been going on since August. Still no closing date looming large for the sale of the park. Our property in North Carolina closes this Tuesday. We found it, offered a price and settled on one in less that a week, had the inspection, settled on a few more things, then it went to the attorney and a few more details were brought to our attention and now the new contract is ready and the money has been wired and the place will be ours next week.

The sale of the park is not moving along at all. The prospect would appear to be having trouble funding his purchase. I am trying not to be impatient, but when we purchased the park, we wrapped it up a whole lot faster. We knew what would be required as far as a down payment went and even though our biggest asset (our house) had not sold, we borrowed the money and moved on with the purchase.

This has been the root of my sleepless nights and lethargic days. I start to pack up stuff and then wonder if I will ever move. In my mind I am no longer here and long to be in my new surroundings. I don't want to interact with people, hate answering the phone and no longer care about the business here. On the other hand I am not willing to just give it away. I have worked too hard for too many years to simply hand it over to someone and not profit from my efforts.

Back to the beginning of this adventure of selling, the prospect approached us with his offer. Said money was not an issue for him, that he had several avenues of resources. We provided all the data he needed to obtain a loan. The business is turning a healthy profit. At this point, with someone saying they want to buy, I am no longer interested in expansion or remodeling here. As it is, he approached us. In August.

Now that it would appear he can't get funding, he has started picking at the faults as he sees them and we agreed to lower our asking price. Well, HeWho wants to be gone as much as I do did. I was not a happy camper about the whole thing. 

The nature of this business guarantees that there will always be repairs to be done. Water hydrants get hit, trees get hit, electrical boxes get hit, sewers back up with the things people decide to pour and cram down them. There will always be repairs to do, no matter how hard you strive to change things for the better.

The final blow was a plan for us to contribute to the down payment. "Do what?" you might be asking! He even put it on paper in an effort to legitimize it. We would supposedly get it back at the closing, but it would require us to finance our new home and invest the money I had saved for a cash purchase. Never mind that I had sacrificed creature comforts to squirrel away for my retirement and do not want to have a mortgage payment to deal with.  And, as I read this ridiculous hand written  proposal, I realised that the money I would "get back" was actually going to be part of the base price, ultimately making the offer shave 100 grand off in their favor. Lots of double speak. Not to mention the cost we would incur with financing a loan and other incidentals that would not be part of the so-called payback.

"NO" I said, just no. I am not his mother, I feel no inclination to invest in something that will offer me nothing in return. Now he has convinced another couple to invest with him and there is still no news on the loan. He roams the park every weekend announcing the up grades he plans to make and pish poshing things we have done over the years. Does he not think others will tell me? 

We took over this park when it was not even supporting itself. Over the years we have overcome the economic downfalls and high gas prices to turn it into what it is now. We have weathered lean years and done without and now it is time for a reward in a fair asking price. 

As I sit here with a nagging headache after another sleepless night, half packed up and ready to leave, I have just one thing I would like to say ..... SHOW ME THE MONEY! Or shut up.

We will be re-listing the property this week, back to square one. I did some more research online last night and discovered what I already knew to be true. Our asking price for the amount of acreage and the existing business is a bit below average.

I Predict My Bad Mood!

My fabric sale went well, I suppose. Problem is that there is still a lot of fabric left. I had 3 ladies come while I was still getting everything out and in some kind of order. Did not faze them and they shopped around me. I sold my sewing machine, over 150 patterns and the storage cabinets along with about 100 yards of fabric, along with a few other items before noon. Dragged after that, but about 50 more yards left. Then a storm announced it's intention and HeWho helped me get it all back in.

He didn't help take it out, he did offer to help, half-heartedly. I denied his help. He does not follow directions well. He did complain that I has "slammed" the storm door over 100 times while he was "resting his eyes". I did not slam anything. I simply let the door close behind me as I went out with both arms full! I will do it all again next Saturday, all the while scheming to pack up some more fabric and label the box as something else. If it sells, I wasn't meant to keep it, but if it doesn't ... that is a different story!

I woke up Sunday aching all over, sore throat, dizzy and just felt awful. I took the day off. Sort of. The dishes from the weekend were still there awaiting my attention and I took care of them and I was not nice about it. I threw a roast in the instant pot and tried to sneak away to my bed. The dogs somehow knew I was in there and sat at the gate in the hall crying and crying. For over an hour. I waited to see if the man in the recliner would make any attempt to calm them other than yelling at them to shut up. And he wonders why they prefer me to him!

I gave up and got up and told him the roast was his dinner, to choose any combo of leftover vegetables he wanted and I ate some rubbery jello I made last week. I still felt horrible, sudden noises bothered me and I did not want to be touched. 

Eddie kept trying to get in my lap and Mr. BoJangles kept climbing the back of the couch to march across my shoulders and insinuate himself between my face and the TV. If he would have simply chosen a spot to lay on my shoulders, I could have handled it. But he is in constant motion and kept trying to stick his tongue in my ear and up my nose.

I finally swatted his hind end and went to bed. Cujo and Eddie tunnel under the covers and then lay still. Toni Louise insinuates herself between our pillows at the head of the bed, but Bo has to try every vacant inch of the bed. My stomach was hurting and he kept treating it like a pillow to lay on. Even when he finally sleeps he is prone to doggie dreams and his legs jerk and he whines. 

I did manage a somewhat decent amount of sleep. Yesterday I was cold. That ended at some point in the night, as I woke in a puddle of sweat. I stripped the bed and decided it smelled like essence of wet dog. I toyed with thoughts of bathing the canines, but vetoed that idea. I just don't have the stamina to get it done. Oh, what did you say? No, HeWho is not a bather of dogs. He tends not to rinse all the shampoo out and Eddie's allergies make that a necessity of life. He might have just sprayed them all with Febreeze and told me he bathed them. I know him well!

In between rest periods I started sorting through my linen closet. I found all manner of things expired. Cepacol lozenges didn't have a date on them, but I can assure you they are no longer good. I really regret popping it in my mouth! The medicine cabinet is looking bare and tomorrow I will start packing up the towels, leaving only 4 to use until we move. The boxes are starting to pile up as I make progress. Supposed to be a nice tomorrow and I plan to go outside to see how much progress has been made by HeWho procrastinates. I predict my own disappointment .....

 

Four Hours

 Confession time. I was the one who did not hammer the lid down on the paint. Beside the point when you consider how many times I have moved that pait without spillage. That's my story and I am sticking to it.

Another Friday in a campground here. I have four hours left and I do not think I will make it to the end. Seems like every one I have checked in so far is determined to find fault with everything about their site. I am tired and sore from packing up boxes and stacking them. I don't want to be here and it is coming through, loud and clear.

I thought a nice hot bowl of soup would make me feel more like handling the public. I prepared the soup and made sandwiches and beckoned HeWho only eats well when I take the time to choose his food. The rush to check in usually happens between 4:00 and 6:00. It was 2:30 and I thought we might actually sit down and eat like civilized beings. But, no, that did not happen.

The bell rings at the window and I tell HeWho was hungry not to wait for me. It was a check-in from about an hour earlier telling me there was no water hydrant on the site. I told them I would send someone to them. I figured if they had already waited an hour, 15 more minutes wouldn't be that inconvenient.

Went back to my food, didn't sit, the bell again. This one wanted propane. I told him to leave it at the dispense station and my husband would fill it as soon as he finished eating and bring it to him. Back to the soup that was cooling and I managed to fill my mouth before the bell rang again. Propane guy telling me he left the tank and wondered who he should pay. I quoted the price and said he could pay the man delivering the tank or me, didn't matter. He said he didn't have exactly $20. I said "ok" and he left as I hurried back to my now cold soup. Another bite and the bell rang again. Propane guy wondering if I could make change for $100. I opened the cash drawer to do so .... but he didn't bring the bill with him. Another spoonful of cold soup and the bell rang yet again.

No, not propane guy. This was the guy who couldn't locate the water hydrant. He found it. It was one of the older sites with the faucet low to the ground and it was covered with leaves. Then he wanted to chat about the changing of the seasons. Back to the soup bowl that no longer held any interest for me. I had time to clear the table before the bell rang again with propane guy and his $100 bill. Then I checked in four campers that came in within minutes of each other, along with another site unable to locate the sewer and ask if I was sure the site was a full hook-up. The answer lingered on the tip of my tongue.

By the time I checked in the last of the four, the first of the four was back at the window to tell me they did not feel safe on their assigned site. "It is so steep, we are afraid our camper will roll away, we used the chocks, but they don't seem big enough." says the woman and then turns to her companion and says, "You tell her!"

"There is no one in 30 and we would prefer that site, it is more flat," says the man. I tried to explain that the site was reserved and just because it was currently vacant did not mean it was available. The key word being 'tried'. Tried and failed. All sites are not created equal and some sites, such as 30 are more suited to very large rigs towing cars. The people had a small 5th wheel and the site I assigned was sufficient for their needs. I moved them, but not to 30.

And now I sit, knowing I have four more hours of this. Four very long hours. I don't think I have it in me.

Time Keeps On Slipping Into The Future

 Where does all the time go? I seem to be making very little progress in packing up stuff. While I am tired at the end of the day, when I look around around, my gaze settles on everything that still waits for my attention.

While time keeps slipping into the future, HeWho seems unconcerned about this thing called packing. I can't really say that it bothers me so much, as I have witnessed his inability to pack things and take advantage of the space. It still annoys me that I am doing all the work while he asks what I am cooking for dinner.

Sometimes I just look at him, other times I answer truthfully, "apparently nothing". He has been going out to find nourishment a lot!

Today the weather is chilly and I packed up the room I always over-winter my plants in. I have tons of smelly paint that was gifted to me by a kamper. I only use it outside because the smell is overwhelming. I carefully stacked one can on top of another and started bring plants in and using the cans as pedestals to hold plants. HeWho must have felt guilty about me hauling all the plants in and started helping. I have plants hanging everywhere. On the front porch, in the trees, where ever I can put some happy colors. Four gigantic ferns adorn the building front as you come in, and they are heavy. They will be moving to North Carolina with me, by the way. 

As HeWho took the last of the plants in, telling me they would not "fit" inside, I stayed to grab the ones that just needed to be under shelter and clean up. I came in to grab the broom and the smell hit me. He spilled the paint. On a carpet square. Did he take the carpet square with the offensive smell out? No, he did not. I am a bit high from the fumes. I should probably go find the square and remove it, but this sounds like a good excuse to not cook!!

Number 35

 After all that measuring and prepping for the extravaganza affair that was meant to relieve me of my hoard of fabric, I only sold about 100 yards. Not really discouraged, though. Us fabric hoarders are a rare breed. I will be doing it again next Saturday and the next until I exhaust all possibilities.

Word of mouth will be my best friend now. My variety will bring those other sewers not so interested in quilting. Pictures were taken and texted and I expect some out of town sewers to show up. In the meantime I keep uncovering other stashes I managed to hide from myself and I did sell my cutting table and have a lot more room to maneuver around in.

In case you are unaware, fabric is heavy. Forty years ago, I could balance a formidable stack of bolts on one shoulder and climb a ladder to change out seasons in the 7 stores I was in charge of. I would be tired after a 12 hour day, but at least I didn't feel like a truck ran over me!

No bolts this time, but I did transfer most of the fabric onto outdoor tables yesterday morning. Not to mention the 6, yes 6, rubbermaid bins of remnants. I sold a good many of those at 10 cents and 25 cents each. Only one lady in her eighties unrolled them before she would consider buying them. At the end of the day I had to haul it all back in. HeWho offered to help, but I was trying to keep it in stacks of types and colors and denied him the priviledge of helping me.

I am sore and I am tired. The phone already had calls on it when I woke at 8 am. I longed to stay in bed and go back to sleep, but I remembered that I close early today. 

While on our big adventure south, I had the store phone and the reservation book in my possession and took some barely legible requests while bouncing down the poorly maintained interstate. I have a litany of facts that I repeat with EVERY reservation. I confirm the date of arrival and date of departure, then say, 'I don't run your card today. The only reason I would do so would be if you don't call to cancel and simply don't show up and I could have rented and didn't. Should your plans change, you need only to let me know, there is no cancellation fee. You can pay anyway you like (NO American Express) when you arrive. Check-in is any time after noon. In the event that you arrive after hours , you will find an envelope on the door with your name on it and inside will be a map with the route to your site high lighted and you can come up to the office in the morning." EVERY SINGLE TIME these same words leave my lips to the potential camper's ear. Some will tell me just to use the card and I can text or email a reciept.

While most women making a reservation listen to me, most men don't. I don't know why that is, maybe too much information to grapple with, or simply a short attention span. They will wait until I stop speaking then proceed to shoot questions at me. "How early can we get there?" "How much are putting on credit card today?" If I cancel, how much will you charge me?"

It comes as no surprise that they will fail to follow my directions to get to my campground or to the assigned site. Google will have you pass my exit and put you in the rest area for trucks right across the frontage road from my park. You can see me, but a locked gate will prevent you from just driving the short distance across the road. You will then have to travel 9 miles west to the next exit and circle back. Some of them will call me and yell at me about Google's misdirection and demand that I go unlock the gate. You can use your imagination about my reply.

This morning, as I am still dosing my body with caffiene and moving slowly, the bell at the window rings. This is not a welcome sound for me and I make my way to the window where a dour faced woman stands glaring at me. I don't know this woman, so I can't fathom why she dislikes me. I open the window and using my false chipper voice greet her and ask how I can help her. "We are here."

My coffee is reaching the sarcastic side of my brain and so many responses come to mind, far too many to mention. Trying to be nice and stifle my true self, I ask if she has a reservation. Her husband cowered behind her (much like HeWho does when I take over the conversation that he appears to be losing). She gives me the name and I give her the clipboard and tell her she needs to fill out the registration while I find her on my chart. This seems to add to her dislike of me and she proclaims that they will be going to site 35. 

I tell her that I had to do some rearranging and that they will be in site 32. Both are 50 amp full hook-up long sites that can accommodate large rigs, but now she is really mad. Still trying to do my job, I offer her a weekly rate, since they will be here that long and it will save her almost $80, much more than the 10% her Good Sam discount would be. I try to explain this to her and she sighs deeply and says that she doesn't really have a choice, does she?

"What?" yells my brain. I can't stop myself and tell her that, of course she has a choice. This is when I see the look of panic on my husband's face. He thinks I am going to give her the option of going elsewhere, in more colorful tones. I tell her I will be happy to charge her full price and give her  a less than $30 discount. She ignores me and looks even more angry.

I complete the transcation and hand her credit card and multiple receipts. Then I show her how to get to her site. Done. I go back to the chore I was doing before I was so rudely interrupted. I don't know how, but I am still finding more fabric. Fully caffeinated now I am on a roll. Packing and moving packed boxes into a tidy stack thinking that I am getting a lot done this fine day. The bell beside the window calls out for my attention.

I see the woman from 32 and with a sense of dread I open it. Looks like she comandeered a seasonal camper to transport her to me in his golf cart. "The people on 35 left and we can't reach the hook-ups on 32! We want 35, I don't see why it is such a problem."

"Well, let me enlighten you," says my brain. Deep breath. "Ma'am, the problem was that you came in too early. Check-out is not until noon, therefore check-in is AFTER noon. 35 was occupied when you arrived, 32 wasn't. I can't put two campers on one site." "Well you told me 35 when I made the reservation!" she replies. "Yes, I did," I say, "and I also told you that check-in was AFTER NOON. Move if you must and I can rearrange everything once again!"

She will be here an entire week. Oh goody! She seems attached to the number 35.