Winds of Change...

Many of them, actually. When the universe decides that dramatic changes must be made in our lives, often we are forced into following the cosmic path into the unknown. A few changes, while at least one is under our own power, will be told to you all when the time is deemed appropriate- the most dramatic of the them is the basis for this blog today.

Last week, my family was dealt a blow. A gust of life changing wind that cut through flesh and chilled the bones. This blow not only took the air from everyone’s lungs, but also ushered in the newness about to unfold.

The home that I’ve always known as “home”, the house that my parents and grandparents built by hand in the middle of an old corn field was taken away from my parents by Fannie Mae. That failure of a bank that Obama decided to save. Well, gee, thanks, Mr. President. Now go fuck yourself. All of you. I am so glad that we the tax payers paid to save a bank that would have been better left to fold like a house of cards- instead, by working and paying taxes- I took my own parents home from them!

In less than 30 days now, I will have to wake up every morning, look out my kitchen window, and realize that Mom and Dad don’t live there anymore. The shop will still be there and I will remain working there, that is all safe. As is the family pet cemetery that I will admit the digging up and moving of our beloved animals has been a nightmare of mine more than a time or two recently. In less than 30 days, I will no longer be able to walk up the driveway and cuddle mom’s dogs and have a cup of coffee with her when I am done with my shop runs. In less than 30 days, my nephew won’t be getting off the school bus and running up the driveway to go play at Gramma’s house.

To say this sucks- is a mild statement. Sour cream mild. But then again- I cannot find the right words to properly habanero pepper explain how I’m feeling, either. Instead it’s an ache. A dull, nagging ache that will not go away, at all. And ache that is almost completely gone one moment then comes back with a gut wrenching, teary-eyed vengeance. An ache that has affected my sleep, affected my eating, affected how I look at the world right now.

Mom and Dad already have a new place to seek shelter, it pays to have a community of friends that no longer places a stigmatism on the term of “Foreclosure”. Instead now, everyone knows someone that’s been through one, have been through one, or are themselves facing one! And that, everyone, is fucking pathetic. I am so glad that our nation is in such “good standing” says those asshats that want to be our president for the next four years, looking for their chance to fuck up the nation even more. Pardon me if there is a bitter taste in my mouth, Mr. Obama. You, sir, are a fucking failure.

The new house is about a mile and a half away from our happy little family corner. It’s a century old, two story farm house with old electric wiring and a new natural gas furnace. Dad’s a little miffed that there is no cable, no high speed internet, since he just canceled his wireless hot spot through Verizon. Mom, is looking forward to it, 75% of the time right now. A new house, with more windows, more floor space, enough bedrooms for them to have one to sleep in, two for the dogs, one for a “man cave” and one for an art studio.

There’s a wrap around porch, that while it needs work- Mom smiled at the thought of my hubby assisting in construction and giggling when she thought of his plumber’s crack, that she will be able to fill with potted flowers. There’s promise for her amazing ability to create breathtaking gardens from new ground. Dad loves that he will have a man cave, finally. That he is out from underneath $250,000 of debt owed to a massive bank that it too big to know what the fuck is going on anymore. While at first, they had hopes of renting this house- they are ending up buying it for an absolute steal from a man that wants to stick it to the banks, if only for a little while. And when I say steal- think… I bought my monster camera on Craigslist for $150 bucks. That’s a camera that’s still valued at close to $1500 dollars, with a $300 lens. We’re talking that kind of steal, that one you don’t pass up for anything!

But, with the anticipation of new- comes the deeply painful truth. Where I grew up as a kid with my little brother, where we played; learned to mow lawn; played pranks on each other; and so many more memories will be standing empty until some asshole somewhere decides what to do with it. Yesterday, on Hubby’s birthday, we spend most of the day there- I was packing boxes alongside Mom, while he and Dad took things down, moved lawn stuff, disconnected lights… We ended up coming home with a trunk full of stuff Mom is getting rid of. It felt like that day I came home from Gram’s apartment, two months after I got married, with a truck full of her belongings after she died. Bittersweet, since a few of the things reminded me of childhood memories, but that Mom should still have them, use them… But she is altogether scary happy that this is the “great pitch and sort” event in her life. To cleanse of the old, broken things, to wipe the dust off stuff there was never room for.

This is why I’ve been so quiet recently. This is why blogging hasn’t been a priority and neither has photography honestly. But… Time will continue to move on, won’t it? Something my dad said to me last Wednesday took a lot of the pain from this knife wound created in me by strangers far away…

“Kid… This isn’t home. This was a house that we raised our family in. Home, is where your Mom and I can put our shoes by the back door at the end of the day, and where I can curl up in my Lazy Boy with a dog in my lap… That’s home.”


  1. I am sorry to hear (read) about your parent's situation. I know how "sucktastic" banks and their ilk tend to be. And I can empathize about "the house where you grew up in" isn't "there" anymore, same basic things with my old house (and the trailer property across the street). Keep things updated.


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