copyright 2015 Chris Smith All rights reserved.
My Parents had spent most of the afternoon setting up my Dad's desk at our new temporary home, the Main House. They picked a spot to the left of the fireplace in the living room. It was really the only viable area. The only downside was that now his desk was right next to the main walkway that lead to either the kitchen or the master bath and bedroom. So you had to be careful when you walked by his desk that you didn't knock any of his computer cords around.
I started to get upset with Dad. I knew he was very frustrated. But the way he came across was like we weren't doing enough.
How could he think that?
I had no idea. All my time and energy was now being put into them and helping them move. I'd stopped all my development on all of my personal projects to help them. I used to work on those things. I used to be inspired. I used to be creative. Now it was all I could do to survive the day, to survive the drama of my life. The fact that I had to survive my Parents and their Episodes was yet another nail in my coffin.
If they put me in an early grave, my headstone should read "Here lies our dear Daughter, she couldn't take it anymore, she couldn't take the shit we were shoveling on top of her and she finally gave us the finger" or something to that effect.
Dad had started to feel twitchy about running into anyone on the Farm. He couldn't deal with it. He looked and acted like a beaten down man who was inches away from jumping off a cliff out of sheer desperation. So he avoided going for walks until the late afternoon evening, when there was less of a chance running into to anyone. He started taking walks to Parcel C, to the highest point of the Farm. Prospective buyers would be blocked from driving onto Parcel C by the imposing chained gate. He was filled with depression and guilt.
Who could blame him?
Mom was helping out with a road association mailing. We lived on a private road that was governed by a private committee, not the local county. The property owners that lived on the road, would pay a fee to the association to help upkeep, and make any necessary improvements.
Mom had been active in the association for several years. She done a lot of good things for it, one of which was helped start a CERT Team since we lived so far out of town. Several other property owners' had gone through the training and our road now had its own CERT Team for disaster response.
This mailing she was doing was another big help to the road. She was mailing every property owner the actual by-laws of the association. It was important because a lot of the property owners did not have the by-laws.
I found it amusing because, so far as I knew, the road had been conducting its business without the property owner's on the road understanding legally as stated in the by-laws, how the road was and was not supposed to conduct its business. The business could be simple things like managing the petty cash, to larger items like how many owners were required for a decorum to pass a motion. It's those finite little details that can get people into trouble. I think it would be fair to state that the association was lucky, dumb luck perhaps, it hadn't gotten into hot water legally for not following its own rules.
Mom's memory was sort of shot with all the stress we were dealing with. So she would get really reactive when she was working on the mailing, or attempting to work on it. She was trying to do way too much under the circumstances. She didn't need to be doing this. But no one in the association seemed to care.
The cat was out of the bag. A bunch of other property owners knew we were dealing with the foreclosure of our Farm, but no one came to my Mom's aid to help her. It made me hate them. I wanted Mom to tell the association they could take their mailing and shove it. We were drowning. The Farm's Parcels were legally being taken over by the Bank, one by one. Mom was using up what little energy she had, in between packing up and moving all her stuff, on a fucking mailing. No one was helping her. It was beyond ungrateful.
Late that afternoon we all were in their makeshift master bedroom talking when we heard a large truck on the property. All of our hearts leapt with fear! Both my Parents shot out of their bed! We all looked out the windows. We were so punchy about people driving around. Only this time when we looked we saw a Sears Department store truck barreling down the road through the apple orchard. Turned out to be nothing. The truck was lost.
Dad said later he had thought, "This is it! They're coming for our stuff! Nathan has had it with dealing with us and called three guys to come and take all our stuff away!"
Funny. Kind of. But not really when you were living it moment to moment.
I woke up late. My eye looked the best it had for weeks. It was amazing! I also took a nap later that day. It was the first nap I had taken in a long time. Maybe the eye was getting better.
Sleep, when I slept well, brought me the only escape to the madness. Sleep is when I forgot. Sleep is when I dreamed and thought about things other than moving and postings and Evictions and loss. By the end of each day I was tired and ready to lay my head down and fall into bliss. Well, that is until my eye got infected.
Dad had started to make fun of my attempt to be quiet in the middle of night when I was dealing with my eye. I tried to be as quiet as I could. No, I should restate that. I tried to be as quiet as the house would let me.
But when the eye woke me up, I had to get up and deal with it. Otherwise, I'd just have to lay in bed in pain and discomfort. I was already filled with enough discomfort as it was. So, I had to get up and go get my washcloth and heat the water in the micro. I had to do the routine. I had no choice. Either do the routine, or suffer silently in bed with a weeping eye, unable to sleep, and be uncomfortable. Doing the eye routine was the only way I could help my poor eye feel better.
Later that day, Mom saw the skunk family of three at our new chum pile. They were a cute little group. It was fun to watch them. They were sort of our unpaid entertainment. I'd never seen a bunch of skunk babies.
We all loved watching nature roam free on the property. It was like our own personal "Wild Kingdom" except we didn't have any lions or tigers. But we did have deer, birds, lots of insects, bobcats, and a bunch of smaller animals. Nature was an escape for us too. Though we didn't have much time to enjoy it with all the moving we were doing. Plus having a bunch of strangers coming and going on the Farm didn't make us or nature want to venture out as much.
"The Community Emergency Response Team (CERT) Program educates people about disaster preparedness for hazards that may impact their area and trains them in basic disaster response skills, such as fire safety, light search and rescue, team organization, and disaster medical operations. Using the training learned in the classroom and during exercises, CERT members can assist others in their neighborhood or workplace following an event when professional responders are not immediately available to help. CERT members also are encouraged to support emergency response agencies by taking a more active role in emergency preparedness projects in their community."
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A TASTE OF DESTRUCTION Book 1 (EDITING) is the juice worth the squeeze seriesNon-Fiction
I woke up to a world crumbling around me. Our Family Farm was in the middle of foreclosure as an economic crisis rippled across America. Hope was fading fast and there was no end in sight to the chaos coming for us, ready to destroy everything we...