Sold!

My house hit the Multiple Listings Service on Thursday, I had five showings yesterday and one today. This afternoon I accepted a very good offer; if all goes well we close before November. Good thing it's clean and nearly empty - it'll be a breeze to pack!

Guess I'm really moving forward now...

Six weeks of sweat

The house is on the market. I've lost eighteen pounds. I hurt all over and my right hand goes numb when I grasp anything tightly. It's time to rest for a while.

Mac's last zinnia patch. One of his best.

More pix from the Tank Farm

 

Tank Farm!

I took Saturday off.  I didn't paint anything, I didn't sand anything, I didn't scrub anything, I didn't set one foot on a ladder or even on a step stool.

Old NFO had suggested a get-together at the American Wartime Museum's Open House in Nokesville, VA, and I thought some good old fashioned fun in the sun would be just the ticket. So I spent half a day wandering around with Old NFO and the Murphy's Law (owner of the world's most mischievous dog) taking pictures. My profound ignorance of all things military didn't stop me from being thoroughly impressed, and I have the good sense not to feel like an idiot for not knowing enough to even ask intelligent questions; I learned a long time ago to just shut up and listen when veterans get together and start talking. Oh, and northern Virginia is probably one of the best places in the world to find hundreds of extremely knowledgeable and dedicated military history enthusiasts and volunteers. They don't teach this stuff in schools.

So here is my very first attempt to upload a video I shot all by myself, and a bunch of photos of things that go Boom, things that go Vroom, and a few bits of entirely random Cool Stuff.

Had these been for sale, I would now own one.

Do whatever works.

Huh. Mine don't look like that. I'm pretty sure they never did.

$700. With the right holster, would it fit under a blazer?

Ooooh, pretty! Horsies!

Wanted: Very short driver.

Wiley Coyote was in the next tent waiting for his cue.

Various Awesomeness:

Aaaand since Blogger is a weenie and stinks, I will have to publish more "Various Awesomeness" in another post. Or two or five.

Calling all Honey Badgers!

After decades of ignoring and then mocking the men's rights movement, it appears that Those Who Control The Public Discourse have reached the stage of attempting to fight it. It is now being acknowledged that men and boys suffer a wee bit of discrimination due to a few possibly misguided and somewhat gynocentric laws, policies and recent shifts in Western culture. However the growing consensus among Those Who Know What's Good For Us, is that there's really no need for a men's movement; apparently men have no business advocating for themselves or each other, as there really is little need at all to advocate for men.  And there is certainly call for vulgarity, assertiveness or anything else that might offend anyone's delicate sensibilities.

As Cathy Young of the Boston Globe so eloquently states,

"Perhaps what the 21st century needs is not a women’s movement (which was once essential to secure basic rights) or a men’s movement, but a gender equality movement."

Really, Cathy? Really??? You think it's just fine for "gender equality" to be defined and dictated by those members of the "women's movement" who now have a death grip on our government, education system, media and culture?  The same people who redefined Rape Culture (along with the legal definition of "rape" itself) to almost entirely exclude male victims?  The same people who have quietly replaced the phrase "domestic violence" with the phrase "violence against women" in our cultural lexicon? (While simultaneously wringing their hands and crying,"What about the children?") The same people who initiated the Tender Years Doctrine as default policy in the family courts?  The same people who are angry at the military because (even some of the strongest and most dedicated) women can't meet the physical standards required for combat duty?  The same people who advocate for affirmative action because there aren't enough female CEOs and Senators, yet never complain that there aren't enough female coal miners, mechanics, trash haulers and commercial fishermen?  The same people who cheer when a Senator states (with a straight face, no less) that women and children are the primary victims of war because they lose their menfolk?  The same people who cheer and laugh when a world-famous TV personality giggles gleefully at the mental image of a penis in a garbage disposal? The same people who rant about FGM in third world countries, while circumcising their own sons?  The same people who demand (and demand funding for) endless reproductive "rights" women while telling men to "keep it in their pants" if they don't want to risk becoming parents? Cathy, Are you fucking serious????

If you're a woman who thinks Cathy Young is full of shit,  follow the link to A Voice for Men and consider signing your name to this article, because "We are not withering violets, afraid that our words won’t be accepted, our opinions not liked, and our methods not approved."

"First they ignore you, then they ridicule you, then they fight you, then you win." M. Gandhi

We're getting there.

Family Time

Corporal's leave is just about over, and his presence has been an immeasurable comfort to me.  The most difficult work (emotionally and physically) is done and I'm left with a neat, comprehensive list of tasks to keep me busy and focused until I sell the house and move.

Today we did a little family history.  My dad was born not far from here and recently he emailed me the address of his childhood home.  We looked it up on Google Maps and went for a drive:

These trees are in the back yard of the house across the street.  I wonder if he enjoyed their shade back in the early thirties...

Kinda cool.




(Any idea how the heck I managed to change the date on these photos?  I sure don't have a clue!)

Gratitude, Tears, and Lots of Baby Steps

I am taking lots baby steps toward the future while Corporal and other members of my family take umbrella steps over and around me, settling the estate and getting ready to move back to Hooterville.  What we have collectively accomplished in days, would have taken me months on my own.  Mac knew we had raised a fine son, but these past two weeks would have blown his mind.  That young man has his head on straight and he can work like a machine.  The Marines are lucky to have him.  Many of our most urgent tasks have now been accomplished, and I find myself with a few quiet hours now and then.

It has been two and a half weeks since Mac's death. My wedding ring no longer feels "new" on my right hand, and today I changed my Facebook status to "Widowed" (does that make it more official?) Neither seems to make it more real. Having spent part of last year in a Commuter Marriage, I'm still half expecting a text telling me what time to meet him at the airport.

In spite of this wrenching loss, I think I'm one of the most fortunate people on this planet.  I spent twenty-five years married to a man I never deserved (no, I'm not being modest) and I have a family whose love, kindness and generosity defy description.  I also have more friends than I ever realized.  I am humbled and overwhelmed by the kindness and the offers of support and help that I have received from so many readers, both here and at AVfM, most of whom I have never met in person.  I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Emotionally I've been somewhat numb, out of necessity, but not completely shut down.  Back in early June, when Mac and I came home after his CT scan, and his doctor called to send him back to the hospital for admission, I was looking over his shoulder as he wrote down what they found on the scan.  (I have since thrown out that scrap of paper, but those words are forever etched in my mind.)  I knew right then what was coming but none of us knew how fast it would happen, and the panic attacks started immediately.  I hid most of my fear and grief from him because I didn't want him to worry about me - and he would, especially being too sick to offer me much comfort.  But I learned how to cry again.  I don't cry often and I rarely get upset, but there was no denying I had a lot to cry about and I couldn't pretend otherwise.  I spent those three weeks grieving, both for what he would face and for what I would face. Of course he hid his fears from me as well; I might try to convince myself that he had no idea what was happening in his body while we waited for a diagnosis, but I'd just be deluding myself.  He was hoping to regain enough strength to fight the cancer, at least for a while, but he knew where it was heading. And I now know that he was protecting me and carrying his burden even more quietly than I was carrying mine.  Like he always did.

It is just such realizations which bring the tears.  While stumbling through estate paperwork and attending to the many tasks I need to accomplish, I keep tripping over so many things he has done for my benefit, things he did without my knowledge, never expecting a word of thanks.  And I'm absolutely certain there is much more that I'll never know.  He never "kept score."  He never expected praise for his praiseworthy actions. He simply, reflexively even, did to the best of his ability, what he knew he needed to do.  Right up until hours before he died.  And not once since I've known him has he complained that it wasn't fair, even when it really wasn't fair.  Maybe he took pride in being a man I could take for granted, while I tried hard not to take him for granted.  I guess I'll never know, but I sure wish I could have at least a few more years to try to even the score, that score he never kept.  I know I was a pretty good wife, but he was a man who deserved so much more.

I probably won't be writing with my heart on my sleeve any more; it makes me uncomfortable anyway. I'll continue to move forward now, but a part of me will be kicking and screaming along the way for quite some time. I just don't want to leave him behind. I believe he's with me in spirit and I know that his personality has largely shaped my personality, so he'll never be entirely gone.  And I see much of him in our son.  I know that those ashes buried in a bronze box in his hometown are not what I treasure of him, but it was so hard to walk away from his grave.  My life is not empty or meaningless, and I suspect it never will be, but there's a Mac-shaped hole in my heart that I couldn't fill even if I wanted to. I'll have to get used to that.