Well I've had more than a week of 2014, so it looks like I can handle this.

I figured out why the thought of a new year was making me nervous.

WE DON'T HAVE A PLAN.

Jethro and I are well into our 40s now.  We have a kid in college and one in his last year of high school.


.... and we live with my parents.  We're both self-employed and have no savings.  He's staying in the city during the week so he can work at his extremely demanding job from which he barely makes enough to stay in business.  I'm running a business that's doing a little better than break-even (and I mean, YAY right???) We don't have enough to pay rent somewhere else. (Especially since "somewhere else" would ideally accommodate either two large hooved mammals or a recording studio.)

We're sick of being apart.  We like each other.  This sucks.  It's been four years of this arrangement. It was supposed to be temporary.

Also, despite the fact that my folks are awesome, and there are many advantages in being part of a three generation household, it's not the way we want it.  We miss having our own home.   My mom shouldn't have to think about keeping track of all of us at her age.  I shouldn't have to worry about my mother worrying about where I am at my age.


Without getting into all the sorry details (which would just lead to this becoming another "draft" ready to be deleted) we've been over this LACK OF PLAN problem over and over.  We haven't come up with anything.  We've burned through Plan B, C, D and I think we might be down to Plan Q but who's keeping track anymore, y'know?

We had a plan.

Sell the cute bungalow in the subdivision, move out to the sticks, get the horse business going, sell the studio, use the combined proceeds to buy a farm and put both the businesses together.  Waaaaaay trickier than it sounds, but theoretically could have worked.

Except that we make plans without knowing what God has planned, and God is rather reticent with the information most of the time.

Who in their right freaking mind is going to buy a big recording studio????? Seriously, when is the last time YOU dropped $17 on an album?  It still costs money to record, but who's buying the product, let alone the facility it's made in?  Oh and also, global recession economic meltdown blah blah blah.


Just to clarify, and Jethro would be mortified if he read this, we're not dicking around here.  This is a very nice studio and he's one of the top engineers in Canada.  This is the state of the industry.

We dropped the price until it made no sense.  We could lower it so far that we'd get nothing out of it except our freedom.  We could just walk away, flat broke, penniless, zero assets, and debt free.  But we have spent our entire adult lives working on this, and dammit, we love our studio, and it doesn't feel right to leave it.  Having said that, doesn't feel good to keep going like this either.

I haven't wanted to share this.  I don't want sympathy, because we have made choices that got us here and I can accept that.  I'm not begging for magical answers.  I'm just admitting that we're middle aged, not content with where we're at, scared for the future, and can't come up with A Better Plan.

I'm sharing it on the internet because I have a nagging feeling we're not the only ones who've found themselves in this nasty stuck spot.

But maybe he and I are the lucky ones.  We both love the work we're doing, even if it's not making us enough to live like adults, we've managed to be easy enough to live with that the parents haven't kicked us out, our kids like us, and hey, we're still married!!!

So, 2014.  Aren't you a mystery.  I don't know what I'm going to do with you.

I think I'm going to have to Come Up With A Plan.


It might take me all year.  Gahhhhhhhhhhhhhh...

Hick Chic Fashion Week

Yep.  It's time.  Fashion designers are rolling out all their fun stuff for next year, displaying all kinds of artful things that most people will never actually wear.  This coincides with the time of year that I'm starting to think about those thermal coveralls hanging on a hook in the cellar and admitting that yes, very soon, I won't be wearing my nice Wrangler Q-Baby jeans out to the barn anymore...

...but don't despair!!  Last month, a nice designer did me a real solid and whipped up a nice batch of HIGH FASHION COVERALLS!!!!   I HAVE NEVER SEEN ANYTHING LIKE THIS.   (and shouldn't ever again.)

Please enjoy this virtual fashion show.

Have you ever wished you could get all your dirty work done, while still looking super fabulous?  Have you ever wondered why nobody makes leather coveralls, which would clean up with just a swipe of saddle soap and never get hay stuck to it?

And also bring an air of classy formality to those activities that don't usually make you feel all that special.  Who could feel dull while flinging horse manure in neck to toe black leather?

Looking for something more casual?  Here's the classic denim.

Paired with a jacket I have terrible mixed feelings about.  On one hand, I'd like a quilt like that.  But without the scratchy metal parts. It's a work of art.  But on the other hand, it's kinda ugly in jacket form.  

But wait - there are no pictures of this jacket with actual arms inside the sleeves.  

Which changes everything.  How am I supposed to get a hay bale out of the haymow if I can't raise my arms?  I critique this to be a bad idea. But you can't go wrong with good old denim coveralls am I right?

Unless you still want a matching outfit.  

Pinstripes.  For those days when you have to go to a parent-teacher meeting right after chores and you just want to make sure everybody at school knows you really care.  

But of course, for a really formal occasion, you must  go with the black leather again.  Here's an outfit I like to think of as, daytime to evening wear.  

It's all about the accessories.  Just swap the plaid flannel for that fancy little sheer number and brush off all the hay and horse hair and you're good to go.  

Oh, I'm joking.  You all know you should never wear your barn boots to town!

Arrgghhhh, extreme lack of blogging!!!!

I have reasons!  Some of them are even good reasons!

- I've been legit busy.  And that's not something I want to complain about!  I'm doing up to seven lessons in a five-day week, which is right about where I'd like to be.  I could handle more, (especially if all three of my horses are sound and happy at the same time) but this is just enough to keep me busy and not burn any of us out.  Eventually I'd like to do more group lessons but we'll get there.

- It's summer.  For all of July, it was ride, teach, get in the pool.  This is how I've been dealing with an extremely hot summer.  Now that things have cooled in the last week or so, I've got to catch up on stuff I didn't feel like doing when I was boiling internally.

- I've got this teenager who's going to college in two weeks and besides freaking the heck out about it, I'm helping her get her stuff together.  By "stuff" I mean, actual things for her dorm room, sorting out paperwork, telling her that even though I really don't feel ready to let her go that I am so super proud of her and I know she's going to rock this thing, and it's exciting and I'm happy for her and... you get the idea.  It's a really big deal.

- Mac White, at the ripe old age of five, seems to be having some problems. I have no idea what those problems might be, and in fact, even Bucky The Nerd is a little puzzled as to why it can't decide how much blank space it has in its... um, hard drive? is that where it keeps all its stuff?  I'm a horse person, not a computer tech...!  It tells me I can't load pictures from my iGadget and it seems to regularly stop to have a little think before getting on with what it's supposed to be doing, so I dunno what.

- Can't load pictures.  I want to show you pictures.  And I can't.

- I have way too much to write about.  I can't sort it out and decide what to focus on.

- I really should reply to email first, before I blog.

- The dishes have still not learned how to wash themselves.

- If I ever get time with my husband and kids in the same building, I am NOT going to blog.

Aaaaaaand one more reason for the extreme lack of blogging....




I'm writing, but not here.




So that's all I've got to say about that.





For now...

She won't be the first kid to get her licence in a farm truck.

Since getting her beginner's licence almost two years ago, most of Annyong's driving has been in the pickup truck.  The big Mother Trucker.  The Honey Badger. She can drive it quite well.  She's learned to use her trailer mirrors to back it into a parking spot.  She understands why it can't be driven into a spot between two cars. She can get around a right turn without jumping the curb.

It's easy.  You sit up high and can see everything; you know where the front is, you know where the rear end is.  Even if both ends of the truck are several feet away from where you're sitting, you know it's there.  You can see everything around you.  It's got lovely power steering.  I mean, maybe it takes three times as long to park the thing, and a very cool head, but it can be done.

Besides it's automatic.  Pretty simple.

But Grandma's little Pontiac Vibe doesn't make any sense to her.  And we have to decide what she'll be driving for her road test.  She won't take the Jetta because even though she has learned to drive standard shift, she's not totally smooth with it yet.  Grandma generously offered her car.  She just didn't think it would be fair to ask a kid to drive that monster for a test.  Understandably so. I can brag about how well Annyong can manage the truck but let's face it.  It's a handful.

I talked to the examiner.  I explained how Annyong is used to the big heavy slow build of acceleration in the truck, not the quick jackrabbit start of the small car, and that while driving the car, the hood is not visible.  It's opposite.  She's been putting in time in the car, borrowing it as much as possible, and yet it just doesn't feel right.

I guess I'd forgotten temporarily where I live.

There are a lot of pickup trucks around here, and many of them have farm plates.

"She should drive what's she learned in, and what she's comfortable in," the examiner said.

"Really?  I mean... you won't laugh?  It's pretty rough looking."

She shrugged.  "I've seen it all."

I leaned on the desk, pointing out the list of flaws that will get a vehicle disqualified for use in a road test. "The left signal doesn't cancel.  I thought that might be a problem."

"Does it work?"

"Yeah, you just have to turn it off after you go around the corner."

"That's fine.  As long as it works," she said, leaning back in her chair.  I started to see the kind of deep calm and nerves of steel this woman has to have to do her job.

"And the driver's side door has a sticky latch."

"Does it open and close from both inside and outside?"

"Yeah... you really gotta reef on it though..."  I really need to get that fixed, I thought. Again.

"As long as it opens and closes it's fine."

"Well okay then.  I'll vacuum all the dog hair and horse hair out of it."

"Oh that'd be nice, since I have to wear a navy uniform." She smiled a little.  I got the feeling she's been in some nasty vehicles.  Coffee spills and cigarette butts and ashes - the very worst of automotive abuses! - and it's okay because this isn't a beauty contest.  It just has to meet the safety requirements.  Which it does.  Barely, but it's safe.  It runs beautifully.  All eight cylinders!  I'll do without a stereo (sad) and without air conditioning (that's what windows are for) but the what little money I have gets spent on things like brakes and new belts and filters, and tires.  Boring things like that.

We made another appointment for a test.  Back in Grandma's car, Annyong asked me if the emergency brake works in the truck.  "I don't even know where it is," she admitted.  Well that's because I have a bad habit of not really using it much.

"Yeah, it works."  Thought about if for a second.  "I'm pretty sure it does."

A few minutes down the road it occurred to Annyong, "So... we'll probably have to put the rear view mirror back on the inside of the windshield."

Oh yeah, that!  I don't think the examiner would find the humour in our family joke.  "Yes there is a rear view mirror.  It's right there under the seat."

It's cool.  A little blob of super glue and we're off to go get a driver's licence.

The parallel parking is going to be EPIC.

WHAT?! 2012? Now I gotta make new file folders. Pfft.

Happy New Year!

Yesterday I went to file a chunk of receipts I dug out of Jethro's wallet and realized that it's not December anymore.  It's not 2011 anymore.  Darnit, I just stopped writing 2010 about six months ago.  Grumble grumble paperwork year end grumble mumble.  Geez when did I become a curmudgeon????

Oh, I know.  About a week ago, when I turned forty-ONE.

So I'll be over here in the corner, stacking paper, shredding stuff from the seven-years-ago folders, rearranging the filing cabinet.  Well, cabinets.  There are two.  Why, why, why, did we decide both of us need to be self employed?

Oh, I know.  Because we are both almost incapable of following orders from other people and therefore poor candidates for traditional employment.

Wow, I just answered two of my own questions in a row.  Hey, maybe I'll start getting smart this year!  Yay!

Coming up: The Hick Chic Best and Worst of 2011.  Also known as the Annual Hick Chic Awards.

Worth waiting for.

(Where's my friggen letter opener?)

It's not that I don't care. It's that I don't remember.

I'm in hermit mode.  I don't really feel like talking to anybody, I sure as hell don't want to go out shopping, and I kind of don't want to think much at all, about anything.  I just want sink into my own imaginary world and then write about it until my wrists and hands scream at me, begging to be freed from the keyboard.

I'm forgetful and scatterbrained at the best of times.  Add some stress - and we all know there's plenty of that to go around - and maybe some emotional turmoil - heck that's just normal for me - and I won't remember where I put my feet let alone my glasses.  I find myself yanking the twine off a hay bale, cussing that I forgot where I put the damn scissors, and then find the scissors ten minutes later while bending over to push the wheelbarrow through the gate, when those scissors jab me in the ribs because I put them in my coveralls pocket.  I'm in the kitchen yelling frantically that I can't find my keys when somebody calmly informs me that they are in my hand.  I walk into a room and stand there frozen in mid-step because I can't remember why in the hell I'm in this room, what I wanted to get or do, or even if I actually live in this house.  I lose track of money and time.  I feel like a constant mess.

I know everybody feels like that sometimes.

I feel like that pretty much all the time.

These last couple weeks I've been kind of anti-social.  Yes, I have avoided running into people I know in town.  I'm not proud of it.  But at the time it seemed a lot better than having to make small talk and pretend I've got the whole thing under control.  

And speaking of small talk, please do not ask me if I'm ready for Christmas.  Assuming you mean, have I done all the shopping, the answer is NO.  I haven't started.  Haven't spent a dollar.  If you mean, am I ready to relax and celebrate the birth of my spiritual king in a place of squalor and poverty, heck yes.  Bring it on.  But please don't ask about holiday plans because I'm not exactly sure if we even have a plan.

I have to focus very tightly right now.  It's alright.  It's just how it has to be right now.  It means I won't be sending out that great end of the year Christmas letter I used to send out (somewhere around Valentine's day) for about a decade, up until last year when it just sort of didn't happen.  Cards?  Nope.  Decorations? Sure, but first I have to dust and then I'll have to water the plants and of course I'll dribble some water on the floor and I probably should mop, but that means moving some furniture out of the way, and oh wow, here's that report card I couldn't find!  That'll lead to a trip upstairs to the filing cabinet and once I'm up there, I might as well just get my boots on and head outside because that's where I'd rather be.

So you see what I'm dealing with here, right?

I do care.  I care about my loved ones who are probably wondering how we're doing, or even where we live right now.  I guess I've been a hermit longer than just this month.  I dropped out of sight.  Not really intentionally.  I just forgot to tell everybody where we are.

I kind of feel like there's not enough brain space to allow me to remember.

I think I can still pull off my Christmas blog party.  It's a lot less work and planning and buying than an actual party with invitations and people and stuff.

Meanwhile it's a nice mild winter day, and that corral isn't going to clean itself up, and going out to the barn means blissfully forgetting all the other things I should be thinking about.

Payin' some bills...

You might notice some advertising on my blog.

I've decided to try and earn some income from my writing.  Ultimately I'd like that to be from writing novels that people want to read, but this is a long difficult process, often verging onto frustrating and confidence-destroying, and at its worst, soul-sucking, but a process that I insist on putting myself through.

I mean, theoretically, we're supposed to get paid to do something we like and are good at, right?

I like to write.

I think I'm decent at it.

It's taken me years to figure out how this whole "making a living" thing works.  I'm not good at being an employee.  I'm forgetful and scatterbrained and tend to be thinking about really awesome things/ really worrying things instead of thinking about what the boss wants me to be thinking about.  But blogging is great, because I get to do all the thinking!  So then, that thinking turned into... hey... I hear some people get paid to blog.  WAHHHHT?  HOW DO THEY DO THAT?   Well, other people pay them to put ads on their blogs.

Now that I've had a couple years of getting paid to teach people how to ride horses, I've discovered what a buzz it is do get paid to so something I love, and may I say, I do believe I'm pretty good at it.

The satisfaction of paying for something with money that I earned is something I gave up for a few years while I raised the younguns.  It was worth it, but now?  Now I'm ready to pay some bills!

They really need to stop backlighting this kid.

It's just not fair to his ears.

This guy, however, can be backlit, because...he's exempt.  From most rules.  

(oh come on, don't tell me you haven't been watching American Idol, just out of curiosity.  Admit it - you cannot look away!!)

Dangit Avril! I was gonna wear that to the Junos!

First she steals my pink hair idea and now this.  Geez.

It's like she's spying on me or something.  If she ever starts wearing horse hair, we'll have proof!

Go read about the Oscars, even though they happened ages ago!

I turn 40 in five days! WE PARTY NOW!!!!

Yep, I am about to hit the big 4-0

It matters not how I feel about this milestone... 

...I'm turning 40!  

And I'm throwing a big imaginary birthday party for meeeeeee!

So git in here!  I painted my front door bright blue and hung up a nice festive wreath what with my birthday coinciding with Christmas and all!

Oh yeah, I did some intense decorating.  I even got rid of all the cobwebs in the ceiling corners.  

Now that you're in the door, let me put a glass of Blog Nog in your hand!

I've got Regular and Extra!

Even those who don't like egg nog in real life are crazy about my Blog Nog.  It has no calories!  It has no nothing, just fun!

Just in case you're fake-hungry, I am prepared.

Little chippy dippy things... yeah I don't know what they are.  We'll just pretend they're tasty.

We've got twisty bread kind of things.

Some kind of cheese thing.  

I've always busted out the Tiny Cheeseburgers, and while I still believe they are very cute and likely tasty as well, it has come to my attention that they are now being called "Sliders."  I find this very unappetizing.  It makes me think of gulping them down whole.  What are we, pugs?  (And wasn't there a TV show from the past starring Jerry McConnell called Sliders?  Help me out here.  Biddie?  Anybody? Discuss!)

So none of those. Instead, Tiny Sammiches!

Tell me if they're good, okay?  

And also, because even in Blog World I like to be healthy, some veggies and dip!

What?  You don't like veggies?

Oh come on!  Work with me here.  (We're imagining, geddit?)

Okay, fine, have some pigs-in-a-blanket.

Wash it down with this!

Or this, if you insist on being all phosisticated.

Or the other kind.

Some people just can't go along cheerfully?

No problem.  I got the good stuff too!

Best of all, being purtend, everybody can make it home safely!

HEY HANG ON, WHOA THERE.

I'M TURNING 40?

40?

SERIOUSLY?  

DOES THIS MEAN I HAVE TO BE A GROWN UP NOW?

I think I sorted this out at 30, actually.  

I'm okay.  

(I cheated anyways... that picture above was taken when I was 37ish.)

I feel more like this now.

hahaha!

Question - does life really begin at 40?  Discuss.

 LIGHT ME UP THOSE CANDLES!

Somebody here must know how to play piano, am I right?  Bust out some songs, people.  

Yeah, now we're talkin'!  Boom box baby!  

Of course, the party always ends up in the kitchen.

You might find me in my new attic library though.  

Maybe later we can go play in the snow!

I asked for a pygmy goat for my birthday last year.  One of Jethro's clients thought that was the craziest thing he'd ever heard.  But why wouldn't I want a little goat?  

Look how cute she is!!!

She can't sleep on my bed though.  The Pug and the cat are already there, and Jethro takes up a bit of room too.  sigh.  I guess I can ask for a cute little goat for my 41st birthday, right?

Hey.  Check it out.  I made it to 40.  

Any more Christmas babies out there?

How about The Gorgeous And Talented Amazing Annie Lennox?

And of course, even though he probably wasn't born on Christmas day at all... and most likely did not look European and saintly...

I just like him so I'll include him.

Name some more?  

Pretend to eat drink and be merry?  Sing me happy birthday?  Give me an imaginary critter to add to my collection?  Party like a rock star?

Meet in the comments section!

Turns out Jethro didn't accidentally elbow me in the face while we were sleeping. It's a sinus infection.

It really felt like I got hit in the nose.  I didn't have a cold or anything.  When the numbness in my nose crept up into my forehead I knew it was time to go visit the doctor.

I can't take anything for it because of Effexor.  So again I blame the drugs.

Now I'm shooting salt water up my nose three times a day which scares the crap outta me, I mean terrifies me, I'm talking huge panic because...

HUMANS ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO BREATHE WATER!

However I no longer have sharp pain in my forehead so that's good.  The swelling's gone down on the left side of my nose.  My face caverns don't feel quite so inflamed anymore.

Plus Jethro's off the hook for possibly doing something he didn't know he didn't do because he was asleep, so that's good too, right?

Shiny Chrome, Flawless Paint, and a Functioning Radio. (What's THAT?)

**Now edited to include results of the truck investigation trip!!!!  Scroll down to the end!!!!

Today I'm heading into town to visit the car dealers.  You know, Ford, Chevy, Dodge, not necessarily in that order, the Big Three.  I like all the trucks.  Chevy Dodge Ford.  All of them.

I'm thinking two things right now.  One, how did I go from looking in the $2500 range to um, well, add another zero after that and prepare for a visit to the bank.  Two, I've never owned anything from the current decade.

And one more thing: new vehicles kinda terrify me.  When we bought our Jetta, seven long years ago, it was such a BIG DEAL for me.  Understand, in the 70s my dad drove a truck from the 50s.  In the 90s, my dad drove... the same truck from the 50s.  Guess what he drives now?  Yup.  In my 80s high school days, I drove either a 1973 Ambassador station wagon, or a 1974 Dodge Dart, or a 1971 Beetle.  Or that truck.  Sometimes.  Anything newer than fifteen years old has been considered NEW.  So imagine me with this perfect, shiny, clean little Volkswagen.  I wanted to wash it every day and keep it that way.

Jethro's over it.  The Jetta has become his mobile office and as such, is covered in what I call a thin layer of Drive-thru; his usual Cup of Sticky and Bag of Crumbs.  The little silver car has some road rash from all those trips down the 401.  It's got about 280,000 km on it.  I don't know how many miles that is.  I'm guessing, like, a million or something like that.  Not real good with numbers.

All I know is, the first scratch on that car was like a personal injury.

And I think you know what happens to trucks, right?

Sometimes they get a little roughed up.

But look how shiny and magnificent these guys look, like they've just spent hours in Hair and Makeup, with a wind machine gently tickling their mirrors...

I am telling myself that I'm only going to the dealerships to LOOK and DISCUSS and TALK NUMBERS.  Oh, that last one should be good eh?  Hit me with the numbers, dude.  I'll pretend I'm not blanking out.

The whole story of how we got from 2500 to possibly 25,000 is a whole other story, but the end result is that a three year old diesel pickup is roughly the same price as a brand spankin' new gas powered truck.

Both require some scrambling in the financing department.  Jethro looked at me one evening and said, "You know, if we buy something new we get a better warranty.  Look at this," as he shook a full page ad in the newspaper, "they're doing zero down.  They're practically giving these things away.  They're begging us to buy their trucks."

Um, okay...

Meanwhile a steady stream of scary things goes around in the background.

We can't afford this.
I don't deserve a truck this nice.
We need a truck.
I hate having a loan.
I hate monthly payments.

Ah'm skeert.

My mom really wants me to get another truck so's me an' her don't have to keep sharing her car.  Also the Pug isn't allowed in Grandma's car because of the shedding problem...

I'd like to stop feeling so stranded and kind of lost!  Unhorsed.

I just needs me a truck.

(look how shiny that sucker is eh?)


THE RESULTS OF THE CHECKING OUT OF TRUCKS:

So it turns out, good ol' Chrysler puts a full page ad in the paper - one I had a hard time believing - that really is too good to be true.  Sure they'll sell you that truck, but good luck finding that exact configuration at this time of year.  I asked the dude if the ad is just to get people into the dealership.  "Sure it is," he replied.  I like this guy.  He even put the newspaper in his recycling box for me.

End result: the $10,000 cost of the diesel option isn't really worth it.  Yeah.

Also?  The most amazing news which I did not know?  Ready?

THE BIG 8 CYLINDER HEMI IS MORE FUEL EFFICIENT THAN THE STANDARD 6 CYLINDER ENGINE.

I'm friggin serious!!!!!  Turns out, the legendary Hemispherical head blah blah grunt grunt engine re-introduced in 2005 is quite the redesign.  When cruising down the road at highway speeds, the engine shuts down four of the cylinders.  Croooooze efficiently.  Then when you put your foot on the pedal, vrooooom and it's all there.

So I'm like, duh!  Yeah!!!

I gotta pinch myself because regardless, we cannot afford the payments on a new truck.

Anyways I sat in a 2008 and I liked it.  A lot.  I could see over the dash, reach the pedals, everything.  Too bad it's already sold.  But it got me thinking.

Took a cruise over to the GM dealer.  Sigh.  Darnit, Generous Motors, you have me.  And then you lose me.  You keep playing with my heart.  I hated the 1999-2006 (or whatever) generation of trucks.  Now I like the newest body style, but man that is a cheap interior.  All brittle looking plastic.  Cheeeep.  Plus I had to lift my chin to see over the hood - what the heck with THAT?

Also, the GM salesman wore too much cologne and said my name too often.  Yeeesh.

So there it is.

Dodge - better fuel mileage, better interior, good looking exterior, AND a few thousand dollars less.

Looks like Dodge might be stealing this GM girl's heart good and for real.