Mythology

I think home-ownership is overrated. When we moved to FairyLand we sold our home and entered a blissful mortgage-free existence called a Housing and food employment benefit. My father-in-law has expressed some serious concern for our future financial well-being. I was concerned briefly. Then I did the math.

We have owned two homes in our married life. The first we sold after 4 years and earned in interest almost exactly the amount we paid in interest and principal in those 4 years. And that was a very good market. Our second home lost us money if you consider the amount of money paid into it over the years against the amount we pulled out of it.

Now, I understand the argument for owning versus renting (though, there is something to be said about maintenance-free living) but I see no benefit in making a monthly mortgage payment and then, somewhere down the road, maybe getting some or all of that payment back over just plain not paying a dime to live. Not to mention living maintenance free. If I'm doing my math incorrectly (wouldn't be the first time), please correct me. For now, I'll live happily debt-free in FairyLand.

One Please.

Last evening I told my husband that I would like to attend a Tai Chi class being given at our church. I said I needed some quiet time, some me time. He agreed to put the kids to bed and I left.

The nice lady giving the class looked like the last person you'd expect as your Tai Chi instructor so I thought I just might have to chalk it up to a nice time where I don't learn much. Boy, I was wrong. She was certified in Tai Chi for arthritis. I don't have arthritis, but I've inherited my family's bad knees and this modified Tai Chi was just what they needed--all the benefit of Tai Chi without the squat-induced knee stress.

I left the class vowing to repeat daily and pursue more Tai Chi in my life. As I sat in the parking lot, I called my kind husband to see if Ethan was refusing to sleep until I got home, or if I could safely stop at the grocery store. He assured me all was well and I should go do whatever I wanted, stay out as late as I wanted to.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

"Really?"

"Just let me know when to expect you home."

I know this sounds like a conversation I should have had as a teenager with my father, and in fact, I felt like a teenager with an extended curfew.

I don't know about the rest of you, but small children are a much more powerful behavioral influence and curfew control than any parental lecture could ever be. Even in the rare evening I get a sitter, I'm always concerned about the sitter's time, my money and the behavior of my children. I'm worried about getting home later than I said I would and so on and so forth, so I rarely feel really relaxed, even if I get out.

The one exception to this is when my husband can clear his evening and is willing to be a single dad for a night. I doubt he realizes just how much this means to me. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy going out with my husband, but the coordination effort involved usually renders the evening less enjoyable than it could have been. So, I really really enjoy going out with myself.

So, I quickly decided to go see a movie!!

A co-worker of mine once describe solo movie-going as some horribly shameful event. I love going to movies by myself. As long as I can remember, this has been one of my favorite past-times. Movies, plays, restaurants, cemeteries, long walks, you name it. I thoroughly enjoy being alone. I enjoy thinking. I enjoy quiet. I realize that is surprising considering how much I talk.

I cannot sit and watch a movie at home. I am compelled to fold laundry, do dishes, blog, whatever. But, a movie in the theater is a rare treat.

Thank you 1-800-555-1212 and Fandango. FairyLand, though beautiful, is far from civilization. My Tai Chi class was already a 30 minute drive. As I discovered, a movie was another 30. I did the math, phoned my husband to say I'd be home around 1am and stopped by the grocery store. I threw in a cream soda and a package of fig newtons and headed to the theater.

I pulled up in my minivan at 9:30 pm on a Tuesday, stuffed my sometime diaper bag, sometime purse with my goodies, walked myself in my mismatched, FairlyLand dusty, South-sweaty, Tai Chi-ed in sweats up to the window.

One please.

The theater was empty. Is there a movie if no one is there to see it?

I sat down and immediately the lights dimmed. I think they were waiting for me.

I put my feet up, pulled out my contraband goodies and laughed out loud in the dark.

My hour drive back to FairyLand was itself refreshing. When I turn up the stereo, roll down the windows and push it 9 over the speed limit, I almost forget I'm driving a minivan.

Life in the slow lane

I'm not overly fond of fast. I don't like fast cars. I vehemently detest motorcycles. I dislike most fast food (I have a soft spot for Taco Bell, I will admit). We moved to FairyLand in part to slow down life just a bit. I'm certainly not "into" technology either. This whole blogging thing came about a bit reluctantly. I don't generally desire the latest phone, computer, camera, gadget, gizmo or whatever. I don't feel a need for most fancy conveniences in automobiles--I'll admit I am fond of the leather seats in my new (used) minivan. I would be happy without power windows. I am however, a fan of efficiency. As such, I am fond of high-speed internet. Dial-up served me well for years. And then I started working from home. Logging into my company's virtual desktop system with any kind of efficiency requires high-speed internet.

I have a wonderful aunt. She's a first grade teacher who knows just how to say the most hilarious things at the perfect moment. Years ago we were sitting with extended family talking about the switch to high-speed. Straight-faced she says "I got so tired of trying to watch porn with dial up: head, head, head, neck, neck, neck, shoulder . . . " I fell off my chair laughing.

Like most things, you don't really know what you're missing, but once you get it, going backwards is difficult. So, a few years ago we opted for high-speed (the slowest high-speed option of course). Then, before we moved to FairyLand, one of the stipulations in our job search was the availability of high-speed internet. My husband flew out for the job interview and while he returned with bad news on the DSL front, he assured me we could get satellite internet anywhere.

That's pretty much what the satellite companies assured me of as well . . . until I'd purchased the fancy equipment and the guy with the soupy thick southern drawl showed up with a fancy little instrument to measure the angle to the satellite. The nice man spent an hour walking around our new home, pointing his thingy at the sky and shaking his head.

"Too many trees."

Itn't that the appeal of FairyLand?

"What are my options?"

"Cut 'em all down."

Great.

"So, how much does it cost to have you drive 2 hours out here to spend an hour telling me it's not possible?"

"$200"

Great.

So, I cried. My furniture hadn't arrived yet. I had 3 boxes of useless satellite equipment in my living room and was sure I would not be employed much longer. We'd just sold most of our possessions, moved a couple thousand miles across the country and it was a little late for my husband to turn down the job offer. So, I cried some more.

Then my husband discovered "high-speed dial up."

What?

Yep.

But, it has made it possible for me to remain employed the past 6 months--painfully. And now, hold your breath everyone . . . .

High-speed is coming to FairyLand!!!

It sounds too good to be true, so I'm trying not to get too excited. Turns out I'm not the only one desiring a bit of speed in the slow lane. And so, through a series of receivers and re-routers and other technology that I don't understand, I have been informed that I can sign up for high-speed satellite internet!!!

I just don't know what I'll do with all that time I'm not spending waiting for a page to load. Maybe I'll view the pictures people post--not just the top third. Maybe I'll be able to open all those silly forwards my brothers send. Maybe I'll download conference! Maybe we'll set up the video camera thingy and talk to grandma. The possibilities are endless.

Water Falling

Shortly after we moved to FairyLand, I met a woman who was visiting and reminiscing fondly about her time here as a youngster. Then she suddenly stopped, looked me in the eye and told me that if anyone suggests I take a nice hike down to a famed local waterfall , don't go. They will tell you it's a short hike down to a lovely spot, but it's more like twelve miles of sheer hell. Now, I logged her comment into my head, along with the fact that they take large groups of kids to this waterfall on a regular basis. I also logged into my brain the day they had to pack out one of those kids for stitches. And then, my husband took the plunge. He came back red-faced, panting, and telling me that I might not want to hike it. I continued to log all these things into my head. You see, going was not really an option currently anyway. I have a toddler that I wouldn't dare pack down there anyway.

Then a friend offered to take my 4-year-old. This friend, mind you, is built like an ox--he packed out the girl with the split knee. He also works for my husband and swore he wouldn't let anything happen to our child. I figured if anyone could be trusted to get my child down and back safely, it was him. So they went. They apparently had a lovely time. Now I'm thinking that if my 4-year-old can manage, perhaps it isn't really twelve miles of hell.

Then, the Ox offers again to take my son and have a picnic. He also offers to pack down my toddler and bring me along too. This was not in the plan. I was safely excused by virtue of my toddler. Don't get me wrong, I'm not afraid of a challenge, just pain. I'm afraid of falling, of breaking and maiming my person. I'm also a good 75 pounds overweight. But, I like to tell myself, for a fat person, I'm in pretty good shape. So, the part of me that likes a challenge began to tempt me.

What the heck. The Ox could more than likely see me down and back safely. I wasn't prepared to have him pack in the toddler yet. So, I found a sitter and the three of us hiked ourselves on down to picnic at the falls.

The first leg wasn't bad at all. Then, suddenly, the trail disappeared. I mean literally, you're hiking along and then you come to a cliff. "Where's the trail?" I asked. Pointing downward the Ox said "Right there." Now, if this had been just me, I would have chalked this one up to self-preservation and turned right back around. But, my child was there, and our friend who'd made us lunch and they were already halfway down the rock-face. So, I followed. As we descended farther and farther down--scaling rock face and scrambling down tree roots clinging to the cliff-side, I tried not to think about the hike back up.

Then, it happened. Gravity got the best of me, and somehow, I ended up flat on my back on a sharp rock. I heard a crack. Fortunately, it was just my camera. I sat up, took note of a scrape on my elbow and a bit of a throbbing on my back and then stood up. Again, had it just been me, I very well may have called it good and went home. But, something called me forward. We'd been hiking on this 30 minute hike for a good 45 at this point and I thought I could smell the falls. So, I went on.

Ten minutes later, we emerged under the falls. It was breathtaking, really. Then, suddenly I realized we weren't stopping. "Where exactly are we going?" I asked. I was informed that we still had to climb up to a large rock at the bottom of the falls.

There are many waterfalls here in FairyLand. I've visited a few of the public ones and there are always large signs telling you just how many people died last year at waterfalls. These numbers began to run through my head. But, I scrambled up the rock after my child.

Ethan and the Ox took their shoes off and traipsed through the pools at the foot of the falls. I jockeyed the zoom of my camera back into place and took a couple of pictures before the battery died (aren't I glad I brought it). We scrambled back down to another large rock for our picnic and watched our friend climb down the stream-bed rocks barefooted to join us. All the time I was thinking of just what we should do if he managed to fall and break or maim something. Did I mention I have a heightened sense of self-preservation?

We had a lovely little picnic. Then, as I laid on the rock, Ethan and the Ox climbed back up and tossed rocks down the stream. I couldn't watch. Every toss made me wince as I imagined Ethan going over the edge and the number of mortally wounded on the posters rise. I was very glad I'd decided to leave Elliot home.

Then, we packed up and headed out. Ethan chattered the whole way. Fortunately he also had to stop every few feet to check out a hole in the rock, take a drink or have a break. So, with all the resting, I felt positively capable most of the way back up. Then, the climb and the heat and humidity began to set in. By the time we reached the top, I was red-faced and panting.

But, I did it. It really wasn't terribly difficult. It was absolutely lovely. And nobody died.