SURVIVING THE OREGON TRAIL

We're playing Oregon Trail. I died on my first play.

6 Likes, 4 Comments - Cindy Maddera (@elephant_soap) on Instagram: "We're playing Oregon Trail. I died on my first play."

The other evening, Michael, the Cabbage and I played a round of the card game version of the Oregon Trail. The Cabbage wrote her name down on the provided dry-erase board in the player 1 spot. Then I put down a name in ‘player 2’. I chose the name of Sally Anne Degenerate and when the Cabbage saw this she gasped and said “I didn’t know we could make up a name!” She then changed her name to ‘Amy’. Michael played the first card which happened to be a ‘town’ card and he immediately got to pick up some extra supplies. Then it was my turn. I played a ‘trail’ card that had me drawing from the ‘hazard’ deck. I immediately died of dysentery. The Cabbage and Michael played a few more rounds before the Cabbage, I mean Amy, died of a snake bite. Michael managed to hang on for a few more miles before succumbing to extreme cold.

No one made it to Oregon.

By Friday I was starting to feel the weight of being the only one at work and I was not handling things well. After cleaning every microscope and wiping down all of the surfaces, I threw on my jacket and stepped outside because that’s becoming my reaction when it gets to be too much. Get outside. Take some deep breaths. Move my feet in some direction. Except this time the weather was near freezing with blustery wind. I pulled my gloves on and marched forward, completely alone with my own thoughts. As I walked, I started thinking about the game. Remembering how the Cabbage changed her player name to ‘Amy’ made me start laughing. She could have made up any name. Then I started thinking about how the game played out, how I died right at the start. I came to a complete stop in the middle of the sidewalk because at that moment my thoughts crashed together so hard that I expected to hear ambulance sirens heading my way.

I died right at the start.

The beginning of the Oregon trail, the real life Oregon trail, is about seventeen miles east of my current residence. From my vantage point, I can step out of my house, walk about a mile and land on a trail that could lead me to California, New Mexico or Oregon. I didn’t know this when we moved here. Chris and I knew very little about this area when we moved here other than this was a city for visiting, a place we’d drive to for concerts. I didn’t think about the history of this place. History is not really at the top of my list of things that I think about really. I mean, I appreciate history and all that, but I am not a person who remembers dates. I am not a person who seeks out the history of a place. At least not then. Age has made me more appreciative, more curious about such things. Really, it is the stories of the past that I find interesting. Dates still get lost in this brain.

The significance of all of this though, the whole being here, is not really about history. It is about plans being made and the idea of making a better life for yourself some place else. We dreamed of Oregon once. We dreamed of making a better life for ourselves way out west. We made it sixteen miles on the Oregon trail before Chris basically died of dysentery and I just stayed put. I’m not sad about it. Well, I’m not sad about the staying put part any way. Dreams change. New plans are made. I found the secret to surviving the Oregon trail. The secret is to start, travel about sixteen, seventeen miles, and then stop. Unload your wagon and set up your homestead. Don’t do it because you are giving up on a dream. Do it because you’ve taken a moment to look around at your surroundings and you realize that those surroundings are pretty great. Change your plans. Change your dreams. Make that better life for yourself right where you are, right now.

THE END OF SUMMER

Hiding places

8 Likes, 1 Comments - Cindy Maddera (@elephant_soap) on Instagram: "Hiding places"

It has long been a custom to link the end of summer with the first day of the school year. I've been hearing for two weeks the lament from Michael about how summer is almost over. Then on Thursday, his first day back to school, he declared the official end to summer. It is the end to his summer vacation, but it is not the end of summer. Or at least, I don't feel like it is the end to my summer. The weather here is hot and humid. Missouri is currently under drought conditions which is not normal. The backyard is a combination of tall prairie grasses and and dry barren patches. My sunflower continues to grow strong, but there is still not a bloom in sight. The evenings hum with the buzz of cicadas and crickets. The mosquitoes are vicious and the chickens are no longer laying six or seven eggs a week. We're lucky if we get four eggs a week now.  

August is a hard and brittle month. 

I spent all day Sunday decluttering the places we tend to dump things. The closed cabinet section of the china hutch has become a home to a random array of tools and leftover screws, several selections of dog and cat treats, pipe cleaners, Halloween spider webbing and a box of old markers. My desk drawers had become a dumping ground for the flotsam and jetsam that accumulates for no other reason than it feels inappropriate to throw them away. I threw away fabric remnants that I no longer needed and dried up bottles of glue. I set my side table and three decorative pillows out on the curb. Then I shifted the couch over to the west. That side of the room looks a little exposed now that there's no longer a piece of furniture lining every section of the wall. That's my design style it seems, lining the walls with furniture. In the clean out, I unearthed five small notebooks of lists and Chris's USAO and military IDs and a stack of old pictures. I will be unearthing notebooks containing two to three pages of writing for the rest of my life. And I will keep each one. 

August is difficult.

This time last year I was thinking about how nice it would be to jump out of the car while it was moving through heavy traffic. I don't feel that way this year. I don't necessarily feel like doing cartwheels, but at least I don't feel like jumping into traffic. I've got my distractions. I've gotten more focused on food, our meal plans and cooking something new once in a while. I'm reading more. I'm organizing my work and thinking about new business cards. Michael and I are adapting to a new schedule and getting back into a routine as he starts the school year. We find ourselves occupying the same spaces at the same time in the mornings, dancing around each other in the bathroom and the kitchen. It is more fluid then one would expect. I'll start cooking our breakfast while he gets the scooters out of the garage. We both sit at the dining room table and eat breakfast together. It's nice. So, I'm keeping busy, but not so busy that I don't forget to just sit still every now and then.

One evening recently, I sat on the back stoop watching Josephine as she did her patrol of the back yard. I noticed one lone firefly blinking across the back yard. At first, it is a lonely sight, without the others blinking back in response to this one's blinks. Did you know that the average lifespan of a firefly is about two months? This guy was either born late or he's found a way to extend his lifespan. Either way, he's soaking up as much of the summer as he can. I want to be that firefly. 

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Inviting (can you see the puppy?)

"Inviting (can you see the puppy?)"

Michael and I are finally up to date with the Walking Dead and have recently started watching Fear the Walking Dead. Now, I'm going to tell you that the last season of Walking Dead was HARD for me to watch. It wasn't really all that scary, so I don't even know what the deal was. I think it might have had something to do with the idea that I knew something bad was going to happen at some point. It created so much anxiety in me, I could not sit still on the couch nor could I take deep breaths. I mean, it seriously stressed me out. Fear the Walking Dead is four times worst than the Walking Dead. We were maybe in the middle of episode two or three (I can't remember) when I looked over at Michael and said "I cannot watch this." and I meant it. I don't know if I can continue watching this with out Xanex. 

After the first zombie encounter, I made Michael pause the show. I turned to him and said "If we ever we have to hit someone with a car three times to keep them from coming after us and that someone still continues to try to come after us, we don't turn the car around and go home. We calmly drive to Costco and max out the credit card. Then we go right on over to Home Depot and max out that credit card. Only then do we go home." This led to a discussion about zombie proofing the house and if the house could with stand a zombie apocalypse. Honestly, I'm not so much worried about the zombies getting in as I am of other living people because if I've learned anything from WD, it's that the living are so much more horrible than the undead. So really, the question we should be asking is can this house be made safe and protected form zombies and people? And you know what? I think it can. I think with a little fortifying here and there and a better fence around the backyard, we could probably live out a pretty decent life in the apocalypse. Any way. I do realize that a zombie apocalypse is unlikely. Our apocalypse is going to be an environmental apocalypse when the ice caps all melt. At least we won't have as far to drive to the ocean.

I still feel like it might be obvious to be thankful for the roof over your head, but today I'm going to be thankful for the roof over my head. I remember there was a time when I thought I would never be in a place in my life where I could afford to buy a house. Yes. I do know that when I purchased my house, it was so cheap that it would have been a stupid move not to buy this house. But all of that doesn't change the fact that I am thankful for this house. It may be small and we may be battling a clutter/space issue at the moment, but it's ours and it's not falling apart at the seams. We have a very large backyard for gardening and chickens and a crazy dog. We have a garage that protects our scooters and bicycles from the weather. And we have a basement that I'm sure I will have better feelings for once we clean it out (sohelpmegod, this is happening in the Spring). I am thankful for this home.

I am so many words behind on my daily number count for NaNoWriMo. I have been writing here and there. I just haven't been writing enough here and there. I am thankful for a commitment free weekend where I can spend some time playing catch up with my word count. I am thankful for the bike ride I was able to get in this week as well as the scooter ride. I am thankful for the one egg that we seem to be getting every other day. The weather is getting colder, so we'll probably see less eggs. I am thankful for a silly cat who lays in the bathroom sink in the mornings while I get ready. I am thankful for a goofy soft puppy who lays against my hip while I type. I am thankful to have the best dang sister-in-law who celebrated a birthday yesterday. I am thankful for you.

Here's to another week of surviving and a spectacular Thankful Friday.