Snowbound With The Haneys

The road trip may be over, but the fun's just starting!

The Sunday after we moved in, the previous owner came by to give us the grand tour. He showed us how to use the power generators and the Amish wood burning stove. He was as unsuccessful lighting the water heater as we were. In theory, the wood stove should heat the water, but I remained skeptical. After he left, Jeff and I headed back into town for errands, which included new phones due to our old carrier's rotten coverage on our mountain. I was finally able to talk to my parents.

Monday morning found us headed down the hill once again. On the way down we broke a chain. We collected it from off the driveway and continued down the hill. Jeff said he didn't like the way the brakes were responding afterwards. With our hearts in our throats we continued, praying like crazy, to the nearest gas station and asked for the nearest mechanic. After replacing two bottles of brake fluid, we rolled into an establishment and asked if somebody could make the repair while we waited. The gentleman behind the counter said he couldn't accommodate us, as he was expecting a customer with an appointment. He did go outside with Jeff, though, to take a quick peek. After a moment under the back of the truck, he shouted "Ah!" Then he pulled out a wrench, tightened a bolt, and reattached a dangling brake line. He crawled out from under the truck and announced that we were good to go. He didn't ask for a dime. Jeff did, however, slip him a couple of bills for his trouble. We were able to continue on to St. Maries, about an hour away, to pick up a chainsaw Jeff was eyeing. After our GPS got us lost, twice, we found the dealer and made our purchase. I was eager to get back on the road, as I didn't fancy chaining up the tires in the dark. We reached the driveway at about 3:30 and the sun had already started to set. The chains went on in record time, hallelujah, and we made it up the driveway just before it got dark.

Tuesday morning I was awakened by Jeff shouting from the front door that the power was out and to stay in bed until it was back up and running. Twist my arm. He fired up the generator and the lights flickered on for a minute or two. The generator began making weird noises, so Jeff turned it off. I started praying again. I got up and dressed in the pre-dawn light. When Jeff returned we sat at the kitchen table and discussed his findings. Armed with a walkie-talkie, he headed back out in the snow. He fired up the generator once more, flipped a few more switches, and voilà! The power came back on and held. After this victory, we headed out for yet another round of errands. On the way back, we pulled into the driveway before ours and introduced ourselves to our new neighbor, Giselle. She was able to provide us with the name of a snowplow driver so that we could clear the road, which hadn't been plowed in about four months. We exchanged numbers and were on our way once again.

We threw another chain on our way up the driveway! What wacky fun. We re-applied the chain and made it home though, with no damage to chain or truck this time. The sun was shining gloriously, charging the solar panels with a vengeance. I discovered to my delight, that the woodstove was indeed warming the water, albeit slowly. There was enough warm water for a shower, finally.

That evening Jeff was able to secure an appointment to have the driveway plowed. The first call didn't work out, as the driver refused to take his truck up our road. He did give us a referral for somebody else. Somebody with bigger equipment and more courage. YES!

More to follow in our next episode, Plowing and Plumbing!

Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the Lord our God. Psalms 20:7

Hello Idaho!

January 16, 2014 was moving day for the Haneys. We rose at 3;30 A.M. after a long night with little sleep. It was unseasonably warm all night, and the camping cots we slept on were not as comfortable as I had remembered. We completed our final pack-up and lock down of 14 Tierra Seguro. Rancho Santa Margarita CA While I pulled the truck around, Jeff locked the front door and put the key in the lock box left by the realtor. He forgot, however, to shut the garage door. Luckily he had also forgotten to collect my garage remote from me, so our solution was to use my remote to close the garage from outside, then sliding the remote under at the last second to secure it inside. Once we had locked up properly, we took our last drive out of the condo complex. I cried.

We hit the proverbial road at 5:00. On the 91 we missed the I15 interchange, so we continued east up the 215 instead. We stopped for a stretch and pit stop in Devore, right next to the old Renaissance Faire site. Memories! Going through “the pass” before dawn was beautiful, but more than a little cold. A draft by my feet kept my legs chilled up to my knees for most of the trip. We rolled through Las Vegas about 10:00, then caught the 95 and headed into the Nevada desert. With the exception of one or two charming small towns, that area is REMOTE. It was hard to find gas or food. The brothels, on the other hand, were plentiful.

Our schedule would not allow us to stop in Reno for the night, or even for dinner with my sister and her family. The closest we got was Fallon, NV. We stopped at Dairy Queen for a chili dog and a sundae.The sundae was a mistake - I froze. It was there that we received a call from our realtor, informing us that the paperwork was finalized and we now owned a home. Outright. YES! We caught the I-80 at Winnemucca at about 7:00. If we had not had an appointment with the realtor the next day, I would have stopped there for the night. Instead, we continued north into Oregon.

FOG! Like I’ve never seen! We drove for hours through the middle of nowhere, barely able to see the road. There were No motels along the 95 anywhere. Jeff said he wouldn’t start panicking until 10:30. At about 10:00 Jeff switched over to the GPS, which had us turn east onto I-84. An interstate!  At about 10:25 we saw a “Sleep Inn’ sign through the fog in Ontario, Oregon and pulled off the highway. Hallelujah, motels a-plenty. Jeff opted for a Best Western, where after a short wait we secured a room and were in bed by 11:00. So so so very tired. Thank God for finding us a motel!

The next morning we rose at 4:30, loaded back up, and hit the road. The temperature read 19 degrees. The drive through Oregon and Washington was beautiful. The terrain changes were frequent and sudden. As we drove through Spokane, Jeff began pointing out the places he’d visited the month before. At about 2:00 p.m. we pulled up to our driveway. We hastily outfitted our tires with the snow cables we bought in California. We drove about 30 feet up the driveway (which is almost a mile long), threw a chain, and slid backwards down to the road.

After removing the useless California chains, we drove back into town (30 miles away) to purchase snow tires and some REAL snow chains. By the time the tires were mounted, it was dark. Jeff agreed to getting a motel room and trying again in the morning when we weren’t exhausted. Unfortunately, our motel was hosting what appeared to be a high school reunion, with the majority of the festive alumni pausing to reconnect right outside our door. All. Night. Long. At least there was a hot shower and a warm bed, for which we were both immensely grateful.

We slept in until 5:30. We were both dressed, packed, and out the door at 7:00. We headed back up to the new house again, and tried our luck with the “Idaho” snow chains. The “we ain’t kidding around” snow chains. We struggled with them for a few minutes until a gentleman in a pickup stopped and showed us how to do it correctly. Angels all around, I suppose.

Once the tires were properly shod, we drove up the snowy driveway to our new house. It was better than I could have imagined. We were beyond overjoyed to find the previous owner had left a king sized bed, and that we would not have to endure those rickety camping cots again. There was also a dining room table and chairs and a sofa set. SCORE.

We unloaded the pickup and heated canned soup for our first meal in our new house. Other than our disappointment at being unable to light the water heater, we declared day 1 in the new place a resounding success. Much learning ahead.

Thank God.

  

For all the land which you see, I will give it to you and to your descendants forever. Genesis 13:15

Goodbye California!

 

Wow, it’s been an awfully long time since my last submission. A lot has happened since October, and my online presence has been spotty at best. Big changes have come and gone, and in sooth, there will be plenty of new adventures and hilarious mishaps to report in the not so distant future.

The job search over the last year has been fruitless. The few calls I’ve received were for job openings that I might have considered twenty years ago when my rent was $700 and gas was a dollar a gallon. People don’t value experience anymore, so something needed to change.

And change it did. In September my husband resigned from his job of 22 years. We put our south Orange County townhome up for sale and began searching out-of-state options. Jeff’s dream had always been to buy some land in Idaho and live a slower-paced, more rural lifestyle. After 25 years in the corporate grind, I was willing to make the leap with him.

For about three months, our days consisted of gathering and sorting 17 years worth of accumulated “stuff”. The house soon became a maze of cardboard boxes and bubble-wrap. We listed the house and received an offer the next day.

Jeff made a trip up to Idaho on his own. His realtor had found several listings in the area which we had narrowed down to one, which turned out to be an absolute DUMP.  A miraculous last-minute find on the part of our wonderful realtor produced another listing, though. A little higher than we wanted to pay, but already boasting the amenities that we were looking for. Jeff fell in love with it immediately. He made an offer while he was there, which was accepted the following day.

Shortly after Jeff returned, the buyers of our townhome backed out. We were devastated. Jeff considered  calling our Idaho realtor to retract our offer. I said “No, let’s pray about this!” Thankfully, God was listening, and completely on board with this venture. We re-listed the house, and within a few days received an offer from a newlywed couple who were in a hurry to vacate their current abode.

Game on.

After that, it was a mad whirlwind of paperwork, repairs, garage sales, Goodwill pick-ups, packing and cleaning. One day, in the middle of January, movers came and loaded up all our worldly possessions. We sat in our garage, which was empty except for some folding chairs and a few morose neighbors. This was it. Our last night in California.

The biggest adventure of our lives was about to begin.

 The LORD himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged. Deuteronomy 31:8

Pastor Chuck Smith 1927 - 2013

Pastor Chuck Smith  1927 - 2013

I can only imagine the noise in Heaven right now.

Today the Christian community lost one of its most influential leaders, Pastor Chuck W. Smith. I can’t say I was surprised, as his health had been failing for some time, but it was still a blow to my soul. In spite of his weakened state due to cancer and the effects of chemotherapy, Pastor Chuck continued his teaching up until the very end. And always with a smile and word of encouragement.

I am certain, that early this morning, Pastor Chuck finally heard the words “Well done, thou good and faithful servant” from the mouth of God himself. Which makes me wonder, will those words meet me when my life is done? I’d like to think so. Granted, founding a church the size and scope of Calvary Chapel is very likely NOT my calling, but what have I done with my life that would make God proud? True, my ticket has been paid, so to speak, but I’d really like to arrive at the pearly gates with something more on my resume than “filled out the appropriate paperwork”. I’d like for God to be glad to see me.

The internet is awash right now with encouragement to pray for Pastor Chuck’s remaining family. The thought briefly crossed my mind that now might not be the best time to call Heaven, as the switchboard would be overwhelmed and may shut down. Or perhaps all calls would be answered with “What? What? I’m sorry, I can’t hear you – there’s a huge party going on right now…”

 
"Well done, thou good and faithful servant: thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy Lord." Matthew 25:21

Adventures In Home Maintenance: The Saga Of The Smoke Detectors

Oh, the negativity. It’s stomping around in my brain like a desperate 4-year-old in the candy aisle at Wal-Mart. I’m trying to ignore it, or at least distract it for a while, until it can be properly subdued.

Perhaps I can blame lack of sleep. It’s always a happy thing when one can assign blame. Around three o’clock this morning, our smoke alarms upstairs decided to freak out just for the sheer joy of it. Three short, piercing shrieks startled us out of our coveted sleep and sent my heart racing. After waiting for a few minutes, I relaxed enough to drift off again. Until it happened again. Three more times at random intervals, the smoke detectors screamed into the pre-dawn darkness. At about 4 a.m., the darling husband gave up and rose for work. I stubbornly held my ground though, determined to get a few more winks in. I never did fall back asleep.

Shortly after six I too admitted defeat and rolled out of bed. My first order of business was to silence those alarms. There are three of them upstairs, each one at least nine feet off the floor. Luckily for me, darling hubby has a decent collection of aluminum ladders in the garage. The trash had been set out the night before, leaving me easy access to Big Momma, the 16’ extension ladder. She’s a scary one, she is. I managed to retrieve her without incident. Alas, that was the easy part.

I discovered just how low some our ceilings really are.  And our doorframes? Laughable. I was grateful for the “Improv for Actors” workshop we attended at the Renaissance Faire that repeatedly advised us to “always know where your ends are”. It’s frightening how often this advice comes in handy.  But I am pleased to report that in spite of Big Momma’s awkward length, I managed to make it through our narrow townhome to the top of the stairwell. By the grace of God, we will not have to replace any drywall, windows, furniture, light fixtures, or stair railings.

I tackled the highest one first, before my nerve ran out. With my granny glasses on my head and new batteries in my pocket, I crept up the ladder until I was face to face with the offending detector. It was at this point, high up on the ladder placed at the top of 13 stairs, that I realized I had no idea what I was doing. But I was at the point of no return. I lowered my granny glasses onto my nose, indicating to the world that I meant business.

I’ll assume at this point, that when darling hubby purchased these smoke detectors, he chose a model simple enough for his wife to figure out. God bless that man. Because I was able to locate the compartment and remove the original battery. The fool contraption chirped angrily until I got the new battery seated properly. Which was hit or miss, as there were no symbols indicating which direction the battery needed to face. At least there were none that I could see, and at that height there’s a limit on how much time I’ll spend researching the dynamics of battery replacement.

After a fair amount of trial and error, the first replacement was successful. I knew this, because as soon as I closed the compartment, the smoke detector emitted a sound that can only be described as Cyndi Lauper on a double espresso. Then silence. Blessed, blessed, silence. I descended the ladder as gracefully as a woman my age, height and weight could manage.

Feeling confident, I lowered the ladder and headed for the bedroom. In my haste, I forgot that I was trying to maneuver an 8 ½ foot ladder thru a 6 ½ foot doorway around a sharp turn. There was no damage, but a great deal of noise. (Interpret that as you will). It was an early morning lesson in the properties of physics that I’m not eager to repeat any time soon.

The bedroom detector was more cooperative.  I took that as a good sign.  While up on the ladder I realized just how dusty the top of the doors can get. Fabulous.

The last detector was a total bust. After all the work and sweat to get up there, the darned thing would not take the new battery and complained loudly until I put the old one back. There’s just no reasoning with some machines, I guess.

Once I came back down (and dusted all the door tops), I carried the ladder triumphantly back down the stairs, with the Rocky soundtrack playing in my brain. After returning Big Momma to the garage, I treated myself to a big greasy breakfast and sat down to peruse Facebook.

Good thing I was feeling invincible, because somebody posted the most depressing video in the world about the horrors of customer service, (my area of expertise and focus of my job search)and how it only gets worse. Sorry, negativity, one day you may defeat me, but today is not that day! After a few rousing games of “Stack The Cats”, I tackled some chores, and updated my LinkedIn profile, confident that I can now claim “Always knows where her ends are” on my resume.

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Jeremiah 29:11

Smarter Than Shrinky Dinks

It's beautiful August morning, somewhat marred by the fact that I am due at the dentist very soon for my permanent crown.

The job search has been fruitless. My last position had a vague title that makes it hard to find a compatible match. Most opportunities with the same title only pay minimum wage and have no need of my 20 years of experience. And the ones that do match my experience have titles that don't match mine, which throws me right out of the running.

But instead of dwelling on this, I choose to indulge my creative side. I take comfort in the fact that if my endeavors do not work out as planned, there is nobody here to pull me into a room and bawl me out for my errors. My failures will not be logged, published, distributed, and thrown in my face when somebody needs an excuse to be mad at me.

Wait, I thought I was not "dwelling"...

My latest epic failure of biblical proportions was the bracelet I am trying to make out of my nephew's artwork. He drew a flock of Angry Birds for his Boppy, (my Dad) which I happily copied and framed for my own art collection. I resized the drawings and printed them on a sheet of shrink plastic. After I cut them out, rounded the corners and punched a few holes, I shrunk them according to the directions. They turned out beautifully, and I was able to quickly fashion them into a bracelet.

Unfortunately, the ink began flaking off before the day was over. My attempts at sealing the ink resulted in smearing, bleeding ink, or in some cases, brush marks or lumpy, peeling finishes. I opted to try a different plastic, one specifically for ink jet printers. I purchased Grafix Inkjet Shrink Film. Good news: The ink is stable. Bad news: the plastic is crap, for lack of a better word. It's gritty, cracked, and yellow. It looks like I drew on old toenails. It's cheap and rough unattractive, unlike myself.

 



I am determined, however, to make this work! I have printed out a new set on the original, "pretty" plastic. I'll give them another chance with another sealing product (or three) before I abandon the shrinky-dink method altogether. In the meantime, I'll see if those job boards have any updates today.

A little that a righteous man has is better than the riches of many wicked.

Psalm 37:16



Tee Gee Eye Eff...

Quickie post because I haven't said anything snarky in a while.

The job search has been somewhat of a disappointment. Strangely, this time I am not panicking. The artsy side of my brain has mutinied and is running amok, dragging the logical side through its glittery, yarn-strewn wake.

I have cranked out three baby blankets in the past few weeks, which is a record for me. One was a wee green and gold granny square blanket commissioned by a dear friend, who has far more faith in me than I believe she should. Another one started out as an experiment in ladder stitching that took on a life of its own. The third was an unfinished project from about a year ago that became an exercise in self-discipline. By some miracle, they all turned out quite well.

Baby Blue Diamond-weave blanket.

Pink gingham baby blanket.

Baby Green Bay Packers blanket, waiting for a border.

The blue and the pink ones are going up on Etsy, once I finish writing up the patterns. I spent all afternoon in this oven of a study working out the instructions for the blue one. It's turning out a bit more complicated than I had expected. I have resorted to adding my own amateur photography and shakily drawn diagrams to the document in order to convey what makes so much sense in my own lopsided brain.

It's keeping me focused and happy, and more importantly, out of the kitchen. Which, according to my ever-shrinking blue jeans, is far more dangerous. I'm sure the smoke detectors appreciate the break as well.

On another note, this evening our next door neighbors are hosting yet another Friday night get-together. From where I sit in the study, it sounds like someone is throwing furniture in their upstairs bedroom. From the patio, the neighbor's shrill friend lets loose with a laugh that sounds like an angry donkey. The only saving grace so far is the fact that I can hear Cheap Trick's "The Flame" wafting over the fence. Ah yes, Robin Zander, I want you to want me, too.

Alas, the generously flowing alcohol has apparently convinced angry donkey lady that she is Patsy Cline and must accompany the rest of tonight's soundtrack with her caterwauling. Joy. So, triple-digit temperatures or no, tonight we shall be sleeping with the window closed and the fan blasting over the barnyard cacophony next door. All the while, praying for an unexplainable yet well-timed sprinkler malfunction.

And in the morning, say about 6 or 6:30, I suspect we will need to mow the lawn. Or rearrange our metal patio furniture. Or take up yodeling. Because you just never know when you're going to need it.