Is it Time Yet?

When I left Houston a week ago, I expected to have power and water turned on at the farm and be done with the make-ready on the house by now. What is that tired, old cliche about an expectation being a pre-meditated resentment? This morning finds me still in Austin and somewhere between the numbness of dissociation and the acid bath of resentment. I am afraid to try again at finishing the packing for the four hour drive to the still highly speculative project. Who knows what kind of domestic drama that will invite? If nothing else, my family co-stars are creative in their drama. Gee. . . Wonder where they got THAT from?

Small steps, big faith and lots of prayer. . .

It is possibile that the initial survey is growing into a family affair. Possible, but. . . The old man hasn't been dead long enough for any of us to really believe we are empowered to go up there and "Mind HIS business." Truly, we are still not. Paperwork is not yet filed with the appropriate government agencies and hubby's brother and family are still a mystery wrapped in holiday trimmings. Sharing formal holidays is not the same thing as sharing day-to-day life. The farm is theirs as much as ours and we are clueless what to expect from them without the FIL and his employees calling the shots. We are pretty sure they have lives between the formal holidays, but have yet to share any of it.

I still feel like the delusional old mother in assuming I will leave today, but am thinking I need to push myself past it and plan on getting the show on the road today. If nothing else, it would be nice to get the truck bed emptied.