Pre-travel Reality Checks

Gosh. . . Has it really been a year since the Golddigger/Toxic Mom/Monster-in-law/Neurotic Housewife left the Urban Homestead? Has it really been 6 months since I ended my funeral pilgrimage for Big Bro and my own estranged mother to attempt actual planning for fulfillment of my river dreams? Given how badly the attempt to river dreams into actual plans worked out, I'm currently lacking the confidence to Plan on anything. Just praying that the unloved, high mileage, beat up pickup truck I have taken to calling, "Boy Toy" will pull out of the Breach of Contract zone with the sunrise and make it the full 830 miles south by southwest to Urban Homestead.

The two little people who call me, "Gammy" are the purest heart tug back to the Urban Homestead. It is the five grown-ups who call me, "Golddigger/Toxic Mom/Monster-in-law/Neurotic Housewife," among other endearments, who dominate my reality checks as I prepare for take off toward the coveted Grand Party. Can the grand party really happen against the uncoordinated will of those five grown-ups? Dare I hope? Just praying.

I doesne know, but I does only believe that there isnae any conspiracy among those 5 grown-ups. Conspiracy requires communication and I donae evidence of that, not even when I am there to tackle the job of playing the communications hub through the supportive endearments. I donae believe any of those 5 grown-ups know or care what the other 4 say call me when I amnae filling their strictly personal needs. A conspiracy would be an improvement over the visual image of 5 boulders crashing mindlessly down the mountainside of family tradition. White Trash wanderer estrangement on my side. Silver platter Huntington's Disease on Gampy's side. Can I go be a bag lady now? My unattractive wrinkles offer me far more protectection than I ever enjoyed in the predator-filled throw-away kid camps.

I have been brutal on Hubs during our most recent phone conversations. How thick is the dust I'll be sleeping in Sunday night? How loud are the "Shut the fuck up" rituals from ES these days? Has your CPS experience with the parents of our grandchildren offered insight as to how little control a Golddigger/Toxic Mom/Monster-in-law/Neurotic Housewife has over the parental units while you are busy being busy? Am I safe to mention the bee mobbings which gave me the beekeeper allergy in between your poetic lectures about your bee biz? No, Dear, I amnae asking you to sell your hives. I am only asking to let the aquired allergy be a physical fact in my continued support of your booming business. I'm sorry dear, but I donae know any more about the aquired allergy than you do. You're the bee expert. Shouldn't I be able to ask you or one of the members of your awesome beekeeping network?

Amazingly, my deliberate brutality hasnae spawned a single tit-for-tat skirmish. The times Hubs sounded ready for combat were backed off by questioning the change in his voice tones. Have the new dance steps we have learned over the past years developed far enough to allow us to work together where we used to get bloody? My just-a-nut-job theory is that children -even adult children- follow example far more than expert lectures. If Gampy and Gammy are working together on these generational mental health issues, the succeeding generations will follow. Just praying. . .

Time to hit the road. I amnae completely certain Boy Toy's brakes will still be working as I approach the Urban Homestead. Letting God lead the Dance. Small steps, big faith and lots of prayer.