July 1, 2014
I have become a real country girl.
At least I feel as though I’ve earned the title.
I helped to put up hay - 3 wagonloads - into the barn.
And that…is…backbreaking…hard...work.
There were 5 wagonloads total and I would have helped on all 5, but I had no idea that it was just my sister and my brother-in-law at work across the road until Harry and I went to see what was going on.
My sister was practically doubled over in pain and sweating profusely, standing in the wagon, moving hay bales onto the conveyor belt.
I had taken her for a colonoscopy a couple of days before and she had some residual pain under her left breast at her ribs, almost as if she had a bruised rib.
She said it was very painful. She generally has a very high tolerance for pain.
So, I knew it must be pretty bad.
I stepped in to help, moving her aside.
The second wagonload, I insisted she stay on the ground and just help to move the bales onto the conveyor belt once they were put onto the metal slide.
The conveyor would jam every few minutes anyway. It had to be disconnected, the flywheel run backwards a bit with a gloved hand and then reconnected to the electricity before it would start up again.
Old, rusty equipment, but it does the job…eventually.
There were 400 plus bales stacked in the barn when we were finished.
I had worked up a good sweat and sustained a little injury too.
I had stepped into a hole in the hay with my left foot and fell into the bales up to my thigh. When I fell, my right knee hit the edge of the metal slide, leaving me with a two inch slice across my knee bone and a pretty hefty bruise too.
It made me think of Mom’s long time neighbors who have rented (and farmed) some of her land planting corn, alfalfa and soybean crops for years.
They are dairy farmers.
Well, they were.
They just sold their farm and moved into a condo.
After years and years and years of farming the land and milking the cows, Betty and Bob decided to retire.
They are in their late 70s or early 80s and they lived a backbreaking existence as dairy farmers.
It is a very hard life.
With lots of sacrifice.
I’ve always known farming was physically demanding, but I have a whole new respect for that life after just “playing” farmer for a few hours.
…..
I’ve spent some time this week taking care of some of those “life details.”
Harry and I have been living in Wisconsin long enough now that I thought it would be a good idea to check on my insurance coverage for both our possessions (still literally stuffed into a 10 x 17 foot storage unit in Massachusetts) and our 4Runner.
My Liberty Mutual agent said that things could remain as they were for our “temporary” stay in Wisconsin.
Since it’s not that temporary anymore, I thought I should at least consult with him and decide what to do next.
He agreed that the renter’s policy and the 4Runner policy should be converted from Massachusetts to Wisconsin.
It turned out to be a good thing.
The 4Runner insurance was cut in half: from almost $1700 to $868.
Yikes.
I increased the total on my Renter’s policy because I had made some investments in furniture in the last couple of years - nice furniture. And I have invested in two computers in the last year as well - expensive computers.
I wanted to be certain that all those things (and more) would be covered and updated with a replacement cost policy.
It is so very difficult to put a dollar value on possessions.
So many things accumulated over so much time.
New things.
Old things.
Things that you wish you had gotten rid of years ago.
Things that are priceless.
It is done.
Of course to be compliant with the conversion to the policy on my 4Runner written in Wisconsin, I had to register it in Wisconsin and get a Wisconsin Driver’s License.
I started out in Baraboo at the Sauk County Sheriff’s Department.
First hitch in the plan? I don’t have access to my 4Runner title.
I’ve owned that wonderful truck for 16 wonderful years, but I keep the title in my lock box.
The lock box is somewhere among our many, many possessions in that 10 x 17 foot storage unit in Massachusetts.
The one for which I pay a monthly rent of over $200.
The Sauk County Sheriff’s Officer told me that she couldn’t help me.
“You’ll have to go to Madison. They can help you without access to your title.”
The officer did tell me that I would have to have a copy of my most current registration.
The copy of the registration that I had was from 2012.
Back home.
I went online at mass.gov to get a copy of my current registration.
I have no idea why I didn’t have the current copy. I am pretty meticulous about those kinds of things, but it has been a bit chaotic in our lives for some time now.
Twenty-five dollars later, I was in possession of my current registration and on my way to Madison.
Fifty miles.
Argh.
What I failed to consider on my mission to just get things done…was that it was the last day of the month.
Humans are prone to procrastination.
Every human who had to meet an end-of-the-month deadline was in that room.
I have to admit though…things were quite organized, moved quite swiftly.
I waited only about 30 minutes.
It turns out that the office in Madison couldn’t actually help me transfer my title to Wisconsin without my original title as the Sauk County Sheriff had advised, after all.
When I have access to it (the original title, that is) they can convert it. For now, they cannot do anything.
I could, however, register my 4Runner in Wisconsin.
So I did.
And then I inquired as to what I had to do to get a Wisconsin driver’s license.
I had to show:
- Proof of US Citizenship
- Proof of name and date of birth
- Proof of identity
- Proof of Wisconsin residency
- Proof of Social Security Number
Phone bills or bank statements are acceptable for proof of Wisconsin residency.
Every bill I pay is paperless and paid online. But a copy of a recent bill was acceptable.
I needed a pay stub (haven’t had one of those in over a year) or a W-2 that had my social security number.
I did file taxes from here for 2013, so I dug out my tax return.
I needed a birth certificate or a passport.
Inside my lock box…inside the 10 x 17 foot storage unit…in Massachusetts.
Argh.
I was born in Wisconsin…at Divine Savior Hospital in Portage.
So, I was directed to the Vital Records Office to request a copy of my original birth certificate for a fee of $20.00.
Off I went.
Traffic wasn’t bad. I had to go into Madison, near Lake Mendota.
It's a holiday week and pretty deserted in the capital.
Parking was wide open.
I entered the huge government building just off the square of the state capital building.
There wasn’t a soul in sight.
I found the Vital Records Office quickly.
There was a lone woman behind the counter.
I told her that I needed a copy of my birth certificate.
She told me to fill out a request form and pointed toward a counter across the empty room.
“That will be $20.00, cash,” she said. Then she explained that the copy of the document would be ready the following morning.
My face must have revealed my disappointment…or distress.
“If you want it sooner, we can expedite it, say 15 or 20 minutes, for another $20.00.”
I’m sure she recognized the expression on my face then…
“I need it.” I said.
“O.K. that will be $40.00, cash.”
I asked her to point me in the direction of the nearest ATM.
The ATM was across the street, down the hall, around the corner.
I returned to the office of Vital Records with the cash.
“Have a seat and I’ll let you know when its ready,” she motioned me to the open chairs in the empty room.
As I said, not another soul in sight, not in the office, not in the building, not even on the block as I walked toward the building or in the parking lot.
I wasn’t sitting in that chair in that empty room for even 5 minutes when the woman called to me from behind the counter.
“Ms Nelson, your record is ready,” she announced rather proudly.
She pushed the birth certificate across the counter to me.
Seriously?
I would bet that same result could have been achieved without the extra $20.00 “expedite” fee.
Argh.
Back to the DMV.
I went inside and got back in line.
Another…very…long…line.
I had hoped that because it was much closer to closing time that it might be a little more thinned out by now, but it was not.
I stood in line with all the others for about 10 minutes and then I realized as I read again the requirements to qualify for a license, that even with my newly acquired birth certificate, I didn’t have every piece of identification that I needed with me to prove that I was indeed me.
I would have to come back.
And I did. The next morning.
With every single kind of identification required.
All in all, those two things…registration and a driver’s license…cost me almost $250.00.
It was a bit of a bite right now, really, but not nearly as much as I will be saving in insurance for the 4Runner.
It has also relieved a tiny bit of suppressed stress.
The thought of having to try to explain our "situation" if I’d been stopped for anything…
Complicated, at best.
Living here. Insured there. Temporary. Not so temporary.
Argh.
I fought it for quite a while.
Changing all these things.
It felt like surrendering.
Surrendering to living here…where we shouldn’t be living, really.
Now, it just feels like what I needed to do.
My driver’s license will arrive in about 10 days.
My next task was to actually attach my new plates to the 4Runner.
I drove into town to get my friendly car mechanic, Eric, to help me with the plates.
The back fasteners were rusted and I didn’t have the proper tool anyway.
He was swell, as usual, and helped me remove the old Massachusetts plates and attach the new Wisconsin plates.
We chatted about the 3-day-weekend. He was driving north with some “buddies” to go ATV-ing.
I thanked him and wished him a Happy 4th, and he wished me the same.
I showed Harry the new plates this morning.
He is most excited that there is a red barn on the plates. Just like the barn where he says he "wants to be a cow."
I honestly think that there should be a mosquito pictured there along with the red barn.
With all the rain and moisture, they have been prolific.
It’s difficult to enjoy the outdoors when you are being devoured by those horrible winged creatures!
One or two must have gotten into the house and into our bedroom.
Harry woke the other morning with 10 separate bites on his cheek, the only one that was exposed while he was sleeping.
Harry’s also had a few ticks.
Some big ones and one very tiny, tiny one.
The tiny one was, unfortunately, on the inside near the fold of his buttocks and inner thigh.
I spotted it one night when we were getting ready for bed.
I tried to swish it away, thinking that it was just a speck of dirt. He is 4 years old after all.
But it didn’t swish away.
I tried to stay calm this time.
When I had discovered the larger version of a tick on Harry’s back a week or so ago, I became a bit “animated” and Harry picked up on my panic right away and became panicked himself.
A 4-year-old panicked is not a good thing.
They don’t cooperate very well when in a panic.
I calmly explained to him that he had a tick (we had discussed the not-so-positive attributes of the tiny menace before) and we would have to go downstairs to get Grandma's help to remove it.
He protested a bit, but it was still a struggle to sit him on my lap in better light, spread his legs apart for access and try to pluck that microscopic tick embedded in his skin.
I managed to get it done myself as Grandma was searching for the tweezers.
I handed it over to Grandma for disposal.
She usually flushes them.
When we found one outside on my leg one day, she took it over to the cement block outside the back door of the garage and she smashed it repeatedly with a rock.
“I feel like a murderer,” she said.
And then added, “Everything has its purpose.”
I honestly cannot imagine what a tick’s purpose is…
The same night that I had discovered that tiny tick on Harry’s inner thigh, I was a bit delirious looking for more.
I saw a tiny spot on his chest.
A spot that I hadn’t remembered him having before.
I can’t see a thing at that distance anymore, so back downstairs we went to find the magnifying glass and to get Grandma’s help...again.
After inspecting the spot with the magnifying glass and a flashlight, Grandma pronounced it a mole.
“If you’re sure,” I said.
“What do you mean if I’m sure? Can’t you see it?” she questioned.
“No, actually, I can’t. It’s too small.”
I decided to trust her pronouncement and we went back upstairs.
Harry sat on my lap in the corner chair to read a book, but he was concerned about the spot on his chest, just under his chin where he couldn't see.
“Mommy, what is it?” he asked with a little tremor in his voice.
“Sweetie, it’s just a mole.” I explained.
The only “mole” Harry is familiar with is the kind of mole that has been tunneling the length and width of Grandma’s yard.
The kind of mole that we have been trying to eradicate with solar powered buzzers, flashing lights at night, vibrations from wind-powered metal windmills.
The kind of mole that Mommy says are “bad, bad little animals” as I stomp on top of newly dug tunnels.
Harry was a little confused.
“A mole?” he said as he clutched at his chest.
It took me just a fraction of a second to catch on…
“Oh, no, no, Sweetie, not that kind of mole. This is another kind of mole.” I quickly tried to comfort him.
I spent the next several minutes trying to explain the English language and that there are many words that mean more than one thing.
The concept is not that easy for a 4-year-old to comprehend.
Honestly, the concept is sometimes not that easy for an adult to comprehend.
…..
July 2, 2014
It is my birthday today.
My 54th birthday.
I suppose I could write this phrase again, just changing the number:
“It’s not where I thought I’d be at 53, not even close! But here I am.”
It’s a line in the first paragraph, from my very first blog post on January 17, 2014.
And here I am…still.
Progress in finding a job has been slow.
My weather App says that it is 55 degrees.
It’s cloudy and just a bit dreary.
Doesn’t help the mood, at all.
It’s been that kind of day too.
I barely made it to the UPS drop off location in time to mail a prepaid return package.
I pushed through the door as the clock ticked over to 11 a.m., closing time.
The woman had come from behind the counter and was reaching to lock the door, just as I barreled through.
I got a stern look over the top of the glasses perched on her nose.
“Just under the wire,” I said smiling.
She didn’t respond, so I thought it best to make a hasty exit.
From there I went to Starbucks to claim my “Birthday reward.”
I ordered my drink of choice Grande Cappuccino, dry and added a chocolate croissant.
I hesitated just a second and then said, “I’d like to claim my ‘Birthday reward.’”
“Oh,” exclaimed the barista, “I already sent it through…soooooorry.”
Sigh.
I sat alone in a big brown leather chair and drank my hot grande and quickly ate my croissant.
My next stop was the School District Offices for Wisconsin Dells.
I had been reminded that it would probably be prudent to register Harry for 4K in September. While still hoping that we won’t be here then, it seemed the thing to do…just in case.
I had stopped the other day and picked up the forms. I stopped today to drop them off.
They copied them for their files, but sent me to the actual elementary school (across town) to complete the registration.
I actually carry a copy of Harry’s birth certificate with me, so that made the process fairly easy.
The toughest decision I had to face was to decide whether it was better for him to attend 4 days a week (for a few hours) or 2 days a week (full days).
I thought the consistency of a daily schedule (even if only for a few hours) would be a better choice.
All I need to complete the registration is Harry’s immunization record.
Another feeling of surrender.
.....
Harry starts swimming lessons on July 14.
He’ll go to lessons for 3 weeks, 4 days a week in the mornings and then back to Miss Margie’s for the afternoon.
Mom made sure we had swimming lessons when we were kids, but I had one of those swimming teachers whose technique was to make the child jump off the side of the pool into the deep end and then to watch them flail against the water.
“Sink or swim,” she would shout from the edge of the pool.
I could hear her yelling it over and over again as my head went under the water repeatedly.
Needless to say, I did not learn how to swim.
But I want to learn now for Harry’s sake and for mine.
I'm checking into adult lessons.
There was a bright spot today.
When I came downstairs this morning, I saw a bright orange envelope that Mom had placed on the chair where Harry and I sit in the morning to cuddle together and to wake up.
Inside the envelope was a simply beautiful card.
 |
| My Birthday card. |
I read it aloud to Harry.
As I read slowly and carefully, my voice broke and I started to cry through the words.
I hope this year brings you
not only the big and little things
you’ve dreamt of for a long time
that are finding their way
and the feeling of accomplishment
with kindness and appreciation
that make you such a great person.
I hope that you find strength when you most need it
And I hope this year is the year
She signed it: All my love - Mom.
Harry looked at my face with a furrowed brow and saw the tears streaming down my cheeks.
“Mommy, what’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing, Sweetie,” I assured him, “The words in the card are just making Mommy cry.”
I had explained to Harry most recently that sometimes you cry when you are sad and sometimes you cry when you are happy.
“Is it a happy sad, Mommy?”
“Yes, Sweetie,” I said, “A happy sad.”
