Oh, I’ve been quite the lazy ho lately. There is so much needs doing and yet I’ve no will left to do it. I think the hustle of the prior week left me with little energy this week. I had to prep the house and yard for strangers – the house has to be leased again so I had to clear it of the valuables and the arsenal had to be sent to a friend’s house for safekeeping. I worked like a fiend but it was hardly sufficient. Still, it was better.
You see, in the south one mulches everything that stands still with pine needles. And it works well – cheap, easy, light to haul around. But they fade over time and disintegrate. Well, this place has quite a lot of it so I was hauling and spreading it over the course of a couple days. And removing assorted messes – you know that under the mailbox hell that comes with inattention? yes, that – and then tackling the house. How to make it presentable when you have a carefully arranged course through the stacked boxes? There is simply no way. So I surrendered to getting the kitchen clean and the litter box emptied. Beyond that, I can only do so much.
Anyway, I had a bad dream this morning and woke still groggy and scared. I knew getting my shit together and tackling this place is essential today – it’s the last weekend on my own and I don’t want my man having to do too much when he gets here. But I thought I’d just roll down the blog list, put off a time the inevitable.
As you know, one has…friends, of sorts. You may never have conversed nor met but you seek out their thoughts daily just to see how they are. I am one of those even more ethereal readers that rarely comments – I move about generally unknown to the blog owners but still taking interest in their words. I like to pride myself on having only the pick of the litter on my roll but there are so many others…
And then this morning – see, there is a meet-up in Helen, GA this weekend and if I had any time and courage, I’d have made the trip. But such is not my…character. I am far less eloquent in person – a watcher, not a talker. So I was just reading of the attendees, thinking of the fun they’ll have…and then the link to Christina…I’d skimmed the site in the past, but was then reminded that these people – these Texans – had lost all in a fire not long ago. It tickled in my brain, that memory. I recalled that I’d thought at the time how horrid that had to be with just a couple adults mourning the loss of all they had but then to have children to deal with, too? Jassus.
So this morning I had my coffee cup in hand, weary and bleary, and perused the site slowly. Yes, sensible people. Good people. Nice taste in decor though perhaps harkening too much to that siren monkey call that the Velocigod wields. And then it struck me that all my whiney-ass bullshit was just that. Here’s a gal tackling an already difficult situation – new home building and decor – with the additional troubles of children, work, and loss. I was reminded that what I have to deal with is really quite manageable, thankyouverymuch.
I figure I’ll get this posted, put on some clothes and get some boxes packed. I am at that stage, now, where deciding what to pack is crucial. We’ve a couple weeks left so one might need this or that item or bit of clothing. There is a sort of moving math going on – you have to decide what is ready for a box and what not. But at least we’ve decided on the date and the movers are ready. (Which, if you are ever in need in the southeast do call Carter Moving @ 770-891-9204 – used by us once and by half of the CCPD…)
The house is rented, the utilities in the works, and things are just moving right along. And soon…soon I shall stand in that lovely hall and watch as my man sits on the stage and is sworn in as a Texas State Trooper. I cannot tell you with what pride he shall sit there nor with such pride I will watch. My heart is fit to burst with it already. He sent me an official photo in uniform and hat and I just cried, laughing. We had both given so much for that moment in time…
And then, of course, there is a laughing relief that both Doh and Carter passed their TCLEOSE. Carter is Squirrel Boy – the unofficial mascot of the class. Country as turnip greens and a lovely, good man. Doh, a slight and spry Vietnamese gentleman whose language skills will be quite the asset to the force. My man would always update me on the two – how they were doing…He laughed as he told me how Doh would perform in defensive training, being trained in martial arts and never quitting, never stopping. It’s hard to explain the training but you can imagine a Texas high summer in a room with no air conditioning where you are running until exhausted and then set upon by three very large men intent on getting you on the ground. Some barfed, all collapsed after and some came away injured. But those two never quit and we both took such pleasure in their progress…
My man has had that training for years. He is not at all unfamiliar with it. But he said it was simply the toughest training he has ever had. We are talking beyond Marine Bootcamp and Ranger School tough. Physically, anyway. But here’s the thing. The disappointing thing. Political Correctness has infiltrated. He spoke of the “Magic Berm” at the range where some ladies who had not made the passing grade were taken and came out with a passing grade. My God, do they think they are doing them favors?! Someday they WILL have to shoot and they WILL have to be dead-on and they won’t be. Their families will mourn them but what of their LT? Will she take upon herself the blame for allowing them to skate by, unskilled?
Yes, an award will go to someone who hasn’t earned it based merely on her gender. And it pricks deeply their senses of propriety. There is a very high level of integrity and honor in the rolls and it is preached to them daily. But it appears that it isn’t necessarily maintained by a few there – when they are willing to do something merely to be PC – and when someone will accept that award, knowing they had betters even among their gender…well, it tarnishes the whole thing.
But we’ll try hard to ignore that aspect and just be pleased with the end of the torment, take on the coming madness and try to get our lives settled again. It won’t matter, in the end. It won’t matter at all. Just that we’re together, our family of animals is safe and happy, and we can continue chasing this dream. I tell you, Rangers. You’d better be ready. He’s going to roll through his Trooper 1 and into 2 and then right onto your shore. That day will come. Five years, we figure. Five more years.