December 3, 2007

In Which I Do Not NOT Tell You Crazy Farm Plan (part 1)

Scott has now been out of town ten days, and while I have TRULY done an ASTONISHING JOB (for me) of keeping the smoke-belching, lurching machine that is my household going, here at Chez Jackson, the wheels are starting to come off.


Number of times I have considered selling one or both children to Gypsies: 4,567
Number of times I have THREATENED to sell one or both children to Gypsies: 17
Number of children actually sold to Gypsies: 0

Nervous breakdowns: 1.25
Lost items: 22 and counting
Lost items that have since been found: 4
Number of major commitments flaked upon: ZERO. I even managed to do that Nashville radio interview in spite of not having a clear grasp on how TIME AND SPACE work, and mucking up which way time zones go. AGAIN.

DIGRESSION: I am scared that here in the end game, the last two windless days of Scott-less desert, I AM going to flake on something major. Because those 22 lost items, by the way, INCLUDE my SACRED PAPER CALENDAR. Yes! The calendar by which all things that MUST happen are made to happen. It’s GONE. ZIPPO ZAP. POOF! I have placed it in an alternate dimension, which may or may not be “the trash can” or “My friend’s car” or “Planet Zeebofloop.” Gone, Baby, Gone.

ALSO listed among the missing: ALL MY EMAIL FILES. I had well over 30 saved to the in-box that I needed to answer including book club calls I am trying to schedule and stuff from my kids’ various teachers about holiday things and events and everyone’s Christmas list…SCOTT can call those files back when my email DOES this---yes, that IS code for “when I do this to my email” files. Heh.--- But he can’t talk me through the file recovery process on the phone without risking ACTUALLY losing them all. SO – If you sent me an e-mail in the last ten days that I have not answered yet (looks significantly at desi) REST ASSURED I am going to answer. Just not til The Finder of Lost Things returns from Arizona.

Number of minor commitments flaked upon: .5 (so far)

Maximum number of alcoholic beverages consumed in a day: 2
Maximum number of mood altering pharmaceuticals prescribed to prevent anxiety consumed: 0
Number of Herbal stress remedies that do actually nothing but that cost a lot gobbled, drunk, huffed or applied: 7

Number of times I have wept out of SHEER self pity: 2
Number of times I have wept because a specific Christmas song came on: 3
Number of times I have wept because I thought of the, BABY DONCHA CRY, I’M GONNA MAKE A PIE, I’M GONNA MAKE A PIE WITH A HEART IN A THE MIDDLE song: 0, but it was CLOSE.
Number of times I have wept while watching GEORGE OF THE JUNGLE when the song about why the dog howls at the moon came on and I realized that he RILLY RILLY LOVES HER: 1
Number of friends who have asked: WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU??? Is it SCOTT being gone, or are you PMSing?: 1
Number of friends I have dismembered with a hatchet and stuffed into garbage bags and buried in the Okefenokee swamp: 0…but it was close.

Number of chapters I have drafted with Scott gone: 1, and I suspect it is a good one that I will actually end up KEEPING A LOT OF!
THANK YOU VERY MUCH. *bows bows bows*

Digression 2: The point five on MINOR commitments flaked upon is for Crazy Farm Plan, because I can’t tell you the whole thing. It is only .5 instead of a TOTAL flake because I will put now the piece I wrote Friday and FULLY PLANNED to expound upon this weekend…

Crazy Farm Plan was born on a day when my brother was driving me out into the wilds of Alabama to shoot stuff, (research, remember? I have shot to kill a plethora of inanimate objects with every kind of gun I have been able to lay hands on) we passed a mobile home. And he looked with SINCERE LONGING at a teeny tiny little mobile home, the SMALLEST one, a single wide that may have actually been a CAMPER TRAILER, and he said, in the heartfelt tones of a sincere supplicant, “Look. My dream house.”

Sure it was surrounded by the glorious green woods of Alabama the Beautiful---actual state nickname---but that was not the point. It’s not like my brother and I are all about the nature.

I tend to say, “meh” at breathtaking mountain vistas, and I remember when we were kids, my brother would say that when HE grew up and had his OWN house, he was going to rip out all the sod, pour concrete, and then, maybe, if the neighbors complained, he would concede enough to allow THEM to come over and paint the concrete green. That was his ideal lawn.


Posted by joshilyn at December 3, 2007 9:56 AM

I lost it when I read you thought about selling your children 4,567 times. While I have yet to make chirrens of my own, I had to laugh because I've seen my friends give their children that look. Especially my friends whose husbands are deployed. WHOLE NEW RESPECT. You verbalized what they feel everyday for 15 months.

Posted by: aka nik at December 3, 2007 10:32 AM

When my hubby travels, I keep weepy too.

I just get tired and overwhelmed.

Posted by: Lisa Milton at December 3, 2007 11:18 AM

As usual, your words make all of us feel better... you give us permission to be human. Which is what God did by becoming Man. Which is what we're getting ready to celebrate at Christmas. So... deep breath... maybe we can prepare our hearts for His birth, even if we don't have the Christmas decorations up or cards sent or presents bought or .... well, fill in the blank for your own life! We really just need some fresh hay for the stable. And maybe egg nog.

Posted by: Susan Cushman at December 3, 2007 12:04 PM

Pink socks.

Posted by: rams at December 3, 2007 12:32 PM

I know your pain. and if yours is like mine, all will be better just as soon as he walks thru the door! Take your time. I'm not going anywhere.

Posted by: Desi at December 3, 2007 3:16 PM

Planet Zeebofloop has creatures that come in the night and take things. I so KNOW that's where my press pass is ... cause I would never lose something so important as the credentials that validate my existence. No. Not I. Stupid Zeebofloopers.

Posted by: timmi at December 3, 2007 3:53 PM

Delurking to say that I think this broke the record of the number of times you've made me laugh while reading a post.

With Scott gone, you may be crazy, but you haven't lost your funny!

Posted by: Alison at December 3, 2007 4:21 PM

I'm reading Here If You Need Me (Kate Braestrup), a v. good memoir, and she talks about how her children all had their usual transitional objects - stuffed animals and such(which her late husband called their objets d'amour) and hers was her husband. Scott is your objet d'amour (as my husband is mine).

Posted by: Carrie at December 3, 2007 4:36 PM

I don't know the song you are talking about but I have to say a pie with a heart in the middle of it does not sound delicious at all. It actually sounds like something that might be served at Thanksgiving at Uncle Serial Killers house. You didn't ruin pie for me but I may give pause before I dig into the next slice of cherry I'm offered.

Posted by: Em at December 3, 2007 4:42 PM

Do you literally keep up with these counts on things? I love your writing and since I live in AL must say when a giant moth flew in last night as we were doing the holiday yard decorating; I thought of your expert on the roaches in gods in AL. times I have freaked out over a bug (rough estimate)-1 billion

Posted by: marci at December 3, 2007 7:05 PM

Blah, blah, lost me at 'In Which I Do NOT Tell You Crazy Farm Plan.' Although you got me back with the teaser.

Posted by: Amy-Go at December 3, 2007 8:53 PM


Oh, wait. I have crazy farm.

But still, I want to hear YOUR version, and I really must hear about your brother's eyebrows!

Posted by: Sara at December 3, 2007 9:21 PM

Am dying to hear more of Crazy Pharm Plan, because my husband once tried to convince me that his secret dream was to move us to a double-wide on a big piece of land somewhere, despite the fact that neither one of us likes to be in the Nature, touch the Nature, or interact with the Nature in any way whatsoever except through a TV screen or possibly a double-thick pane of glass.

Posted by: Badger at December 3, 2007 9:48 PM

Why is it that your times of mental illness are so amusing to us? I guess we are all just sick, sick people.

I've often said I'd rather live in a run-down trailer on a zillion acres of woods, than in the McMansions on postage-stamp lots they have in some places around here . . . but I AM nature girl. I can't wait to hear what your brother's reason is!

Posted by: Brigitte at December 4, 2007 5:36 AM

Em, that's the song the Keri Russell character sings to her unborn baby in "Waitress." And I cried just reading that little snippet of the lyrics.

As for Crazy Farm Plan? Pffffft!

Posted by: Aimee at December 4, 2007 10:35 AM