Sometimes the answer is just RIGHT THERE

Lately my days are full of humble pie. Two-slice Hilly humble pie. Well, maybe not totally, because Hilly ate two slices because it still tasted good. My pie doesn't taste good. Like last night one of our dogs gorged herself in order to be a bully to the puppy and eat all her food. And then it all came up again. And when I went to clean it up, first I had to tell the other dogs not to eat it and then I also had to tell the cats. But I myself, I was gagging at the smell alone. Now imagine eating something that smells like that and invokes an internal reflex like the gag reflex. That is how my pie tastes. So I'm kind of over the daily dose. 

Here's the thing I know that I don't want to know. Or don't like, or it makes me so uncomfortable I go into avoidance mode (Ostrich mode: head in the sand mode; run away mode; geographical fix mode). I am at the center of all of actions, shitty ones and not-so-shitty ones. And until I actually eat the humble pie and choke it down and keep it down and learn the freaking lesson, I will continue to endure humiliation. over and over and over. and over. 

(insert disclaimer here >>) So I started this a couple weeks ago already. But being plagued with a plethora of shortcomings, I have managed to enthusiastically avoid coming back to it. And then again, much has changed since beginning this post. The shit pie I was talking about largely had to do with my constant compulsion to over-share.  I even know that the consequences could be big and I could be overwhelmed with humiliation and shame and regret. But as you know (or maybe you don't), compulsions don't easily succumb to reason. So then I have an overwhelming compulsion to over-share, knowing the end result could be disastrous is not enough to control the urge. I don't know about anyone else, but I have found that regret tastes similar to humble pie. It is not as bitter going down, but the bitter aftertaste lingers and seeps into all the flavors around it. 

I want to tell you about all the lessons I've learned and the wisdom that I've gained through over-sharing my elephant with you. But the truth is, that bitter aftertaste, well, it leaves me shuffling off into the nothingness to wallow alone and to bask in my self-pity. 

On the surface level of the problem, the actual no-money-no-job-no-insurance level, many have reached out and offered assistance through prayer, through resources, through ca$h (let's be honest, that is probably my favorite kind of assistance/connection), through hooking me up with what has been deemed "social capital" (it's not what you know, it's WHO you know), through caring words, through thoughts and prayers and even fund-raising. These have not cured what ails me. Because let's be honest, what ails me lives inside of me. 

What these gestures have done though, is give me hope. Like a tiny seedling struggling to take root, it has brought the tiniest glimpse of hope to me and it is continuing to grow into a vining, green plant of hope, with blossoms that are beginning to open and beauty that is seen by fresh eyes... seeing the color seep into the gray and color my world. 

What all of this has done is give me hope. God promises that if we have faith the size of a grain of a mustard seed, we will see it grow. That is how I feel about this hope. It is many tiniest of actions that bond together and form something formidable and real. A big, bright, ball of hope that is not to be discounted or discarded. 

The update about the Hippie Chick Farm. She is going to make it. My one last-ditch effort to find a solution, to stop the hemorrhaging, was a bust. Hopeless. I felt hopeless. This was on the morning of the Friday before the Tuesday when the sale was scheduled. So three days to get my hopelessness under control (I'd just as soon see her run over by a train), find hope and a solution, present said solution to the lawyer in the suit and get the sale cancelled.

However, this last idea that I had to gain a shred of hope, the free consultation with a bankruptcy lawyer, was summed up by him saying that he could not help me. But what he did was stay on the line for the rest of the 30 minute consultation and spit-ball ideas. And I/we came across an idea that had not come to me before. Or let me say, if someone suggested it earlier in the game, I did not hear it. Know how it is that you cannot hear some things no matter how clearly they are presented? But for whatever reason, this resonated. Loudly. I did some checking and low-and-behold this idea would get me out of hot water. So I called the lawyer, who could not commit to an answer, but called his client, and called back with the final outcome being that we reached a solution and the sale has been cancelled. 

Today, the shortest day of the year, Winter Solstice, is a day I will bask in hope and I will reap the joy that lies within the smallest glimmers of hope that friends and my community bestow upon me. And low and behold, I know the days of sun will begin to get longer. Not just in the sky and view that I love so much from my farm, but in my heart as well. Seems a fitting analogy. Today I will respect the cold, dark depth of the Winter Solstice, but I will look forward with hope, knowing the days of sun will continue to grow. 

Effing Elephants....

 Self-sabatoge. Something I am quite adept at. After all this time living with me, you'd think I'd either adapt to this, or overcome it. Some days it is more cunning than others. I'll be wandering along in my bubble, my rose-colored bubble, and *BAM!* there it is. Popping my bubble and intruding on my feigned serenity. I'm writing about something I don't want to write about. Because it's big. But then again, that is why I'm writing about it. The damn elephant fills the whole fucking room and I can't figure out how to maneuver around it and keep pretending that the walls won't come crashing down if this bad boy charges. 

Oh hello. I see I am speaking (writing.... whatever) in metaphor and rhetoric again. Well, this flowery crap lives in my head all. the. time. Running dialogue. So.... purging it means sharing with you, my audience, whatever weirdness might present itself. So if you read my flowery ramblings, remember to speed them up to at least twice the normal speed and tell me you're not exhausted afterward. Trying to chase different rabbits down different rabbit holes and ending up at a place where it all makes sense in a realistic amount of time with a veritable amount of sanity. Back to my current dilemma. The one with the self-sabotaging behavior. Yeehaw.... 

The elephant is named Debt. More specifically.... property taxes and mechanics liens. I just call it fucked. With a capital FUCK. And it "should" be a relatively easy fix. Except that I have no income right now. Well, I receive child support every 2 weeks, to the tune of $250ish a month. And unemployment is still placing a hold on my account, so after being unemployed for NINE weeks (9 f*cking weeks!), I still haven't received a payment one. So if I were not unemployed, I could probably find some place willing to take a chance on me because the amount I would borrow against the house would/will be the only lien against the house. So.... there is that. Or for the low, low payment of $1400 I can file for bankruptcy. I (only) need $700 to file the bankruptcy. But again, no income. 

Throw in this.... my knees are crippled with arthritis. So bad. And very limiting in the kinds of jobs I can do.  And as I am working on getting a disability judgment, I am supposed to keep making and going to Doctor appointments, and follow doctor's advise in regard to work and movement and taking care of my knees and other ailing areas of my body. Have I said this yet? I'm only 53. I am too young to need knee replacement. 

Oh boy, I digress. again. *sigh*

Let me tell you the story.... 

When I first received a tax statement, it said it was taxes for 2019. I dismissed it thinking that it certainly had to have been paid already by the previous owner, since I just became the home owner in October of 2020. And then when I realized that no, it wasn't a mistake or a fluke, that I really did owe the county nearly $1000 for taxes for 2019. And I was working at a "new" job, not teaching, and it was a steep pay cut from my previous job. But I still had this false sense of balance and hope. I believed I was going to somehow pay that $1000 plus the  current tax of $460+ that would be coming due in December. When we moved in here, it was fall. Fall of 2020. The happy news, I bought this place outright. The current unhappy news. Take those back taxes and no way to pay them and add on a lien that the roofer put on my house. Roofer? What?! Oh yeah, last fall, I get this notification from my home owners insurance that if I want to keep my homeowners insurance I would need to make the following updates to my house. One of those things was to put on a new roof. Anywho.... I'm in trouble.

I knew the money from the sale of my house in Mac was circling the drain rather quickly. But I also knew I needed homeowners insurance. I needed to have a roof installed by December 14, 2020 in order not to lose my homeowners insurance. So I secured a roofing company to do the roof. They couldn't do it by the cutoff date but I hoped that sending a copy of the contract would stave off the threat and I'd keep my insurance. The roof wasn't completed until mid-January. And so throw in my bad financial habits, and overall lack of savviness in regard to money, on top of holidays and home repairs and so on, and a general "head in the clouds" approach to things that overwhelm me ("oh, it will work out. I don't know HOW it will work out, but it will.") Blind faith. Cluelessness. Alternate reality. Whatever you call it, I live here a lot of the time. So excuse me while I stick my head back in the sand, but I have some avoiding to do.

Here I am with a pending sheriff sale to satisfy the mechanic's lien (between $7000-10,000), and the $1000 for property taxes. Sheriff sale is on December 14.  That is a mere 10 days from now. Unless some sort of miracle happens, I might just lose this little farm, my little slice of paradise, that I love with my whole self. It seems surreal. This is my Hippie Chick Farm. My chickens, ducks and geese live here with us and our dogs, cats, and guinea pigs. 

I *think* I could keep the house by filing for bankruptcy. I can do that for $1400. Of which, "only" $700 is needed to start proceedings and stop the sale of my house. And miracles never cease. It could happen. Right? Except that I have no cash. No holdings that I could make into cash. 

I know. I know, know, know, know, know that God will take care of me. Take care of us. He always has. Over. and over. and over. Sometimes that doesn't mean what I think it should. I love this place. I have believed since day one that God showed this place to me. I asked. I got. So I'm furious with myself that I would put myself in danger of losing this place. Foolishness. Stupid. And on and on. The berating goes on and on and on (...and on). But the long and short of it is that The Hippie Chick Farm is only 10 days away from not being mine unless a miracle happens. 

I have been brainstorming miracles. I know God doesn't need my help, but I also know that I can't find the miracle if I don't look. I have plotted and schemed and here are few ways that the miracle could happen: Kansas Department of Labor, Fraud Department, would actually review my unemployment claim (and read the emails from the call center, and the many, many notes in my file about my desperation) and release the fraud hold on my weekly claims. That would be a BIG miracle. Or maybe I could find a friend to lend my the first $700 to start bankruptcy proceedings. Or maybe I could find 7 friends to put $100 toward the lawyer for the bankruptcy. Maybe I could start a fundraising drive. Like a go-fund-me. There are miracles around the corner. I know there are. But you know, Tom Petty imparted a valuable piece of wisdom when he sang "the waiting is the hardest part." Well, the waiting, and not giving up, and still believing that in my desperation, a miracle will commence. But miracles need the window of hope to close or at the very least, grow dim. So I'm thinking that place is near. Because I am starting to live in panic, on high-alert, all the time. 

I mean, I can't eat an elephant. I know the story.... to eat an elephant, you just have to take one bite at a time. Maybe this is the first bite. Being so desperate that my desperation outweighs my humiliation and shame at thinking about exposing my inadequacies for the whole world to see. 

I am truly tired of eating humble pie, it leaves a putrid after taste. And I am not excited about tackling, or eating an elephant. And for certain, not this particular Effing Elephant. 

"The Hippie Chick Farm"