I know it sounds pitiful but....

I need an acknowledgement and a purging off all that has gone "wrong" since I first announced that I was moving to Asheville. Here is a list, not necessarily in exact chronological order:

• Roof leak in Seattle house & bids from $250 for repair to $4500 for replacement.
• Three freak snowstorms which prevented me from having ANY going-away events.
• Three freak snowstorms which made it impossible to consider driving with a trailer.
• Problems with getting my stuff shipped, eventually going with Amtrak to Greenville, SC.
• Three freak snowstorms which closed all the mountain passes from Seattle.
• Weather all over the West prohibiting me from taking a direct route to NC, costing me 900 additional miles.
• Horrible weather throughout the country, costing me 1 1/2 extra driving days.
• Property manager calling to say that tenants were pissed about the dog poop which I couldn't pick up before I left because it was covered in snow and demanding a rent reduction.
• Starting work & finding out I only get paid once a month, causing incredible financial challenge with the first paycheck being only for three weeks.
• Getting a call from Allstate that they were cancelling my homeowners insurance.
• Having a tick embed itself in my back in freezing February.
• Behavior problems in Chinook emerging.
• Serious behavior problems in Chinook blossoming.
• Behaviorist telling me to euthanize him.
• Trying to find another home for him and instead finding a dead dog.
• Getting my second paycheck only to find that a big chunk was left out accidentally and my tax withholding is all wrong, resulting in shortfall of over $1000.
• A flying rock cracking my windshield.
• Realizing that the grass is not necessarily greener and watching my old job be chopped up into pieces.
• Seeing my old employer having to lay off 200 people and implement a hiring freeze, thus ending any fantasy I might have of returning anytime soon.

Let's see - what am I leaving out? I guess this will have to do it for now.

Catching you (and me) up!

It is hard to believe that it has been almost two weeks since my last post. Let's see - what has happened...Well, the biggest thing is that I moved to a great 1200 sq ft log cabin in Candler, NC, about 20 minutes from my sister's place. Since then, I have been very focused on getting it "set up" with furniture, rugs, kitchen stuff, etc. And, since I pretty much have no money, doing that as cheaply as possible. I got an amazing pepto bismal pink sectional sofa completely FREE off Craigslist. Sam & Geri were fabulous about helping me - from borrowing a truck to loading the thing up to driving 40 mph down the highway to bringing it in the house to thrusting one of the pieces up the skinny steps to the loft! THANK YOU! Then, I found an awesome Oriental rug at Goodwill for $40. It was nasty dirty, covered with dog hair and smelly. I worked on it for about two hours with some Arm & Hammer cleaner and a high powered vacuum. Now it looks great.

The moving thing has been great for the dogs, especially Chinook. We've got 11 acres for him to romp on, go sniffing and chasing. Since we moved (it's been a week), he only half-growled at me one time and it was when I gave him the dirtiest stare-down look I could muster. Then, yesterday, I had him by the collar when a co-worker showed up with her dog outside the fenced yard. He became very riled up and I had to put him in his crate. Still, he's only been here a week and we've been through such a hard time that I think it's normal for him to be protective. I had made an agreement with him that we would try things out for a month in our new place before anymore decisions were made. I'm still taking him to obedience and we had a bit of a rough go of it last class with him getting snippy with another dog. I corrected him with his pinch collar on but one of the teachers came over and told me I was being too wimpy with him, that he was a big dog, could become aggressive at times, etc. With that, I burst into tears. The poor woman was so shocked. She said, "I didn't think I was that mean - I was trying to be helpful." I tried to explain to her all we've been through lately with Chinook barely escaping with his life. She seemed to understand and referred me to the owner whom, she said, is very good with "aggressive dogs."

I'm coming to absolutely hate that term. The power of that label strikes fear in the hearts of all who hear it. What does that even mean? I can really start to relate to clients who's lives have been powerfully impacted by labels that they were given, say, in medical charts, which never ever go away. Words like bipolar, schizophrenic, learning disabled and such. Those words are really for the benefit of those who use them and not at all for the ones who have them stamped onto their virtual foreheads. And, a lot of it is my fault because of the ways that I've used the word "aggressive" to describe him. He has shown some aggressiveness in some of his behaviors. That's much different that saying he is flat out "aggressive." It's the difference between saying, "he's schizophrenic" versus "he has schizophrenia." As if, in the former, that word completely defines who that person is. Same with Chinook. Is he "aggressive"? He's so much more than that - smart, loving, attentive, curious, has good stays-near-me-off-leashness. Enuf of this. You get the point.

The other thing that's been going on is that our work has truly gone mobile. As part of my mobile crisis work last week, I had to drive to Murphy, NC two days in a row. Now, there is nothing inately wrong with Murphy. It is just F-A-R away, either through a narrow gorge or over several large mountains, about 2 hours from Asheville. Although it is an absolutely beautiful drive either way, I am very concerned about ending my 12 1/2 hr shift there and having to drive all the way back to Candler from there. The shifts are so long and it is soooo far away, that I end up completely exhausted. It could and probably will happen that I'll get home at 10:30 pm only to turn around and have to leave again at 6:30 am. Thank goddess it is only three days in a row. The challenge is that we are pretty much "it" when it comes to mental health and substance abuse care access is that very rural area (although there are some areas that are much more remote - up "hollers," without electricity and with dirt floors - true Appalachia - but I haven't seen them yet).

I was pretty miserable and, actually somewhat hysterical on Tuesday. I feel trapped after having given up my perfect situation in Seattle to come out here where there are few jobs and those that there are pay horribly. I've found the best of the best, pretty much. And, my Seattle job is gone....for now. So, I've decided to reframe the whole thing: it's not a job, it's an immersion-based internship in a rich and beautiful cultural & geographic environment.

The Legend of the Cherokee Curse

Maybe it's true. It sure seems like it. I've lost count of all the difficult things that have happened since deciding to move to NC, not to mention what's happened since I've been here (did I mention that Allstate wants to cancel my homeowner's on the place in Seattle cuz they don't like the roof "waves;" also a rock cracked my windshield yesterday AND my payroll deductions are all screwed up so I am hundreds of dollars shorter than I expected to be, etc, etc.)

My sister & BIL's friend Michael told me that after the Cherokee were forced to move to the West side of the state by the White Man, that they put a curse on the Blue Ridge Mountains in the Asheville area saying that all newcomers would have to endure many hardships. If, after the first year - 18 months they manage to stick it out, things will improve. I need to research this a little bit.

One very positive and exciting thing has happened: I found a lovely log cabin about 10 miles from where my sister lives. It is two stories, about the double the size of my house in Seattle, surrounded by 11 acres of rolling landscape. I can see Mt. Pisgah from the yard. The downstairs floors are all flagstone & the house is surrounded by apple & cherry trees. We move in next week. I hope and pray that no danger will befall us in our efforts to move in. I plan to do some smudging and gonging to clear and sweeten the energy. I can't wait to move!

A Story

The mud glopped up above the tops of the mud flaps as the car weaved, rocked and bucked it's way through it. Her thoughts were loose, fluttering from the ridiculous to the sublime; from, "Where is the Subaru TV commercial film crew when you need them - they oughta see this" to "How can I possibly leave him?" Words played over and over in the tape loop through her brain: The prognosis is poor; the prognosis is POOR, THE PROGNOSIS IS POOR! "How can that be - he's just a little puppy," she thought.

Yesterday morning, it has seemed like an adventure, loading the dogs up in the car in the bright morning sunshine and starting out into the mountains of Western North Carolina. Driving through the solid rock that had been blasted out just large enough for a narrow 4-lane roadway, 6 foot icicles hung from the cliff faces and hawks circled overhead. Rising, rising, emerging just shy of Gatlinburg into the big blue skyness of it all.

But that was yesterday. Today is was about finding a place for this Tasmanian Devil-of-a-Dog, so sweet and warm one minute, growling and threatening her the next. She wasn't sure if it would be temporary (hopefully) or permanent (the mere thought of it caused her eyes to swell with tears and her heart to ache).

They could hear all the dogs before they saw them. As they rounded the bend up toward the house, there were wire "settlements" of dogs in every corner of the yard - 10 down front, 5 out to the side, 20 or so out back - every one of them barking, BARKING! It was hard to think with all the noise. Her head spun as she tried to focus on each individual Catahoula, the same breed as hers. "They are a very primitive breed," the behaviorist had said with not-well-masked distain in her voice. "Whatever were you thinking when you decided to get a Catahoula??," she had asked, scolding her subtley.

She walked around the property as if in a fog, noticing empty water dishes, feces and gerry-built kennels sided with corrugated metal sheets, grating, fencing and a smattering of uneven wood pieces. It was if the sheer cost of feeding this many dogs was the only priority - the only goal that could be met. "Can I possibly leave him here?," she wondered for the 100th time. One smallish Catahoula female with a gentle face and demeanor came up to her, licking her hand and sitting in greeting. Then, without warning, she got up and trotted off the middle of the yard, sniffing something in the air and placing herself as if on watch several feet away from the object. The woman followed then saw it: a dead Catahoula with a gaping neck wound, flies buzzing, so utterly still that it seemed to be melding with the contours of the earth.

The earth began to spin and her eyes fogged up. She stumbled down the muddy slope back to the car. As if in a nightmare, she slowly maneuvered the car around and began the long journey back home, puppy on board. She had been given a clear message to help her decide what to do. And, for now, he had been spared.