1. Crazy Biz-ness Plan.
The thing about being a small town, general practice lawyer is that I get to see it all. In a few short months I have spoken in Superior Court, briefed the Law Court, re-poed a truck on a cold winter night from the deserted house of a deceased man whose estate I represent, and, most recently, driven to an out of the way roadside pizza joint in an off the grid town to exchange papers with a potential client and notarize his signature. This is good stuff. The sometimes high minded, slightly bizarre, hardly a cubicle, always on your toes kind of stuff. What I realized this morning is that it might be slightly bizarre and a little off kilter not because of the line of work that I chose, but because of the man for whom I work. That man is none other than my father.
My father called up this morning at 8:30 and said, "Do you and TT have time for me to stop by and talk about a business plan?" (TT is my absolutely lovely, patient, and wonderful boyfriend. I'll call him TT because that is how my dad referred to him this morning - his role in this about to be revealed business scheme scheme is to provide the Time and the Talent - oh boy). Dad-o stops by merely 15 minutes later (did I mention that I live a mile away from ye olde padres?) and requests eggs. I am still clad in my incredibly sexy morning barn cleaning sweat suit ensemble- tres chic - and we are out of eggs. "Why don't you have any eggs? You don't keep 'em? You don't eat 'em?" "No, Dad, actually, we eat them often which is why we just ran out." "Oh, well in that case, TT, you get in the car and we'll go get some eggs at my house while Farm Girl gets dressed for work." And with that, before protest or raised eyebrows, they were gone. By the time they returned with two cups full of eggs which TT began to scramble-as-only- a -daughter's-boyfriend-who-lives-with-her-before-marriage can scramble when her father requests scrambled eggs, Dad explained the plan. "Even though we don't really have any money right now (recession and all), we can get enough that I think we should go buy a couple of houses at auction. Then TT can fix them up, sell them, and we'll share the profits. There are a bunch of auctions on Friday and Saturday, I want to move now." Oh boy, in addition to lawyering and farmering, we're about to start flipping that house to boot!
A full work day interrupted by some web-touring of $1,000.00 houses with questionable paint jobs and potentially nonfunctional heating systems later, this plan is likely coming to pass. Even though the one house is on X street and when we asked our secretary at work where X street was she immediately laughed "Troll Hole! Right down by the crackhouse on the corner." Of course - now that she said that a certain windowless tavern popped into mind. That's the one.
Long story short, today is Wednesday. On Friday and Saturday TT and I will very likely be bidding on a very cheap house or three. And that just sort of goes with this wild life I lead. More than likely, it is simply because I'm receptive to odd and fascinating situations that I seem to attract them. That and my family promotes them. Maybe that's why it seems so natural for me to be living this otherwise strange life.
2. My benevolent grandfathers.
The trustees. More on them later, but I met with them today and they re-approved my plans after I resold them. It's amazing what having a "website" will do to convince people you know what you're doing. Ah the marketing game. In any case, they approved the continued funding of the partially finished riding arena without which the horse part of my own crazy biz-ness is sunk. Speaking of sunk, that's what the tractor was last fall. Sunk deep in the mud attempting to create a drainage system for the land on which the ring is to go. Somehow I fear spring won't be better. Mud season sounds more ominous than usual. But there has to be a way to create this ring. I'm going on faith in my benevolent grandpas, the engineer they hired, my tractor driving, gravel laying neighbor, and my stubborn insistence that the boggy part of the land is the only ring worthy space on the farm of large and flat enough proportions. No matter mother nature is against me.
3. "Give-up" pants.
This is a no brainer. In this quest for 30 by 30, I will start by refusing to eat any evening meals in give up pants! A friend jokingly referred to elastic waist pants as just that and sang their praises at the end of a long day - "Just throw on your give up pants and relax." But ooooh how deceptive they can be, and oohhhh what a bad idea. From now on, a simple start to the weight loss kick. Dinner in jeans. (another good chapter title!) Or a work suit or a nice dress so I can feel the potential damage done. No wonder urban ladies are so often more slim. They don't go to chili parties with 17 crock pots and people donning slippers (more on that later - it was lovely, but very much a give up pants kinda party).
THIS is a long bunch of nothing. Unedited. Organic like my to-be-planted-vegetables. And likely just as in need of weeding! The dog-puppy (kind of like man-boy) is chomping his chew flip in an unnaturally loud fashion and it is making me twitch. I must go distract him with other, less unpleasant sounding, things.
Goodnight,
Farm Girl
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