Tom stopped by the Newcastle park on the way home from work. He said some of it was old, some of it was nice, and he couldn’t find his way to the house that was for sale. Still, he saw enough to know it was worth contacting the realtor. He emailed her tonight.

He drove through it at about 15 MPH, windows down, at 5:00 in the afternoon yet never heard a single bark. If they were allowed to store dogs outdoors there, they certainly would’ve been going ballistic at that hour. The park itself is kind of old and not nearly as fancy as the CH park, but very rural-like. There are lakes and streams running through it and it appears to be surrounded by farmland. It is also on a series of steep hills, so if we got into this place, the roof of the house in back of us would be level with our floor.

It wasn’t the one we thought it was at the end of a dead-end, but our guess is that only about 10 neighbors would drive by it. So… if your average person comes and goes about 3 times a day and has company 3-5 times a week, that means about 56 trips in and out per household per week. That’s almost more than the lazy freeloaders had in a day or two.

The more I look at the house pics, the more I like it. There are no vents above the bedroom doors to let light in when I’m sleeping during the daytime. It has both central heat/AC. The kitchen sink is porcelain and not stainless steel which I’d prefer since I can’t seem to keep stainless steel looking shiny and new no matter what I clean it with. The countertops are gorgeous. The bathroom sinks aren’t raised, making them easier to clean, but we would have to install sliders on the tubs and replace what appears to be old single-paned windows. I don’t care for the paneling, but the paneling is very light so it’s not that bad, and if I had to go with neutral carpet, light tan is what I’d go with because things wouldn’t clash with it as much as browns and blues would. Things like couches or drapes with printed patterns, or walls we may decide to paper or paint.

The place comes with a dishwasher, garbage disposal, range, fridge, shingled roof and window treatments. Not sure if a washer/dryer is included or not.

Love how there are carports running along both sides of the place. I can envision hanging lots of wind chimes along them. I’m looking forward to the little things like decorations, besides the big things.

Tom found more info on the park and they do have pet restrictions. Now it’s going to come down to what kind of internet service we could get, assuming the house doesn’t sell by then or that we get rejected. The place is really starting to look ideal. So much so that I fear God will stop us and see to it that we’re denied a loan and maybe even getting into the park. It is a bit pricey for a 1977 model that’s barely over 1100 square feet, so we’re sort of bordering on being turned down. On the bright side, God can’t stop us forever. All He can do is delay us. But sooner or later our numbers are going to be right on and in our favor.

Later…

When I see how much Tom did for his mother upon reading back in old journals and how much time and money we lost on account of the selfish bitch, then think of how she coldly dumped us in Oregon for daring to ask for help, I get so mad. I just get so damn mad. I am utterly appalled by the way she so casually dropped us, mostly because we were no longer useful tools to be used to gain in her favor once we were 1100 miles away. Tom acts like it’s nothing, but it’s gotta hurt somewhat. He did so, so much for that woman. I hope her final moments are hell. I seethe with rage when I think about the whole situation. Even her other kids, who could easily contact us if they really wanted to, cease to give a shit. I don’t know why either. Mary’s been a problem, but David and Steven were never a problem, and of course poor Ray is dead. Anyway, fuck them and anyone else that doesn’t give a shit about us. There are enough people out there that DO care and they’re the ones worth focusing on. Tom and others weren’t kidding when they said that the family may not be abusive or close-knit, but it could be as selfish and as uncaring as any stranger on the street could be.

The more I think about his family (and a few others) the angrier I get. Life is going too well right now and we have too many happy things to look forward to rather than focus on them or any other negative people we thought gave a damn about us, but I will say this much first and that’s that she’s the prime reason I hate to ask for help. Yes, it’s wonderful to know people care about us enough to want to help us if we needed it, and yes, if you would house and feed us if we were homeless till we got on our feet, you’re a definite true friend, but I’d still rather not ask unless it came down to do or die. Ok, enough of Marge and poverty. We ain’t going back there no matter how much God may hate us.

Later…

Although common for dream premonitioners to have dry spells, I’m hoping the lack of “serious” moving dreams means the dream prems have stopped. How nice it would be to have a nightmare, wake up and write it off as just that, rather than know it was a sign of trouble ahead!

I like to document as many dreams as I can remember, no matter how silly, trivial and meaningless they may seem. Like “Nervous” coming back to life and asking if I wanted to join him at the IHOP.

The weirdest dream was the one where Tom and I were on the road late at night. The digital clock on the dash read 2:38. We were heading out to eat at a 24-hour diner. I noticed the sky brightening and said, “Am I imagining it or is it really getting light out when it’s not even 3 in the morning?”

He said, “No, it’s getting lighter.”

I was surprised at just how fast the sun came up, too.

In the last dream, I remember, I was at some large indoor pool, sort of like what the JCC had that I’d go to as a kid. There were maybe about 30 people at and around the pool, including my mother who sat by the deep end in a beach chair. She eyed me critically and judgmentally, much as she loved to do when she was alive, though I hadn’t seen her since 1997. I climbed onto the diving board and did the perfect swan dive. Everybody applauded but Mom. I have absolutely no doubt in my mind that she wouldn’t have in real life either, for instead of being proud of me, she’d have been seething with jealousy instead.

I have often referred to my late mother as “the poodle” because of her fondness for that particular breed of dog. Her poodles meant EVERYTHING to her. Much more than her children and husband. She would have tossed her prized possessions into a pit of fire for those mutts. Probably even paraded around town naked barking like one of them if that’s what she had to do to save them.

On top of her placing her dogs above friends and family, she rarely praised or complimented her kids. Why? Because she wasn’t as smart as they got to be and this made her jealous. Yeah, I’m ashamed to have to say so, but the poodle was not only selfish, mean, negative and abusive, but she wasn’t very bright either and was often envious, if not downright jealous, of other people’s accomplishments. Instead of trying to achieve a certain ability for herself that she may’ve envied about someone else, she found it easier not to discuss it and to steer the conversation away from anything that might’ve made her jealous.

I may not be the smartest person on earth and I may have many shortcomings, but I had/have abilities she never had and I know it really bothered her and only served to make her feel even dumber. Instead of being proud, she was jealous.

I went from a shitty singer to a fairly decent one. What did she have to say about that? Nothing. Nothing at all.

I learned 5 languages and came to be able to read some of a few others. What did she think about that? Not a thing.

I won several writing contests. What did she say about it? Not a word.

I could skate, dance and play a little guitar and piano, yet she didn’t care.

I suppose I’d be a touch embarrassed too, if I had a daughter that could do a number of things that I couldn’t do myself, but I’d still feel much more proud than jealous.

She did sort of mutter a pleasantly surprised “oh,” when I told them both I published a book for Kindle users, but she never asked for any details, and as far as I know, only my dad read it.

When I last saw my parents in Arizona, I sat between them on the couch and showed them my sketchbook. Through other artist’s tips and books, I got to be ok at it. Like my singing, it was mediocre at best, but if I hadn’t gotten bored with it, I probably could’ve developed it a lot more. Still, I could draw and it was a fun hobby for a while back when I would keep in touch with people regularly via postal mail and would decorate their envelopes. Getting back to the point, my dad made various comments as I flipped through the drawings. My mother, on the other hand, never uttered a word. I could smell the jealousy like one can smell the smoke of a burning building. It was almost tangible.

Jealousy is something I could never understand. No one can have it all. No one can do it all. But if you’re envious or jealous of someone for something they can do, why not try to see if you can do it for yourself instead of wasting time with feelings of jealousy? Yes, my brain is wired for language learning. I don’t know how or why, but it is. Meanwhile, although my brain can’t process numbers very easily this doesn’t mean I can’t study and learn if I ever was interested in things involving numbers. I may not get very good at it, but I could still try.

Her other daughter is a genius with numbers and probably could’ve saved them from falling into debt in the end. But the poodle was too blind to recognize her daughter’s money skills to care and to be able to ask for help.

Now I’m going to go do some working out and if she’s looking down on me, she can then be jealous that she didn’t have a body like mine at 47, even though I could stand to lose 20 lbs.