Where’s the MEAT!

Brad is busy building a house. He’s out literally from dawn to well past dusk renovating (tearing down?) a summer cabin and building anew in a flurry of activity to get it done and livable by Thanksgiving. Before we’re buried in snow so deep that they won’t find our frozen bodies until well into spring.

I’m inside the rv in my own flurry of activity – but mine is more the mental rather than physical type. I’m on the computer, off and on, until I go to bed. I’ve never been a manual labor type but even so, my mental fatigue is every bit as real as someone else’s physical exhaustion.

Brad
Me

Same, but different.

Breakfast has always been a “whatever you want” meal, each on our own. I don’t do breakfast. I can’t cook first thing. I have coffee, half a bagel, and wait until the electrons start firing. I have no problem making the “main meal” but I am certainly not interested in cooking full gourmet fare three times a day. Or even twice. We eat Mediterranean style, so our main “supper” is done in the afternoon. And the evening meal, if you are still hungry (which I’m normally not) it’s a sandwich, salad, or leftovers. Easy, light and thrown together quickly.

When I was overloaded on the computer, Brad would sometimes take pity and take me somewhere, anywhere as long as I didn’t have to cook, or clean up afterwards.

Here in the woods, all bets are off.

One of the biggest obstacles for a writer is interruptions. This goes for anyone who has to write anything for a living – I do marketing full time and writing part time. Both involve searching for the right words, put together the right way.

When Brad takes a break, he wants to eat. IMMEDIATELY. And for me, I’m in the middle of doing numbers and writing prose and I look up and think “oh, shit it’s 1 p.m. and the beast will be arriving soon wanting something in his mouth within 10 seconds flat.”

If I had my crock pot (which is still packed away with all my summer clothes, which doesn’t matter now because summer is heading out the door here in Montana) I’d throw a bunch of stuff in it and call it supper. I don’t. So I don’t.

But I”m getting better. I’ve started a bit of planning at breakfast, and by the time Brad gets himself into beast mode, I have a healthy, filling and delicious meal to last him the rest of the day.

Unfortunately, that’s good in theory but not in practice. After I prep, cook, and clean up, I have to jump back on the computer. And by that time, I’m elbow deep into emails, promos, planning, not to mention my promise to blog about the construction process of the home. I promised Brad I’d do that. Even though I have no idea about the process. So I sound like an idiot and make it up as I go along. A promise is a promise after all. I never promised it would be good. So my hope was that the huge afternoon meal would suffice. Silly girl.

Last week, I was horrendously busy doing bookings, loading information on several booking engines, updating social media, answering phone queries … that I had literally grown roots in front of my computer. I forgot to brush my teeth. I hadn’t looked at a mirror all day. My neck and shoulders were stiff, my back hurt and my knees locked up from inertia. I was an aching, rigid, drained yet over caffeinated mess. A mess without a plan.

So that I don’t sound like a complete whiner, I do understand. Brad works harder than anyone I know. He’s out there doing sweaty stuff. Felling trees, lumber milling, peeling logs, digging holes, filling them with concrete, building and installing floor joists. By the way, I just actually learned what a joist was. I had a vague idea, but now I actually know. Brad? He’s a regular Paul Bunyan. And of course, he is starving when he walks in the door. Whereas I’m so worked up, stressed and trying to hit my deadlines that food is the last thing on my mind.

He walked in, looked around and asked “what’s for dinner?” Mind you, he had three huge burritos only a few hours earlier and I thought it would fill up the gnawing ache in is belly. I had one and I would have vomited if I put any other food in my mouth until breakfast.

He started rooting in the fridge, pulling out the egg carton. And then I stepped into it. I asked, innocently enough “you’re going to have eggs? Again? You had 2 eggs for breakfast.”

I had awakened the hibernating bear.

“Well, what am I supposed to eat? There’s no lunch meat, or anything!”

I offered to make a salad, and he informed me that he needed PROTEIN. Again, trying to appease, I said that we had some cooked beans. A good protein!

“BEANS? You expect me to eat BEANS? I need MEAT!”

I was scared, so I let him eat his eggs.

I then vowed that I would do a more Biblical job of feeding the hungry, so started, of course, looking on Facebook. And found an article by a doctor, a cardiologist no less, on the best forms of protein. And so it went …

Mind you, this is one of those annoying videos that you have to sit through to get the answer, and then you’ll have to give up your email and then you’ll be stalked until you give up and get a different email address.

But the doctor set out the protein options starting with the first – cow. Cow is good. NO cow is bad – move on to pig.

Pig could be good, but it’s not. It’s not the ‘other white meat” so don’t be fooled. Chicken is the best bet.

Except it’s not because out of all the protein, fish is the healthiest. Yes. I love fish. We love fish. We can do fish … except

There is too much mercury in fish. It’s not healthy. The best form of protein is BEANS.

We do beans! And legumes! I make a great bean soup and a killer bean, veggie and rice burrito. SAVED. Except

Beans are bad. They used to be good until this doctor found out how bad they are. They have lectins. Lectins can destroy your body. Last thing you want is a lectin messing with you!

At this point the video is winding down, and I’m thinking, if one more person tells me that beets are so good for me, I’m going to grab my Italian Mama wooden spoon and go after the backs of their thighs.

But wait. Dr. Feelgood has the answer. And all I need to do is grab it, and put it on a plate for Brad. Protein. The best ever protein. TWO CHOICES EVEN!

Wait for it …. drumroll please ….

Spirulina and Chlorella!

YUMMY

S

And, if you’re not sure how to prepare these amazing forms of the best protein ever, the good doctor has just the spirulina and chlorella shake that has your name on it. And he will sell it to you for the price of $19.95 plus shipping and handling. I’m dragging out my credit card as we speak.

Yesterday I went to the store. I bought chicken and hamburger and tuna and beans and pork. Today I put together meals enough for a week, and stuck them in the freezer. So we have taco and burrito guts, pasta toppings, chicken sandwich fixings, and pulled pork at the ready.

Because, when I go and meet my new primary care physician, and she inevitably asked me “do you feel safe in your home” i won’t have to say “no. I do not feel safe in my home.” Because I have learned my lesson. Never, under any circumstances, do you poke an angry lion.

Zillow lies … and other fables

Armed with our RV packed with 2 adults, 2 big labs, and a reams of paper printed from Zillow on the perfect pieces of heaven, we drove off to look for America.

At first I was smitten and wanted to look at all the small towns that dotted north central Washington. The names drew me – Tonasket, Chewalah, Metalline Falls, Oroville, Okanogan, Loomis. They looked adorable. Small and picturesque. Friendly!

I could live here!

I joked with Brad that perhaps the Alaskan Bush Family, who moved there, could help him build his dream log house. And he could be on TV! YAY!

They were small. And far away. From anything. Remembering last year when Brad was butchering chickens and somehow forgot that it was the chickens he was butchering, and not his forearm, which resulted in me tearing down the highway to get him to the nearest hospital for his gazillion stitches, leaving me to bag up 50 warm chickens … AND knowing that the closest large hospital in north central Washington was 3 hours away from these cute small towns, I decided to pass.

And Eastern Washington gets hot. Like really hot. Like hot, desert hot. I don’t do hot. I don’t sweat. So we tossed those Zillow sheets in the trash.

Brad loved Montana. I swore I’d never live in Montana. I pictured myself living amongst survivalist Mountain Men. Guys stashed in shacks with double aught shotguns pointed out a ripped screen of the front window whilst spitting tobacco into a spittoon on the front porch with a banjo playing the sound track from Deliverance in the background.

Howdy, Neighbor! Welcome to Montana!

But, in doing further research, I stumbled upon Missoula Montana. Missoula! Missoula had upscale shops. Missoula had downtown flair. Missoula had a 5 star French restaurant. I can do Montana. I can live amongst the smart and trendy!

With glee, practically rubbing his hands together, Brad put together about 100 properties in Montana. All the while telling me how much he loved me and my adventurous spirit. We could have it all – in Montana.

We spent weeks going through the Zillow sheets. One property topped both of our lists. We knew we had a limited budget and this came in below it. Brad wanted to build, but this one had a building we could comfortably live in while he spent time building his dream log cabin. It had water, power, it was on a river, it had 20 wooded acres. It was PERFECT.

20.17 ACRES OF TIMBERLAND WITH A SEPTIC, POWER, WELL & DOUBLE DETACHED 32′ x 36′ GARAGE. READY TO BUILD YOUR DREAM HOME IN WESTERN, MONTANA. REMOVE A FEW TREES & YOU’LL HAVE FANTASTIC RIVER VIEWS! SEVERAL YARD HYDRANTS & A FEW OUTBUILDINGS FOR MORE STORAGE. GARAGE IS APPROX. 90% INSULATED WITH 220 AMP SERVICE, 10′ DOORS & A WORKBENCH. HOT TUB INCLUDED! “

Our perfect Montana Eden

As we crossed over the border of Montana, I begged Brad to stop, first, to see our dream property. It had everything on our check list! Timber, woods, river, a place to live, and a hot tub to boot!! I wanted to look before someone would swoop that up. It was gorgeous.

Until it wasn’t. As we drove across the small country road that backed the property, we came to the next door neighbors. The neighbors who shared a common chicken wire fence with.

Oh, hello, we are your new neighbors. Can we borrow a cup of sugar?

Something that Zillow neglected to mention – your next door neighbors are hoarders. But it’s OK, just plant some trees and you’ll be fine.

When we arrived, I looked at Brad and said “this can’t be it.” Because, it was not on a river. Or close to a river. And you couldn’t just “cut some trees” to get a river view. Because the trees were not on your property. The river was not on your property. But what WAS on your property was a railroad track. Yeah, the house sit right by a functional railroad track.

Welcome home. Don’t mind the mess. And grab your dinnerware because the train’s a’comin’

To top it off, the 20 acres were not. There were about 2. The rest were up the mountain. Unusable unless you wanted to raise mountain goats. And never wanted to see them again.

“Let’s not be discouraged. Let’s explore Montana. We’re not on a timeline, so let’s just drive around.”

And we did, and I discovered Whitefish. I could live here! These people could be my people! I loved this town! Whitefish is calling to me, and I NEED to live here! It’s at the entrance of my absolute favorite national park. It’s a sign!

Yep. My view, My town.

We tossed through our Zillow sheets and found one (only one) listing that was within our budget. Whitefish is not a budget town. Whitefish is where the rich and famous come to play. So buying the worst house on the best street has GOT to be an investment, right?

Armed with the Zillow stats, we contacted the listing agent and took the drive to our cabin in the woods.

Cute, eh?

Pictures showed a cute wooden cabin. Pictures showed log interior that was cozy and oozing with charm. Pictures lie. Zillow lies.

So the house, on first glance, looked great. But upon entering (which took several tries by the realtor to try to shoulder into the door. Because the concrete foundation had somehow moved from under the house, to over the bottom of the house) the interior was more like this:

Yeah. I think the floor is slightly uneven

Not only could you roll a marble from one end to the other at breakneck speed, but what was equally troubling was the fact that there was a bathtub inside the living room. Inside. The. Living. Room. Is that considered entertainment for guests? Who bathes out in the open in full view of everyone? Oh, wait …

I wanted to go home. Unfortunately, there was no going home. There was no going back. There was only adventures ahead. And I wanted no part in it. And, I’m seriously considering suing Zillow for intentional infliction of emotional distress.