Deus, in adjutorium meum intende. Domine, ad adjuvandum me festina.
O God, come to my assistance. O Lord, make haste to help me.
It has been quite awhile - again - since I posted anything. So much has been going on around here, and the hot, humid Texas weather has beaten me down a bit. I even managed to catch a bug that left me with a bronchial cough that I thought would never go away. However, it did, and I began to think of the reasons we moved from my native California to the wilds of East Texas.
So, my number three child, number two daughter, recently divorced and with fairly limited means, wisely discerned that life in the once Golden State was entirely too expensive. Having been calculating my own fixed old age income, I came to the same conclusion. She had always planned on caring for little ole' me when the time came; and it seemed that the time had come. However, who was to take care of whom became a twist of fate for a time. That's a subject for another post.The internet is a marvelous tool at times. My daughter began to research states with warm climes and friendly costs of living. Arizona? Nevada? Alaska ? (ha ha ha), Idaho? - wellll, Texas? TEXAS?
We had a few musts. It must be warm. It must have "reasonable" (read less expensive) housing costs. it must have trees. It must have at least a medium-sized city for necessities. And for me, perhaps most important, there must be a traditional Catholic Latin Mass church nearby.
With searches and eliminations we did decide on Texas. East Texas looked promising. My Priestly Fraternity of St. Peter society of priests, whom I grew to love and respect at St. Stephen the First Martyr Parish in Sacramento, had an apostolate in a city called, Tyler. We saw that Tyler was in the Piney Woods area, even better, and that it had much to offer.
My daughter's real estate agent in California put her in touch with an agent in Tyler. The two of us flew to Dallas and rented a car for the almost two hour drive to Tyler. It was in May, warm, but not sultry at the time. We wanted to get the "lay of the land." Note: Dallas is the most frustrating city it has ever been our misfortune to navigate. Whew!
We spent five days looking at various properties in and around Tyler. We intended to bring my number two child, number one daughter, with us. She is a talented painter, sculptor, jewelry maker - anything artistic - and has the green thumb in the family. Her several disabilities made it necessary to find just the right house, where she could have some independence, but where she could be secure.
Almost four acres? You're kidding! What will we do with all that area? Wait! I could have some chickens. We didn't need a play yard with playhouse, slide, swings and tree house - or a tennis court - but the price was right. The house is huge, with two master suites and an attached apartment with small living area, bedroom and bath. The apartment is perfect for our third member and her penchant for spreading arts and crafts everywhere. Her son, my grandson, came along in the end. He hadn't been able to find work and we couldn't leave him stranded. He has been a godsend in some ways. There's a lot of heavy lifting to be done around here and chores that we can't accomplish on our own. Under my daughter's tutelage he got his driver's license, found work, took some classes at Tyler Junior College, and will be returning for some general education brush-ups.
Lindale is the small town in which this property sits, about twenty minutes from downtown Tyler, very rural, but with all the day to day necessities, including a Walmart and Lowe's. I think what made us sure that we made the right decision was our attending Sunday Mass at St. Joseph the Worker Chapel, about twenty minutes from the house. For one, the chaplain (now pastor, as the chapel has become a growing parish) is a no-nonsense preacher and devout celebrant of the traditional Mass.
But the kicker came after Mass. A lovely couple, who were to become good friends, welcomed us, asked where we hailed from, and introduced us to a younger couple, my daughter's age. The husband asked, "What part of California do you come from?" My daughter told him that she lived on the Central Coast, but that she was born in Orange, in Southern California. "Really, so was I. What hospital?" "St. Joseph's." "So was I!" What year were you born?" "1956." "So was I. What month?" "October." "So was I! What day?" "The 21st." "I was born the 18th!" It came out that he and my daughter both were the third of nine children, she had twins and he had married a twin. We have come to call them the twins. He and his wife call her "Sis," and I'm the Mom he never knew he had. It was just so bizarre, we thought it must be a sign.
My daughter stayed with me at my house in Grass Valley until she moved to Texas in July. Her things were in storage. When the time came, I drove with her to Texas in her car. It took us three days driving about 12 hours a day. Ugh! We stayed in a local motel the first night and the moving van arrived the next morning. I stayed for a few days to help get some of the things unpacked then flew home. I had to get my things together, unload my other daughter's mobile home rental and hoped my house would sell. It did not, and sat vacant for almost a year after I moved. The real estate marked was abysmal. the mobile home was old, not worth anything, and I signed it over to the Park.
My number five child, number three daughter, had a week left of vacation before her job resumed for the school district. She drove her truck with a lot of our "stuff," and green thumb daughter's prized plants. I drove her, grandson, my very large white German Shepherd and her small parrot. What a fun trip! Three days on the road with stops at motels that accepted pets. Yikes! However, we made it, sanity intact.
It was three years today, August 6, 2010, that I arrived here. I have my chickens, more than I originally planned to have. We have raised with various success and failures some vegetables and blueberries. We are a work in progress; we love it here and we love the people, y'all.
8/6/13
No comments:
Post a Comment