Ah, where do I begin? Let's break a trend and go with the ending.

I'm home in Little Rock, Boy Unit is snoozing in the recliner next to me like a grungy cat and there is only one more day of moving and packing. Whew—I can tell you there were days in the last week, nay fortnight, that I thought gasoline and matches were the answer.

I had known for a month or two that C wanted to come live here with me, and that I had decision to come to about the house in Houston.

R and I moved into that house in 1989 shortly after we were married, bought it a few years later and in the intervening years raised Boy Unit and Devil Child. Devil Child went to live with her mother after a terrible fight at the Mall. It was a screaming match I was never proud of and we could have probably moved on from the fights and the screaming matches eventually. But, when she called CPS after I wasn't buying the jeans she wanted (she had been warned that the trip was to get C a new pair of pants for the school play and we had limited funds, and there IS a point to this, be patient), it was the final straw. I called Southwest Airlines from the payphone at Sears made a reservation and put the child on an airplane to go live with her mother. Her father was wholeheartedly behind the deal. So C ended up living in the house pretty much his entire school career and about half of it as an only child. I spent few years trying to renovate the place, and R&I gutted the kitchen. He was working out of town, and I didn't know it at the time but it was a trial separation. He didn't bother to tell me that for a year or so. Since he was not there most of the time, I ended up with the main task of reassembling the kitchen. It was such a cool thing to be able to decide on exactly how you wanted everything, and make it that way yourself. I had a design (on paper with all dimensions to the quarter inch), and on the weekends when R would come home, he helped to re-route the water (a source of problems to this very day) and put in a window, and helped nail up sheet rock. He also gave me tips on installing electrical outlets and in the end he did a LOT of encouraging. He knew I could do it, and thought it was cool that I would tackle it myself. And I did. I installed the rest of the sheet rock, taped, floated and painted it. I installed cabinetry (pre-made with oak fronts) and stained and varnished them; I installed the outlets for the recessed fluorescent lighting, I installed the plumbing for the new sink, faucet and garbage disposal. I did hire out the tile on the floor (much to my disgust as I realized almost the day he laid it that I could that too). The one job I hired out that was very much well worth it was the new counter tops. They were beautifully done, and fit like a dream. All in all, this was a project that really made me part of who I am—I know that I can learn to do anything. I was already pretty handy and had a long history of furniture refinishing. That kitchen project was actually part of what spurred me to go back to school and get a degree in CS. I had some of my inheritance left, and I had to decide whether to spend it on the kitchen, or on something that was going to make me more money. I elected on school, but things didn't work out that exact way—the trim in the kitchen is still undone after 7 years. Since then I had to do repair work to keep it habitable, so I learned toilet installation, and retiled the shower. After I got divorced in 99, I got the house in a very amicable settlement.

So, besides being a place where I raised a fractured family, the house in Houston was also a place where I learned and grew. The house became action central when C was in high school, and I became friend and confidant to many of C's friends. They all hung out at the house—one day I came home, C had gone somewhere, and the gang was still at the house playing Nintendo and chilling. When I locked the door on Friday, it was the first time that door had been locked in nearly 5 years. They all knew if they needed to crash, they were welcome at any time.

The house was also in a position to become a very prime piece of real estate. Tillman Fertita (of Landry's restaurant fame) had purchased the entire Kemah waterfront, and land values were skyrocketing. I bought the house at a tax value of 33,500 and this year it was 45,000. It could only go up from there. I had much sage advice to keep the place. Let someone manage the property and rent it out, and just let the value continue to rise. There was much to be said for that plan, and I seriously considered it. But, the downside to that is whenever something would break, I would have to be responsible for repair, there were a lot of things that would have to be done to make it rentable, and frankly I was already worried about the repairs that I couldn't handle.

This was a big decision, and having C and his friends rent it from me had given me a taste of the landlords life. If I could have been in the same city to deal with things myself, I could have handled it, but it was 8 hours away by car, and I had a LOT of things to worry about already. The stress of dealing wth the new job, my health concerns and trying to make that decision was too much. I just couldn't handle it. My sister S decided that it was obvious that I was going to require help, that she took a week vacation to meet me in Houston and take charge. How humiliating and comforting all at the same time.

All of that came to a head a week ago Tuesday. I had been very prone to tears and would start fugue states where I just couldn't clear my mind and think straight. The Ativan wasn't cutting it. White Blood count was too low, and that didn't help my state of mind, so it was a shot on Tuesday to bring it up for chemo on Thursday. She gave me a new script for the big guns, Clonazepam. Controlled substance, written prescription only. Her suggestion was to get this, go home to bed and skip the rest of the day. The pharmacist took great pains to impress on me that this drug would affect me massively, and that there was NO driving, do NOT drink and for godsakes be CAREFUL. It was a very sobering speech. The chemo treatment allowed me to sit down for 6 hours uninterrupted and make some decisions about the house, what could be decided on once we got there, and what had to be decided in advance. I called the guy who had made me an offer on the house a few weeks back, and called the owner of the house next door that I was still responsible for, another concern since I was still technically landlord over there. It was time to cut the ties that bind, no point in having one foot in a new life if the other was firmly cemented to the old one. After chemo I went home and took my new drug and went to bed at 530pm. I slept until 9:30pm when the Devil Child called, and I chatted with her (more on this later) for a few minutes about her plans to come to Houston to help as well, then I went back to bed and didn't move again until 8AM.

I was so serene on Friday morning. I was my old calm cool collected self. What a relief! All day I finished up hanging projects at work, and I went to bed that night and slept like a dead log again. I've since decided that probably part of my problem had been low seratonin levels, as normally I sleep poorly and in very short periods. The ironic thing is I had a 'script for Terzepam I had never filled. Same family and its normal use is for sleeping. I'd had the answer in my pocket the whole time. Maybe.

Saturday the adventure really begins. I got to the house about 4:30pm, and my jaw hit the ground so hard I think I broke it. Oh. My. God. It was absolutely filthy. The floor hadn't been mopped since April, I think I was the last one to mop. There were broken beer bottles and other broken glass, dirty dishes all over the place, and trash everywhere. There were some boxes packed, and two of the rooms were mostly cleaned out to C's credit. When S got there about a half hour later I had already swept, but the first words out of her mouth were "My God, how can you live this way!?" It was 'Animal House' times twenty. Four doorframes were hanging off the wall, and one was in pieces. The garage was horrendous—the gas had been cut off 3 months prior, so there was no hot water and no dryer so the pile of laundry was huge, wet, dank and smelly. It was knee deep in trash, and crap. Gack.

We decided that the only thing to do was go to dinner. Cousins A & P had picked Devil Child up at the airport for me, and so we had a mini family reunion at the ONLY place to go—Mamacitas. We caught up, they had drinks, and I was the designated driver since I'd had chemo Thursday. We also decided that there was no way in hell or gods' green earth that we were sleeping in that place, and we went off to find a hotel room. The Microtel became our home for the next week. Great coffee, OK beds and Air Conditioning. C had never changed the air filter in the unit, so the condenser was trashed, and it poured water out of the wall when the AC was on, so we basically cleaned and packed with only the window unit in the living room on.

Sunday we started cleaning. Devil Child is a professional, she cleans vacant apartments for a living, and she attacked the bathrooms wth gloves and Clorox. Susie attacked the kitchen, and I attacked the back bedrooms. Monday in the afternoon S and I took ALL of the clothes to the laundry mat and did 10 loads of laundry. Tuesday I nailed all of the door frames back together and replaced a few tiles in one of the bedrooms. We cleaned, scraped and packed, rinsed and repeated daily until Wednesday. I went and picked up the truck in the morning, only to have the sucker refuse to start again about a half block from the house. I had a very very bad feeling about this. I went through the motions, and finally a repair guy came out to look at the truck. It was practically brand new. He talked my ear off about 9/11 (his daughters birthday), how he got started in the business, a run in with a Nigerian U-Haul franchisee who tried to stiff him for 500$ of work, and the eventual resolution to that. He cleaned and tightened the battery terminals, and advised me that the starter on the Triton V-10 (350 super duty engine) had the starter placed right next to the exhaust, and so the solenoids would get over heated. Just leave it running unless you had 45 minutes to let it cool. Whew—I had planned to tow C's truck just so I wouldn't have the possibility of a breakdown, and here the damn U-Haul was giving me fits already! It turned out fine; it ran like a champ the whole way.

I had asked the women I had worked with in Houston if they could scrounge me some help to load the truck on Wednesday evening, and they came though like heroes. I had exclusive use of one of them, three husbands, and a friend of A's that I had never even met. They came in like gangbusters and got that truck loaded and packed in about 4 hours. It was such a HUGE help. I started thinking about why they would be willing to do that, especially the man I had never met, and will never see again. It all boils down to Karma—you help people not only because it's the right thing to do, but because you hope that when your turn comes in your hour of need, other people will be there to do the same for you. After this week was over I had even more to ruminate on about karmic fate.

Thursday we finished packing and loading the last bits on the truck, and final cleaning. S and I mopped the entire house twice with a heavy duty cleaner and Clorox. It took us two hours to scrape up 8 months of spilled beer, cat crap and god knows what else.

Friday came and we had a problem. One of C's cats refused to be caught. I went and got his truck put on the trailer and came back, and it was decided that after about 4 hours that Killer wasn't going to be coming to AR with us this time. I had to come back to close on the house, I would try and get him then. We had to get home Friday, plus Tropical Storm Fay had formed in the Gulf of Mexico, and the weather was worsening by the minute. S followed me to AR, and C went to visit his girl friend in Nacodoches one last time.

The drive was fine, it took us about 10 hours to make the drive due to the weather and traffic in Houston. Friday night turned out to be very interesting. Just as we drove up to the house, a man approached us with a story that his baby needed some formula, and he didn't know what kind, etc., etc. I fully recognized the fact that it was a con, but in the light of the last week, I thought hell, maybe it's the truth. And he did have a good story, so I gave him some cash and took him where he needed to go. Thinking that was over, I left the front door unlocked so C could get in when he finally arrived. Damn if the guy didn't come back about 1 am with another story. This time it was a prescription need, and I took him off to the ATM and the $%^*& machine ate my debit card.

This was a sign from God that I needed to stop. I got a little cash from S, and told him that was all. He swore he was coming back in the morning to help us unload the truck, and I considered that he might even do it.

Damn if he didn't. 10AM and I had been awake 2 minutes, and he was back again. He said he and his friend were going to come back and clean up the yard. I allowed as how the grass hadn't grown a lick since I had it cut in June (really weird, that), and he asked for some more money. I told him there wasn't any more, that it was over. He accepted that gracefully and went on his way. In the end he only got about 28$, and if got something out of it, fine.

Saturday we dragged ourselves out again to go drop off the trailer, and unload the truck. I really thought it was going to take two days—it took us 2 days to load it. K was going to come help in the afternoon, but me, C & S got a storage place rented, the truck unloaded in 90 minutes and turned in. Amazing. Blew me away. We took a short break and took the stuff into the house that we needed immediately and were done and ready to just STOP at 3:00pm. We watched Smallville for the rest of the evening. Which is cool, because now I have a convert to watch the new season with. S & I went to the book store at 7pm (she needed a new book on tape for the trip back to FL.) and had a nice stroll through the furniture store in Dillards. The salesman was very nice and let us sit on every leather sofa in the store (more on this point later).

Today, Sunday. Wow. Just a little more re-arranging and another trip to storage and back and C is settled in. What a week! But, as they say—that which doesn't kill us makes us stronger. I managed to hold to the surgeon's instructions and not pick up anything over 25lb; the post-chemo haze was not too bad because I had people to rely on. Incredible.

A large part of that help came from the Devil Child. She has done a lot of growing up in the last few years, and being who she is, has made it abundantly clear that I was the most positive influence in her life. I am the smartest person she knows, and everything I ever told her came out to be the truth. I can't tell how relieved I am to hear that. She and I butted heads, and we are both pretty stubborn, but I never tried to blow smoke up her ass. Though she resented very much that I tried to make her do the right thing, I always knew that the traits that make difficult children are the same ones that make excellent adults. She and I have become pretty close over the last year, and I think she likes me better than she does her father. LOL He'll always be Dad, but I get to be friends with someone who is quite dynamic, and a lot of fun. We got a huge laugh one morning. The little breakfast bar at the hotel had a toaster, coffeemaker and some milk and cereal laid out every morning. She had mentioned she wanted a piece of toast, and I'm standing in front of the toaster and I ask her "White or wheat toast."

She says, "I don't know why." She looks at me, "Uh, by the look on your face, I don't think you asked me why do we eat toast." We got a good laugh out of it. The whole week was spent laughing and making jokes and all of us really enjoyed each other's company. Another misheard statement came later in the week. We were walking out to the jeep, and I was on the other side, and S yelled "I hate my butt!". I answered her very calmly with a single word. "Liposuction."

"What?"

"Liposuction, for your butt."

"I said I hate Love bugs!" We cracked up, and "Liposuction" became the stock answer for all our troubles, and then we'd giggle. For those of you have never lived in the South, Love Bugs are small soft slow-flying beetles that stick on the windshield in a nasty way, and are generally mating in mid-flight. Hence the name.

We had other good times as well. Sunday night we went to dinner at Chili's and had dinner with the girls at WW. We had the most gorgeous, scrumptious waiter who looked just like Mel Gibson in "Road Warrior". We all wanted to take him home and wear him out in turns. We laughed and flirted with him, and then he turned out to be NINETEEN. LOL what a depressing thought. After dinner we went to see "My Big Fat Greek Wedding". What scream, very charming movie, and afterwards, Windex was the other solution to our woes. Heh, see the movie. Wait for cable or the video, as it's not a big screen movie, but still very much worth watching.

The house is still sitting in Houston, with a cat, hopefully weathering Fay with no problem. I am going to make a tidy sum from the sale, and so now I can afford to buy a house here, and I'm making plans for furniture and parties. That will be very nice, able to get a new place to put down roots and start the second half of my life that I have been gifted with. I visited with J & T on Thursday after I dropped the Devil Child off at the airport, and we had a long discussion about everything. J's opinion is that I got my second chance because, A. I have a novel to write, and she is very excited about it, and has energized me to the point that I think I really ought to go ahead and do it. I had thrown everything in a drawer, books and notes, genealogical tables everything, in a fit of disgust over the brain haze I've been living under. But, I was able to recount to them a lot of what I had read as research so far, and that gave me hope that maybe I'm not forever brain dead. I had also tossed all of my Photoshop texts in the same drawer, and the gift of two more texts from my friend S. So I'll go back to teaching myself PS, and learn Java too. We also talked about how successful my fanzine project was, and the fact that B. the financial good times I'm having at the moment are part of why I am a survivor. All the time and money that I have invested in those around me for so many years would have gone to waste if I hadn't survived.

What it means to be a survivor has been weighing on me lately. I mentioned to S that I needed to figure out why, and what am I supposed to do with this, and she thought that I had already been working on that for the last two years. I went to school, learned a new trade, and got a dream job for any geek, and that I had already started surviving years ago. Definitely food for thought.

So, I'm home. I have my little family around me, I have plans and dreams, and above all else, Hope. Without hope, you really can't live.