Second Chances

Last October, I was living over a thousand miles away from my hometown of Kansas City, Kansas.  I had been living in Palm Springs, California, for the past ten years.  Of course, there were a lot of things I missed about Kansas: bar-b-cue, jazz clubs, season changes, and, of course, family.  But one special event last year made me particularly homesick.  My professional hometown baseball team, The Kansas City Royals, was playing in the World Series.

Though I have never been athletic myself, I enjoy watching sports.  I love going to live games and feeling the energy of the crowd as they cheer on their favorite players.  Though I hadn’t been to a game in years, I was still extremely proud of the Royals for their major field victories.

I also have to admit that I was extremely jealous.  Every day, new post would appear on Facebook from my Kansas friends about the Royals’ activities.  Every few days, I would receive emails with links to major articles that reported on the games.  Every time I spoke on the phone to my brother, Tony, he would talk endlessly about the excitement that was buzzing around the city.  My sweet cousin, Connie, sent me a t-shirt that showed the Royals in a victory pose when they won the pennant.  I loved the t-shirt, the articles, and the resonant thrill in Tony’s voice.  But I wanted to be there!  I wanted to share in all of the activities, games, and trash talk that happens during Series games, but no one in California really seemed to care.  I can’t blame them, though.  It would have been very different if the Dodgers had made it to the Series.  It’s amazing the amount of pride people can feel for a hometown team.

I was teaching most nights that the Series games took place in 2014.  On every break, however, I would grab my phone and check scores and stats.  When class resumed, I would exactly announce to my students, “The Royals are up by one point!”  My pronouncement was usually meet with blank stares.  “The World Series!  My team is in the World Series,” I would inform them.  “It’s so exciting!”  Several students would smile and nod their heads.  But after the second game, no one was showing any reaction at all.  But I didn’t care.  I still continued to enthusiastically support my team from a thousand miles away.

,,,.And then the Royals lost the Series.   They lost the seventh game to the San Francisco Giants, 3-2…

…Life went on…

My circumstances began to change in the spring of 2015.  With few alternatives, I moved back to Kansas City, Kansas, in August of that year.  The baseball season was in “full swing.”  (I hate clichés but thought this was a good metaphor for baseball!)  The Royals were winning a majority of their games…Oh, my gosh, the Royals were in the playoffs against the Toronto BlueJays!

For the next two weeks, the air was crisp with excitement and blue t-shirts, hats, and jackets were everywhere.  Bars and clubs were packed with people staring at large screen televisions, their eyes following every move, watching every play…And I was there!  I was in Kansas!  I was home!

And then, it happened!  Friday, October 23, 2015, following an hour-long rain delay during the 8^th inning, the Royals won the pennant, defeating the BlueJays and earning another trip to the World Series for the second year in a row…with home field advantage, I might add.

As I listened to game predictions and my friends’ plans for the first Series game this Tuesday, October 27, 2015, I can’t help but smile.  This year has been full of second chances.  I’m starting fresh, starting over again…I came back home after a long time away.  It had been 25 years since I lived in Kansas.  I have a second chance to renew old friendship, reconnect with family, plan new adventures, start new careers, and redefine my life.  I have another chance now to seriously concentrate on my writing career.  Who knows if I will succeed or not?  But what does it matter?  Second chances can be hard work and very scary, but it’s so much better than giving up.

The Royals did not give up on their “Road to Gold.”  It’s very rare for a team to make it to the Series two seasons in a row.  Who knows what’s going to happen?  Who can truly predict if the Royals will defeat the Mets this year and by how many games and runs?  Who cares actually?  The Royals have a second chance for success.  And it is scary and it is hard work and they may not succeed.  But the effort is so much better than giving up…

…And I’m proud to share this amazing experience with my family and friends.  I guess, even through all of my travels, I have always been a Kansas girl at heart…and I am so grateful for second chances!

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Possessed

Nothing is yours.  It is to use.  It is to share.  If you will not share it, you cannot use it.” –Ursula K. LeGuin, The Dispossessed

Unnecessary possessions are unnecessary burdens.  If you have them, you have to take care of them!  There is great freedom in simplicity of living.  It is those who have enough but not too much who are the happiest.  –Peace Pilgrim
Over the last few years, my brother, Tony, has been asking me to move back to our hometown of Kansas City, Kansas.  I grew up in Kansas and, to this day, my immediate family still resides there.  My brother and sisters are settled, happy, at peace.  They’ve raised their families, worked hard, and created nice homes.

I have always been the wanderer, flitting from place to place, living periodically in apartments, hotels, and cars. I owned nothing but a few books, some CDs, TV, computer, and a change of clothes.  I don’t own a home.  I won’t buy furniture.  I don’t hang pictures on the walls of rented spaces.  I hate clutter because it makes me feel like the walls are closing in on me.  Funny, but when I am “settled” in an apartment, I tend to have frequent panic attacks.  To remain calm, I usually don’t keep many things around me.

Many of my friends didn’t seem to mind my lack of furniture when they came to visit me.  They always happily sat on the pillows I would toss around on the floor.  We would sip hot tea or coffee.  We would talk and laugh without distractions. We would look into each other’s eyes instead of glancing around the room.  Many friends originally thought my lack of furniture would feel awkward.  To their surprise, they usually discovered that my home was warm and inviting.  Friends were always welcomed and honored in my home even if they didn’t have a comfortable place to sit.

My last apartment was in Palm Springs, California.  To say I had a simple decorating style would be an overstatement.  I had decorated the apartment in the “Early Wal-mart tub” style.  Seriously…I had just purchased plastic tubs from Wal-mart to hold my CDs, books, papers, and underwear.    I slept on an old army cot.  I explained my decorating style to my friends this way.  “When I have to leave again, I don’t want anything holding me down or holding me back.  I just want to be able to throw my things in my car and drive away.  I want to be able to leave at a moment’s notice and not have to worry about things.”

Possessions have always been a problem for me.  In the distant past, with my first apartments, I did try to create a sense of home by purchasing appliances and furniture.   But when the urge and opportunity came upon me to move, I didn’t know what to do with everything I owned.  I didn’t want to pack it and move it.  I didn’t want to deal with it even if I was just moving ten miles away.   I would just give my things away.  That was a very strange situation.  I would call my friend, Julie, and tell her I had a vacuum, microwave, TV to give away.  She would answer, “I really would love those things, but I’m too busy with the kids right now.  Can you bring them over?”  So I would load up my car and drive the things over to Julie’s home.  Then my friend, Sara, asked for some of my things.  I would load up my car and drive the items to her house.  Next thing I knew, I was delivering random stuff to all of my friends’ homes.  Why didn’t I just move everything to my new apartment!?  I was moving the things all over town anyway!  I don’t know.  I honestly don’t know.  I just kept given my things away without even considering taking them with me.  For some reason, this odd ritual just made me feel free and unburden and I would repeat it with each move.

Until recently…

A few years ago, things changed a little for me.  I thought I would finally settle down in Southern California.  I had a good job and was making extra money.  I still wouldn’t buy furniture; that was too big of a commitment.  But I did indulge in buying additional books and CD, which really make me happy.  But a strange thing happened.  Staying in one place caused me to accumulate more things.  And the worst part…I got attached!  Seriously, I became very attached to my books, my CDs, my DVDs, my clothes.  I became selfish.  I didn’t want to give anything away.  I wanted my things…the things I had worked so hard to acquire.

So, a few months ago, when Tony again asked me to move back to Kansas, I responded honestly.  “I don’t want to give up my things again.  I always give things away every time I move.  And Kansas is a thousand miles away from California.  I don’t want to give everything away.”

“You don’t have to give your things away,” Tony laughed at me.  “Why would you do that? Bring it with you.  Hire a U-Haul, get a van, hire a moving company.  You don’t have to leave it behind.”

But still, I resisted the move for a while until I finally decided last month that it was time to return to the Midwest.  I decided that Tony was right.  I didn’t have to give away anything I wanted to keep.  I would just pack it all up, put it into storage, and then hire a company to move it to Kansas when I was ready to return to the Midwest.  I soon notified my leasing company that I was leaving my apartment and began to pack my “things.”  Now, as many times as I have moved, I still don’t know how to pack.  That’s because I never took the items with me before.  Now, I just went to Home Depot and purchased a stack of boxes and some tape.  I just started throwing random pieces of my life haphazardly into the boxes and taping them up.  I placed the boxes into a small 5 X 5 storage unit.  For some odd reason, I was pleased that my whole life could fit into the smallest space available.  I think it was reassurance to me that my life wasn’t cluttered.  I wasn’t hoarding anything.  i really wasn’t attached.  I began to breathe a little easier as I closed and locked the door of the storage unit and drove away.  For several weeks again, I traveled unburdened through Northern California, Oregon, Washington, and Canada.  I was totally unencumbered.  I was able to breath and feel free once more.

And then…

I was ready to return to the Midwest.  Before making the journey, I first had to meet the movers at the storage unit.  I apologized a few times when the movers complained that the boxes loaded with books were so heavy, but I didn’t really worry about it.  I just watched with relief as the two large moving men placed my 24 boxes, the sum of everything I currently owned, onto the truck and took it all away.  I had my freedom and I would have my things.  Tony was right.  I didn’t have to give anything away.  I was able to keep my possessions….and I was able to drive back to Kansas without feeling the weight and heaviness of my possessions.

But then…

Once I was in Kansas, anxiety began to build up in me.  Twelve days later and my possessions had still not arrived.  All kinds of thoughts and worries hammered away at my brain.  What if the moving company had been a scam?  What if the movers were going to hold my things for ransom?  What if my items had gotten lost, damaged, or stolen along the way?  What if the only time the moving company could deliver I was scheduled to work at my new job?  The “what if’s” built up with endless anxiety.  “Stop it,” I tried to tell myself.  “It doesn’t matter.  It’s just ‘stuff’.  Let it go.”  But the stress kept me awake at night.  Yes, stress…over ‘stuff.’

Finally, I received a call from the movers letting me know that they could deliver the items the next day…well, night.  They would not be arriving in Kansas City, Kansas, until 9 pm.  I told them that was fine.  I didn’t care if they didn’t arrive until midnight.  I just wanted my items delivered and the whole thing over with.  The movers didn’t show up the next evening until around 10:30 pm.

Tony had just gotten home from work when the moving van arrived.  I was fortunate to have him there.  The delivery was a little rough.  The truck driver actually passed up Tony’s house and was halfway down the street before realizing his mistake.  He suddenly brought the truck to a loud screeching stop and then backed up with lights blazing and the annoyingly loud reverse “ding” sound echoing around the neighborhood.  The noise brought several neighbors to their front doors.  Tony’s next door neighbor, an elderly woman dressed in a purple bathrobe, fuzzy slippers, and pin curlers, stepped out onto her front porch.  I couldn’t quite hear what she was shouting at Tony, but my brother answered, “It’s okay.  It’s fine.  It’s just a moving van. They are delivering to my house. “

The elderly woman shouted to Tony again.  After he reassured her that the van was there make a delivery, not to rob the neighbors’ houses, the woman went back into her home and quickly shut and locked her door.  Tony and I stared at each other and then turned our attention back to the delivery truck.

“Oh, my God,” Tony suddenly declared. “What is that driver doing?  He doesn’t know what he’s doing! He doesn’t know how to drive that truck!”  Tony went running out into the street as he watched the driver steer the truck right up into another neighbor’s yard.  Tony tried to flag down the driver and get him to turn in the other direction.  Tony walked up to the side window of the truck and after some discussion, the driver finally stopped the truck in the middle of the street.  Tony walked back to me shaking his head.  “Oh, man,” he sighed, “the neighbors are not going to be happy when they see their yard tomorrow morning.”

I just stared at my brother in surprise, completely incapable of responding.

The large, red-haired driver now climbed out of his seat and walked to the back of the truck.  He pulled up the door and I was suddenly staring at all of my boxes…all of my crumbling, smashed, opened, mauled, tattered boxes.

“Did you pack this stuff?” the driver asked me.  I just shook my head yes.  “Man, way too heavy.  Those boxes weren’t strong enough for everything you packed.  And the tape you used…absolutely useless.”

“It was books,” I answered meekly.  “I packed books…”

I didn’t know what else to say as the man now began to gather together the ripped boxes and throw them down off the truck.  Several of my books fell out and scattered across the driveway.  I was so thankful to have Tony there.  As the mover threw the boxes off of the truck, Tony and I gathered together the pieces.  Tony placed the boxes on his dolly and rolled them into the garage.  Many of the boxes were so heavy, the two men had to lift them together just to get them onto the dolly.

“Way too heavy,” Tony shook his head at me.  “Why did you pack everything this way?”

I could just shrug my shoulders helplessly.  I wanted my things this time, I just remember thinking.  I just really wanted my things.  I didn’t want to give them away again.

Finally, the 24 ripped and tattered boxes were inside the garage.  I paid the mover and thanked him for his help, even though Tony did the majority of the heavy lifting and hauling into the garage.  When the mover drove away and the neighborhood was once again quiet, Tony and I stood in the garage together staring at the boxes that were open and/or fallen over.  I was shocked, surprised, and speechless.

Though I truly appreciated Tony’s help, as I stared at all of my possessions, I didn’t feel happy or relieved.  I didn’t feel excited or elated.  No.  Instead, I felt humiliated.  I felt embarrassed.  I was absolutely horrified.  All of that fuss. All of that upset and worry and stress.  All of the annoyance to the neighbors and all the work Tony suddenly had to do…for this! For this dilapidated, falling over, crushed, and scrambled pile of boxes.  All of that work and worry for all of my absolutely worthless material things!

I felt myself burn with shame.  I was so angry that I had let material things own me, control me, and load me down.

Tony was incredibly gracious about the whole mess.  It was as if he knew that this was the total sum of my net worth.  He had more respect for the remnants of my life than I did.  He smiled.  He said he would find stronger boxes for me.  He said he would help me repack everything and make sure it was all there and all safe.

I just wanted to throw everything in the trash now and forget about it.   I wanted to sell it all on EBay.  I wanted to place all of the boxes in the front yard and let someone just walk off with them…if he or she could even lift the boxes!  I wanted to have a garage sale and sale everything at discounted prices.  I wanted to pack everything up into my car and deliver to the homes of my friends.  After all of the struggle and all of the fight over all of my junk, it just didn’t seem like it mattered anymore.

Two weeks later, and all of the boxes are still sitting in the garage.  I haven’t unpacked them.  I hadn’t even looked at them.   I haven’t gone through any of the boxes or rearranged them in any way.  I have an aversion to looking at them or touching them.  The boxes make me cringe.  They remind me of my once horrible attachment to things that didn’t even really matter in the first place…I just want to get into my car now and drive away from the whole, God awful mess.

I want to live out of my car again.  I want to sleep in the backseat and keep battered paperback books on the passenger seat beside me.  I want to listen to music on the car stereo and cruise through small ghost towns throughout America…alone and free.

But for now, I’m buried under a mountain of junk that keeps me trapped and weighed down in a quasi-normal life.  Why did I insist or believe that I couldn’t move without my things this time?  Was I just using my things as an excuse not to move again?  And now that I am in Kansas, will I ever run free again?  Maybe I just want to feel love…love of life, love of thought, love of spirit…Maybe I just want to feel love instead of taking cold comfort in material things.

I remember reading in a Buddhist book about the theory of attachment.  I paraphrase the thought, but it basically said that it was okay to have things but don’t become attached.  You must know that all things are impermanent.  Have things but don’t allow yourself to become sad or disappointed if they are lost, stolen, or broken.  They are not the sum of your life, of your existence.

I don’t know why I let myself, for a period of time become so attached to my things. Maybe I just needed it for a time to feel like I was accomplishing something.

But now, I think I could just walk away and leave everything behind…and I would be okay.  Yeah, I would certainly be okay.

How a Little Critter Taught Me About Life

“I just moved into my new house last month and I’ve already found one mouse, three rattlesnakes and two scorpions,” my friend Debra told me as she casually took another sip of her raspberry iced tea.  Her voice was calm and smooth as if she was just discussing her last meal or her usual sleep patterns.

I stared at her in silent shock for a moment before finally asking, “You found snakes…in your house?”

Debra gave me more specific details then.  “Two rattlesnakes were in the yard about a foot away from my front door.  The third one was in the garage.  The mouse was just inside the back door and the two scorpions were in the fire place.”  Debra sat back with a sigh and then laughed at the look of utter horror that must have been gracing my face at that moment.

I’m not a prissy person.  My hair is usually unkempt and flying out in all directions even when I’m standing still.  My make-up is minimal and though I buy fingernail polish I have yet to turn my natural pink and white nails into shimmering shades of green, blue, or gold.  As far as my shoes and clothes are concerned….well, I’d rather buy books.  I haven’t even bought a new pair of jeans in three years.  But there is one thing that makes me a complete and total girly-girl: I have a complete aversion to anything that crawls, slithers, creeps, scratches, or scuttles.

Now, I do love animals, and I certainly would not hurt another living creature, but bugs and I just don’t mesh. I also have an extremely low tolerance for snakes and mice. I think my repugnance is because I don’t like surprises.  I don’t like anything sneaking up on me.  Bugs, mice, and snakes can be sneaky.  I mean I’m going to know if there is an elephant in the room.  But I don’t always see bugs until they suddenly come scuttling right up beside me.  Bugs and mice have that surprise factor that completely unnerves and terrifies me.  For this reason, I always try to keep my home clean and organized.  There will never be dirty clothes on the floor or last night’s dishes left in the sink.  I’m not a clean freak; I am bug scared.

I didn’t explain this to Debra.  I think I was too embarrassed to tell her that critters frighten me while she appeared cool and confident about the creatures invading her home.  I tried to keep myself from shivering as Debra went on to tell me about all of the miniscule beasts that have wandered into her various homes in the high desert of Southern California over the years.  Debra took a momentary break in her horrific tales of leading the reptiles away from her home like St. Patrick leading the snakes out of Ireland.  She had to have noticed my complete shutdown.  Debra laughed and now confronted me directly, “Well, Jamie, you do know that since we live in the desert we have to expect these things.  My goodness, it’s only June and we already have had 110 degree temperatures.  When was the last time we had rain?”  Her question was actually rhetoric. Southern California is experiencing one of the worst droughts in over 5 years.  Not a single raindrop has fallen in a good six months.

Debra laughed and said, “That’s what I mean.  Because of this horrible drought and extremely high temperatures, everything is dying.  There’s no food or water for the animals anywhere.  They all are coming down from the mountains and up from the sand to try to find nourishment.  It’s the price we pay for living in paradise.”  Debra laughed again while I fought off another shudder.

That night, I went home to my apartment in Palm Desert, California, and saw a notice on my front gate.  An exterminator was coming in to all of the apartments in my building to do a screening.  Oh, good, I thought, I began to relax a little.  I was pleased that the apartment management was being proactive.  I was even more relieved when I found another notice on my gate the following day.  This notice informed me that the exterminator was coming back tomorrow to patch up any holes in the walls.  Again, I sighed deeply.  I was again pleased that the management team was thinking ahead.

The following week, I began to relax a little more in my apartment.  I felt safe and secure since the exterminator had come to my home.  I thought I was safe.  I thought wrong.

The next Saturday afternoon, I was seated at my computer putting in some extra work on my novel.  I was getting a little stuck here and there but was determined that I was going to complete at least 5 pages before I stopped.  Maybe I needed to get rid of distractions.  Turn off the television and the phone…

What was that?!

I stopped typing for a moment and glanced around my apartment.  I didn’t see anything unusual and everything was silent for a moment.  I turned back to my keyboard and started typing again.

Wait a minute….What was that noise?

I stopped working and pushed back away from my computer.  I sat silently for a minute or two…

Oh.  My.  Gosh…I stood up slowly and walked over the wall that separated the kitchen from the bathroom.  I jumped back as soon as I heard a loud scratching noise coming from within the wall!  Oh, my gosh, some critter was in my wall!  In a panic, I ran to my cell phone and punched the numbers for the management office phone line.  It took me a while to get connected.  I couldn’t get my hand to stop shaking.  I listened to the office phone ring over the sounds of the scratching that was coming from inside my wall.  Dang!  I just got the answering machine.  I pulled the phone away from my ear and glanced at the time.  5:15 pm.  The office closed at 5 on Saturday afternoons.  I hung up the phone and quickly dialed the emergency phone number.  The phone rang once, twice, three times…and finally someone answered with a gruff, “Hello.”

“Um, yes,” I said, “is this the emergency number for the apartment complex in Palm Desert?”

“Yeah,” the deep voice replied.

“Um,” I hesitated, not sure what to say, “um, there is a scratching sound coming from inside my wall.  I think there is something crawling around…”

“Oh, yeah,” the man said. “That’s the rat.”

The phone suddenly began to slide out of my hand and for a moment I had to juggle my cell phone quickly from hand to hand to keep from dropping it to the floor.   All I could stammer when I brought the phone back up to my ear was…”Wh…wh…what?!”

“Yeah, the rat,” the man said. “That’s why we had the exterminator do the screening and patching.”

I didn’t know there was a rat in the building!  Nobody told me!  I thought the management team was just being very proactive! I took a deep breath and said, “Okay, but the r-r-rat,” I swallowed deeply, “is in my walls and someone needs to get it…”

“Nope, sorry, nobody’s here who can help ya,” the man said casually.  “Everyone’s already gone home.”

“But this is the emergency number, right?” I countered.

The man answered, “A rat ain’t an emergency.  Well, see, with the drought, the animals are coming inside.  We’ll probably get a few more before the summer is over.  Nothing we can do about it until the exterminator can be contacted again.  Thanks for calling, huh,” the man said politely before hanging up the phone.  I was left in dead silence…except for the scratching in the wall.

Oh, Nooooooo!  I quickly ran around the apartment scooping up my backpack filled with novels and notebooks.  I turned off my computer and the air conditioner.  No way was I staying here for the night.  I opened the door and stepped quickly outside shutting the door firmly behind me.  I ran to my car and climbed inside.  I stared the engine and then began to drift listlessly down the street.  I had no idea where I was going but I was not staying in that apartment.  I ended up at the local McDonald’s, sipping on an iced tea and furiously writing in my journals.  I was there until the restaurant closed and I was forced out into the warm night air.   I slowly drove back to the apartment.  Was I brave enough to go back inside?  No, I slept in my car.

The next day, I went to the office to talk to the apartment manager.  “Gee,” she answered after listening to my rant, “I’m sorry that happened.  But we are in the desert during a drought so it is very common for animals to come…”

“I know, I know,” I cut her off.  I understood that animals were coming inside now but I really didn’t want my apartment to become Wild Kingdom.  “I can’t go back in that apartment,” I told her.  “Is there anything you can do for me?”

The office manager handed me the key to the model apartment and said, “I can let you stay in the model for tonight, but that’s all.”

I was grateful for that much.  I thanked her and walked over to the apartment that was set up to entice potential renters into the complex.  That space should certainly be rodent free!

I went into the model apartment, sat down on the couch, and flicked the remote to turn on the TV.  The television wouldn’t come on.  I don’t know what was wrong with it.  The screen would just light up gray for a moment and then turn off.  There was no stereo either.  With nothing to distract me, I got out my notebook and began to write.  Before I knew it, I had written 15 pages non-stop.  Oh, my gosh…it was exhilarating!  I was able to finish a short story I had started a few weeks ago but couldn’t figure out the ending.  Now, I had it completed and my heart and spirit were completely renewed.  I laid down on the couch in the living room of the model apartment and drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

And then something strange began to happen…because of the critter living in my wall, I didn’t want to go home.  I was completely thrown off of my usual routine of work, gym, writing, and home.  Now, I looked for excuses to stay out for most of the night.  I accepted invitations from friends I hadn’t seen in a while because I was “too busy.”  I would stay up late hours at a café or diner, drinking iced tea, as I hand wrote my novel and short stories.  On evenings when I was bored, I would wander into casinos and just people watch.  One night at the Spotlight 29 casino in Indio, California, I saw a notice that Charlie Daniels was performing in concert.  Oh….The Devil Went Down to Georgia…that guy… I didn’t want to go home.  I bought a ticket.  Charlie Daniels was amazing and I spent the evening laughing, dancing, and enjoying myself.  I hadn’t been that incredibly happy in a long time.  That was fun…I wanted to go again.

The following weekend, I drove up to Laughlin, Nevada, to see Lorrie Morgan in concert.  The trip was fun and it got me away from my problem at the apartment and……

Wait a minute…

Oh, my gosh….

Why wasn’t I living like this every weekend?!  Why wasn’t I out seeing people and dancing and laughing and traveling?  Why wasn’t I sipping tea in cafés and writing good short stories every night?

My life had become incredibly routine and it took a rat to show me what I had been missing!  The rat actually drove me out of my apartment and into a happier, more exciting life!  I kind of wish God had found a different way to pull me out of my routine…but I couldn’t miss the significance of the moment…

Then I had even better news.  My apartment complex was graciously letting me out of my lease four months early!  I had been planning to take a road trip and then move back to Kansas as soon as my lease was over was up in November.  Now I was able to move on with my life 16 weeks earlier thanks to a little creature living inside of my walls.

Last week, I went into the apartment management office to turn in my required 30 day notice which was really just a formality due to the situation.  “We’re really sorry this happened,” the apartment manager stated.  “But in the desert during a drought, the animals come inside.  We even had a possum in the laundry room last night.”

I laughed with the manager over this situation.  Though I don’t want to live with critters, I could certainly respect them.  It took one of God’s tiny creatures to show me the beauty of life and help me move along my path.  I will be forever grateful to the California desert critters…

I just really don’t want them moving in with me….