"The Cabin" - rewritten

I blame "the cabin" for my writing inspiration, but especially for its lack thereof....... I had written a detailed documentary of the cabin and its horrors only to have my husband read it and say that no way was it publishable. That teed me off and I thought "forget it, I'm not writing!!" Of course I knew the story was probably not all that appropriate for varied readers, but it was my story and the inability to share it made me feel a bit hedged.


It is nearly impossible to tell of the horrors of my life these past few months without giving due credit to "the cabin", so I will try once again with better perspective....................

The day came and went for the old man to move out of the cabin. Part of me greatly anticipated his departure, as it felt weird sharing the same property with him. I didn't know him, and living on the same property with a stranger put me continually on edge. Alas, the day came when he did, finally go, and along with him left my sanity.

Several times I inched through the cabin. Each and every time I was out of my mind with terror. Secret fantasies lurked in my mind involving gasoline and a match. In the end, my husband was very firm in advising that I would, indeed, move into the cabin. After that, fantasies of jumping on a train to my moms were entertained quite regularly.

After one particular Sunday service, I really really lost it. A lot of things compounded my agony, but mice breaking into my stash of several bags of Garden of Eaten' organic blue chips finished me off. I arrived at my girlfriends house in complete misery, describing multiple credible reasons why my moving into the cabin was not a rational one. She in turn, convinced me that Jesus was bigger than any known problem of the cabin and that she would help me clean it. Other girlfriends echoed in unison.

I had been advised to wear a space suit type apparatus, which I didn't possess. Some of my girlfriends husbands would't allow them to help me after all, as they too, were afraid. In the end, Elasta Woman and Goat Girl worked like dogs helping me sanitize and disinfect every inch of space. The fear left me and I felt Gods presence. It was empowering to no longer be afraid. Few things in life have been so difficult as cleaning and moving into that cabin, but one thing is for certain, Gods power was bigger than my fears and without Jesus loving girlfriends I don't know what would have become of me.

I can't say its been all peaches and cream since then. The day came for the motor home to be winterized and although God gave us an Indian Summer, freezing weather was bound to show up. I really really loved the shower in the motorhome. It has a pretty sky window, and although a short half life, the water is hot!! In the cabin, "hot" is a loose term when it comes to water there, as is "privacy" since the kitchen/bathroom are kind of combined in this bacheolor pad. Thankfully, Art Dog hung a curtian up just in time as the next day one of the workmen came in looking for water while I was on the biffy. I still cannot bring myself to observe the "tower of poop" which the men and boys are quite proud of exhibited in the outhouse. I will take my chances with the kitchen toilet.

As I agonized over the humiliation of living in that tiny bachelor pad, a lot of other good things were taking place. The new house was being built and God continued to be faithful. The workmen worked hard and fast. They tried hard to make sure we had every advantage. I made them coffee and desserts in the morning and allot of time lunches. At first it was hard cooking, as for months all I had to cook on was a grill and burner top. The RV had a tiny convection oven, but it usually shorted out the electricity making it pretty worthless in the end. After a time, I found an oven on Craigslist and was thrilled the day it got installed. Again, it was short lived because giant flames leaped in the oven and the place filled up with gas smell. Again I was back to the grill until my husband eventually figured out how to fix the problem.

I was much too embarrassed to have any one over to "the cabin", and when people did come, I felt sick to my stomach. There was barely walking room and usually boxes all over the place. Having the men to cook for gave me something to do, though, and I found some joy in that. There was also endless painting, staining and oiling to be done. Most days I crawled into bed without an ounce of energy to be found left.

God also moved on my husband in many ways I never thought possible. Moving back here was the hardest thing in the world for me, especially moving into that cabin, but even in my darkness, God kept shining hope . I read "Chasing The Dragon" by Jackie Pullinger to the family in the mornings and the evenings. Goatgirl encouraged us to pray in the spirit more often. Small, but notable miracles began taking place and I knew that God had not forgotten me.

One of my miracles was "Sheeba", Archer's German Shepherd. He had sold her when he left for college. After a lot of correspondence, the new owner felt prompted to give her to me. She's a very dear dog and friend who wants to be with me every moment of the day. She's as near a guardian angel as a dog can get ;-) Her presence gave me a lot of comfort.

One day the bedroom in the house was ready to move into. Another day my husband hooked up the dryer so we wouldn't have to spend hours elsewhere drying clothes. It didn't all come at once, but when it came, I promised myself I would never take such things for granted ever again. Finally the day came when the men said they were through. This was a great relief, as we were putting out a lot of money each week. My husband was on his own to finish up. Secretly I hoped we could be living in the house by Thanksgiving, but I didn't say anything. It was hard enough not to nag him daily about what was left to do. After all, work in his new shop seemed to be pouring in and we both knew we needed the income.

Most of my days were busy and exhausting, many emotional, but when I remembered what was important, they were bearable. When I remember that having babies is such a small fleeting time, I embrace every day with Miss Moonbeam. When I remember boys messes soon leads to their absence, the messy cabin isn't such horrible place. When I remember that there are allot of divorced and widowed women alone in the world, my husband's crazy idea of dragging me out here isn't all that horrible either because at least I'm sharing his adventure and letting him follow his dreams while he still has the opportunity. All in all, if I don't focus too much on the brown liquid dripping off the open insulation in the ceiling onto the stove top, I can almost juggle some contentment ;-)