Monday, February 27
And just when I thought I was getting a handle on things....
Yes, dammit, that IS a calf. And a three-weeks early calf. And very nearly a dead calf; lively enough, but one of the older cows "claimed" him and chased his actual mother off. By the time my parents had beaten the old cow off, fetched him back to the barn, tried to fetch his mother (Justice), realized that Justice was completely crackercow and fetched me in from town and the bro from his comfy bed, gotten back to the field, beaten the old cow off *again*, fetched Justice, milked Justice, and found the calf bottle hiding where we'd put it last year, he was nearly dead from lack of food. We had to tube-feed him in the end, but it was worth it; within minutes he was up and running. Running away from us tube-torturing maniacs, of course, but we were happy anyway.
Today he seems completely recovered, and Justice is being either a good cow or a crackercow based on what the nice hormones tell her but we have fixed the gate and put the boards back on the fence and have hopes that good cow will win out. She's not too bad to milk, anyway.
Did I say my life was under control? *checks*
Nope, I didn't. How wise of me.
Yes, dammit, that IS a calf. And a three-weeks early calf. And very nearly a dead calf; lively enough, but one of the older cows "claimed" him and chased his actual mother off. By the time my parents had beaten the old cow off, fetched him back to the barn, tried to fetch his mother (Justice), realized that Justice was completely crackercow and fetched me in from town and the bro from his comfy bed, gotten back to the field, beaten the old cow off *again*, fetched Justice, milked Justice, and found the calf bottle hiding where we'd put it last year, he was nearly dead from lack of food. We had to tube-feed him in the end, but it was worth it; within minutes he was up and running. Running away from us tube-torturing maniacs, of course, but we were happy anyway.
Today he seems completely recovered, and Justice is being either a good cow or a crackercow based on what the nice hormones tell her but we have fixed the gate and put the boards back on the fence and have hopes that good cow will win out. She's not too bad to milk, anyway.
Did I say my life was under control? *checks*
Nope, I didn't. How wise of me.
Friday, February 03
Well, my mother came back from the doctor nearly shaking with relief. They'd identified the "multicellular growth" on her ovary as a cyst. Not precisely great news -- she's on antibiotics again, and there's a fair chance that there will be surgery -- but definitely the best of a bad lot of possibilities.
She has also declared the doctor to be a pretty decent guy, which coming from my mother the you-touch-I-bite doctorophobic is high praise.
Thanks a lot to everyone who sent love, hugs, and kind thoughts in the comments. It was much appreciated, even if I was too lazy/miserable to bother replying. And really, if one thing could go right? This was the one. Everything else follows Jean-Louis's ten-year rule: in ten years it'll probably be funny... but I seriously doubt my mother having cancer would be funny, ever. So the rest I can deal with.
In other news, my parents are visiting the Big Apple for the next four days, leaving me with four neurotic dogs and a shortage of spare time. Expect low postage for a while.
She has also declared the doctor to be a pretty decent guy, which coming from my mother the you-touch-I-bite doctorophobic is high praise.
Thanks a lot to everyone who sent love, hugs, and kind thoughts in the comments. It was much appreciated, even if I was too lazy/miserable to bother replying. And really, if one thing could go right? This was the one. Everything else follows Jean-Louis's ten-year rule: in ten years it'll probably be funny... but I seriously doubt my mother having cancer would be funny, ever. So the rest I can deal with.
In other news, my parents are visiting the Big Apple for the next four days, leaving me with four neurotic dogs and a shortage of spare time. Expect low postage for a while.
Thursday, February 02
Well, I'm back from Canada, over a week later than planned and sans boyfriend. Let's start with the bad, in order of happening:
- Forgetting my purse on the bus, then calling up the bus driver to hear that yes, he had my purse, but it looked like it had been rifled. The bus driver, however, called the police with a description of the kid he thought was responsible, and in the time it took us to retrieve the purse, determine that yes, my wallet was missing, and call the police, they'd already arrested the kid and retrieved my stuff. I am still slightly in shock about this. Police aren't supposed to act useful.... So no harm done, aside from an hour of stressing and two sitting downtown in a police station trying not to feel nervous in the presence of uniforms. (See "child of hippies". God, I'm indoctrinated.)
- Going to the border and watching Dan be harrassed for several hours by a overgrown schoolroom bully in uniform before being turned back. The details are in this post, but basically we were applying for a very specific work visa and were told that the job description supplied covered too much stuff. A call to a lawyer revealed that a) getting the more general work visa, as they'd recommended, wasn't really an option, as one had to apply a year in advance and there was a tight limit on the number handed out, and b) we did have a case for the visa, it would just take time. And money, of course. So back to Toronto we limped.
- Going to the border again, a week later and considerably poorer, only to have the lawyer fail to deliver us the needed documents he'd promised before the relevant people left for the day, and indeed the weekend. Repeat limping.
- Leaving my purse on the bus again the next day. This time the bus driver couldn't find it and we had to assume it'd been snatched, which, considering it had all my cards and all my photo ID including my passport, was Not Happy-Making. trinshadow and wefightforpie, I do apologize for turning what should have been a proper visit into a Pity The Kat session, and dripping on you. Several hours, one panicked call to the embassy, and two cancelled credit cards later, we got back on the bus, where Dan struck up a conversation with the driver about the whole thing. She called the bus in question, where the replacement driver, on boarding the bus, had found my purse jammed behind one of the seats. Untouched, this time. I am far luckier than I deserve and not allowed to carry my own documents any more.
- Going back to the border again, to a different crossing, with documents, only to have them turn us back without even looking at them and informing us that we'd have to reapply at the border crossing where we were turned back. We did not want to go back to that crossing. Aside from our experience with the bully, our lawyer had told us that the crossing in question had a well-established bad reputation for harassing and turning back visa applicants on the slightest of pretexts. He was astounded to hear that they wouldn't take our application at the second crossing and recommended we go to the third possible crossing in Pearson airport. A call to them established that yes, they'd take the application no matter where it originated. One slight hitch: you needed a bording pass to get to them.
This time Dan limped back to Toronto alone. He was hoping to get a standby ticket to Buffalo. I crossed the border and checked into a youth hostel to wait for him.
- Learning that they don't do standby tickets any more and that "last minute tickets" start at $1800. Everything else requires a 14-day lead time. So Dan bought a ticket and settled down to wait, and I limped homewards on the Greyhound, since there was no way I could leave the farm alone for two more weeks.
- Sorting through the mail on my return to find a rejection from my Most Wanted Agent. I pretty much expected it, after all this time, and what with everything else that's going on it got no more than a resigned flinch, but still, it was a blow. I really wanted this agent. And I suspect that "not enthusiastic enough" translates to "there's nothing new about this story", which has been my worry all along. Oh well.
- Learning, on my return, that my mother has been seriously ill for the last week or more but hadn't wanted to tell me when I was already going through hell. As in, visit-the-hospital ill. As in, could-be-the-scary-word ill. She's visiting another doctor today for more scans, so we should know soon whether to worry more. No one's talking about it much until then.
- Empty house. No boy. No certainty that there will be a boy for a long time.
The good, of course, was getting to see many friends again. Thanks to all the wonderful people who let us crash on them, and to tormenta for throwing a birthday party and letting us come, and for general support and sympathy. I don't think I could have made it through without you all.
And there was one minor bit of good on my return, which was getting to see an article I'd written for The Snail (the newsletter of Slow Food USA in print. I didn't get paid for it or anything, but it was nice to see.
As for the rest, well... nothing's irretrievable. Dan may yet make it over the border. My mother may yet be okay. All I can do is wait and not think about it all too much.
Wish us all luck.
- Forgetting my purse on the bus, then calling up the bus driver to hear that yes, he had my purse, but it looked like it had been rifled. The bus driver, however, called the police with a description of the kid he thought was responsible, and in the time it took us to retrieve the purse, determine that yes, my wallet was missing, and call the police, they'd already arrested the kid and retrieved my stuff. I am still slightly in shock about this. Police aren't supposed to act useful.... So no harm done, aside from an hour of stressing and two sitting downtown in a police station trying not to feel nervous in the presence of uniforms. (See "child of hippies". God, I'm indoctrinated.)
- Going to the border and watching Dan be harrassed for several hours by a overgrown schoolroom bully in uniform before being turned back. The details are in this post, but basically we were applying for a very specific work visa and were told that the job description supplied covered too much stuff. A call to a lawyer revealed that a) getting the more general work visa, as they'd recommended, wasn't really an option, as one had to apply a year in advance and there was a tight limit on the number handed out, and b) we did have a case for the visa, it would just take time. And money, of course. So back to Toronto we limped.
- Going to the border again, a week later and considerably poorer, only to have the lawyer fail to deliver us the needed documents he'd promised before the relevant people left for the day, and indeed the weekend. Repeat limping.
- Leaving my purse on the bus again the next day. This time the bus driver couldn't find it and we had to assume it'd been snatched, which, considering it had all my cards and all my photo ID including my passport, was Not Happy-Making. trinshadow and wefightforpie, I do apologize for turning what should have been a proper visit into a Pity The Kat session, and dripping on you. Several hours, one panicked call to the embassy, and two cancelled credit cards later, we got back on the bus, where Dan struck up a conversation with the driver about the whole thing. She called the bus in question, where the replacement driver, on boarding the bus, had found my purse jammed behind one of the seats. Untouched, this time. I am far luckier than I deserve and not allowed to carry my own documents any more.
- Going back to the border again, to a different crossing, with documents, only to have them turn us back without even looking at them and informing us that we'd have to reapply at the border crossing where we were turned back. We did not want to go back to that crossing. Aside from our experience with the bully, our lawyer had told us that the crossing in question had a well-established bad reputation for harassing and turning back visa applicants on the slightest of pretexts. He was astounded to hear that they wouldn't take our application at the second crossing and recommended we go to the third possible crossing in Pearson airport. A call to them established that yes, they'd take the application no matter where it originated. One slight hitch: you needed a bording pass to get to them.
This time Dan limped back to Toronto alone. He was hoping to get a standby ticket to Buffalo. I crossed the border and checked into a youth hostel to wait for him.
- Learning that they don't do standby tickets any more and that "last minute tickets" start at $1800. Everything else requires a 14-day lead time. So Dan bought a ticket and settled down to wait, and I limped homewards on the Greyhound, since there was no way I could leave the farm alone for two more weeks.
- Sorting through the mail on my return to find a rejection from my Most Wanted Agent. I pretty much expected it, after all this time, and what with everything else that's going on it got no more than a resigned flinch, but still, it was a blow. I really wanted this agent. And I suspect that "not enthusiastic enough" translates to "there's nothing new about this story", which has been my worry all along. Oh well.
- Learning, on my return, that my mother has been seriously ill for the last week or more but hadn't wanted to tell me when I was already going through hell. As in, visit-the-hospital ill. As in, could-be-the-scary-word ill. She's visiting another doctor today for more scans, so we should know soon whether to worry more. No one's talking about it much until then.
- Empty house. No boy. No certainty that there will be a boy for a long time.
The good, of course, was getting to see many friends again. Thanks to all the wonderful people who let us crash on them, and to tormenta for throwing a birthday party and letting us come, and for general support and sympathy. I don't think I could have made it through without you all.
And there was one minor bit of good on my return, which was getting to see an article I'd written for The Snail (the newsletter of Slow Food USA in print. I didn't get paid for it or anything, but it was nice to see.
As for the rest, well... nothing's irretrievable. Dan may yet make it over the border. My mother may yet be okay. All I can do is wait and not think about it all too much.
Wish us all luck.
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