McBois

I absolutely love traveling, I cannot think of a better way to spend my time then visiting new places. One thing that is sometimes hard to remember is there are unique cultures in every community, not just country, but community. This is easily seen if you go to places where the people look and dress differently or speak a different language, but as the cultures seem more similar to your own, it is hard to remember this. I would have titled this on Belgium, why do you hate me so? but I am pretty sure this might make some people mad, but it is my experience with Belgium that has really opened my eyes to this concept.

When you go to foreign country like Thailand or even Italy is very clear that you are not in USA anymore: people are dressed differently, the signs and stores are different, there are different odors in the air, etc. You can openly see a different way of communicating and connecting between your fellow human beings and you know something different is expected of you. I was amazed the first time I went to Belgium on vacation of how similar it was to the United States, at least on the outside. I came to visit my friend Kevin, who is now my husband. I stayed in his childhood home, which bore an amazing resemblance to homes in my own childhood neighborhood in Montana. I was expecting something more similar to the Netherlands or Germany or even the UK but I quickly saw many comforts and habits and stores that seemed familiar. The first foreign country I ever visited besides Canada was England. I was expecting to find these familiarities and comforts there but I was surprised at the lack of anything really recognizable. So, because of this, I was caught a little of guard by finding this likeness in Belgium.

Yes, I am well aware of the vast differences between the United States and Belgium, including everything from the history, languages, architecture, to the politics and so on and so forth. I am referring to the daily habits, general lifestyle, and human interaction of the people. Most aspects of the daily lives of Belgians and Americans seem quite comparable. This is where the cross cultural confusion takes place, it seems similar, but it is not.

Belgium has special meaning to me because it is where my husband was born and raised, in beautiful Antwerp. I love walking aimlessly down the streets of the Diamond Center of the world with the smell of waffles in the air and seeing all the wealth left from the medieval and Renaissance period with the mix of Flemish, French and English swirl through the air. It really is like nowhere else. I am usually awakened from my pleasures by some confusion due to cultural differences and I have made someone mad. I am not quite sure if it is my personality that just does not click with the Belgians, mainly seeming to be the Flemish women, or what, but it just doesn’t seem to work.

A good portion of my in-laws are usually mad at me and I can most likely say, just plain don’t like me. I have female friends of my husband that openly talk about me in Flemish as I am sitting at the table with them. Many of these fights and confusions have been chalked up to language issues, but I can guarantee you, it goes well beyond that. When I moved to Italy, I did not speak Italian and I had little to no fights with my boyfriends families that hardly spoke English. I am pretty sure the cultural differences go very, very deep, and with all the similarities it is just hard to see these differences.

I am still at a loss to what these cultural differences entail, and whose end they are on. I very well could have done or do something that Flemish (women) simply do not do and have forever condemned myself or do they just expect things from me that I am not aware of? More than likely it is a combination of errors on both sides. I have never been one for subtleties, so this question may remain unanswered, but it has not been in vain. I think even as we travel throughout our own country, there are so many differences that may not be as apparent on the outside. The differences that we don’t see may be the biggest.

What a crazy few months it has been. Parenting is tough, but I knew that going into this. I think that is why I have managed to fight the hormonal drive to have kids of my own. Call me selfish, call me wise, (I prefer the latter) I know that parenting is the toughest job out there and I have little to no desire to experience pregnancy, infancy or life with a toddler. There is pretty much only one option left if you want to skip these stages, but still have a kid, adoption. This is what led Kevin and I into the foster care program

We met a few kids before our current placement in August. They called us because they were looking for a home that wanted to adopt. They were pretty positive that there was no other option, mom and dad were just not going to make it, grandma would not pass the mental health exam and the other non biological grandma in his life would not pass the physical exam. We are just about 3 months into this and, things remain to be seen.

We feel so used and abused by the system. We thought it would be all about what is best for the child, but unfortunately it’s not. There are all these strange rules and regulations and all of them seem to be in favor of the biological family. I thought the troubles we would be getting into would be the child’s, turns out, the parenting factor is the least of our troubles.

We were matched with a very positive upbeat 6 year old, with a heart of gold. As the weeks go on, the issues become more prevalent. He has been diagnosed with some disorders that are pretty serious, including PTSD and RAD. We found this out about a month after he had moved in. We have learned how trying these are, but have also learned that we could do this, but only if we are allowed.

We have very little rights when making choices in parenting him. The first we discovered this was when we attempted to enroll him in karate. His biological grandmother said no, and that was it. We were floored, she had just voluntarily  gave him to the state (only to change her mind a few days later) and was allowed to say whether he could participate in a sports activity or not? There could not be a class more beneficial to this poor child than one that teaches goals, discipline, respect and control. She pulled the religion card and as a Jehovah’s Witness, fighting another man means you will be condemned. That doesn’t even make sense. If she would listen to reason, she would find out that karate has nothing to do with fighting your fellow man.  Who looses out here? The child.

There has now been an “uncle” who is going through the process of kinship. This is the child’s biological father’s brother. The father has not seen this 6 year old in 4 years and who knows if this uncle has ever even met him. This child has not lived with mom or dad for much of this 6 years, with several other family members attempting to step up and help out as they were in and out of prison. None were part of his paternal family. This “uncle” has 4 children and is being pressured but his brother, who is also living with him, to take in this child. By the way, this child has PTSD due to the extreme violence he has witnessed from this father. How, in anyway, is this beneficial for this child with special needs? How can he get the attention he needs with 4 other children in the home? Sadly, if they continue the process, this child will go to their home. Why? Because his father’s name is written on the birth certificate. Blood is stronger than reason. How is this helpful to the child?

There was a special court set up last Monday. An attempt to block this child from trick or treating by that grandmother. Fortunately, the bio parents wanted him to go, and, in the end, he was allowed, only if he did not wear any pagan costume (witch, vampire, etc.). How would this have worked if the judge had ruled otherwise? Would we really not be allowed to take our foster son trick or treating? Again, she voluntarily gave him to the state. What if we had other children that were going to go trick or treating? Would he have to sit in his room? Seriously?

So, court can be set up to see if he can go trick or treating, but what about meeting this uncle? He is scheduled to meet him and his kids on Tuesday. No drug test (which would be a miracle if he passed), just a simple background and he can most likely take him. How a court would not be mandatory is beyond me.

We were warned of several things during our training. You can’t get their haircut without permission, etc., but nothing prepared us for the feeling of being so used and abused. If it was for the sake of this child it is one thing, but it is not. The issues we have with our foster child now, are about at our limits. We are terrified that he will be pulled from us, only to re-enter the system and we pretty much know his issues will be beyond our capabilities.

I can’t even express my frustrations with words. I am tired and helpless and just have sit and wait.

So, it has been 16 months since we moved to Utah and we are still happy to be here. I haven’t lived very many places, in my adult life I think I this is the fourth (Missoula, MT; Los Angeles, CA; Rome, Italy; and Eden, UT) but can’t believe the difference of each location. I think Utah is pretty darn close to living in another country. It really has a unique feel and atmosphere with an overwhelming presence of the Mormon Church, good and sometimes not so good, it is, well, truly unique.

What I am most thrilled about is living in the Ogden Valley. It is filled with amazing people and stunning views, I have to pinch myself sometimes to make sure it is real. I was blessed to find a job at Wolf Creek Lodging just months before its demise. I met some amazing people that have turned out to be great friends. It also led me to my current occupation as General Manager for The Red Moose Lodge. I will have to dedicate a post to the lodge, because I could go on and on there. The Ogden Valley is also home to three wonderful ski resorts: Snowbasin, Powder Mountain, and Wolf Mountain.

What is great about have 3 resorts right here, besides just the fact of having them, is they are so different from one and another and they have their own “purpose.” If I had to pick my absolute favorite, I would say it is Snowbasin. You feel like a VIP there; the lodges are amazing and don’t even get me started about the bathrooms. The lifts are fast and furious and the snow is to die for. Powder Mountain is a true back country resort. It is buried deep in powder and doesn’t even have a snow maker! Wolf Mountain is just down the street and is a tiny little mountain but I have been then mid week on powder days and only shared the lift with one or two people. It is also great for kids, the rates are reasonable and they can’t get into too much trouble. There are also two lakes to keep us busy in the summer. We can drive to Montana if needed and are less than an hour from a major airport for travel.

I don’t think I will spend the rest of my life here. I don’t think I will spend the rest of my life in any one location. What a big and wonderful world we live in, I would like to try as much of it out as I can.

So, I will say, after over a year of living here, I am still happy!

I was having a discussion with a family member about her children. She has two little boys and was talking about their future when she mentioned that she would still accept them if they were gay but would prefer otherwise. I felt a pang in my heart. Are we still stuck with this sense of being gay makes you in any way shape or form less of a person? After my initial shock and disappointment I thought she might just feel this way because she did not want her boys to go through the pain and prejudice that many gays go through on a daily basis, but no, she said that she wanted her boys to be normal and have a normal life. She wanted them to grow up, get married and have children of their own. I cannot explain my feelings of this idea besides extreme and utter sadness. My heart goes out to all my gay friends and family that are gay and I want to say: you are normal. My dream is that you will be able to get married someday everywhere and anywhere in the world, and have children, if you do not already have them, either biological or through adoption.  This conversation also brought about a lot of other thoughts about my own life and what really is normal.

Is normality defined as being the same as the majority? You can look up the definition of normal all day long, finding several different definitions, but the definition from princeton.edu is pretty much what they all get at:

normal (conforming with or constituting a norm or standard or level or type or social norm; not abnormal) “serve wine at normal room temperature”; “normal diplomatic relations”; “normal working hours”; “normal word order”; “normal curiosity”; “the normal course of events”

This just leaves more answers than questions. Is it normal to have red hair? Only a small part of the population has red hair, so…. Is it normal to be blind? Is it normal to raise chickens? Is it normal to run marathons? Is it normal to be Catholic?

What the definitions do provide is that not being normal is not a good thing. Is everyone different from me and my social circle abnormal?

I can tell you, you are not any less of a person if you are gay, red headed, blind, raise chickens, run marathons or are Catholic. It is scary to think that people are considered not normal if they do not meet “your requirements.” I think everyone can agree that serial killers are not normal. I think that is is clear that there is something that is just wrong with them. Are we to the point where we put red heads and gays in the same category? No, and it’s time to stop. It is time for everyone to embrace diversity. What a boring place this world would be if we were all the same color, religion, rooted for the same team, etc etc. I cannot think of a single gay person that I have met that “chose” to be that way. The same reason I am attracted to Kevin, I really had little choice in the matter. I don’t think a person would choose to got through the pain and suffering that every single gay person I know has gone through. That is what you don’t want for your child, or anyone else to go through, the pain of discrimination.

Another question came to mind with her statement, are we letting someone down by not having biological children? Honestly, I could care less, but that is not the point. Are we being judged, possibly as not normal because we plan on adopting an older child? How easily one conversation can open a can of worms. I don’t want to make this post about me though. I just wanted to send out support to those dealing with the struggle of not being considered normal, and let you know, you may not be normal, but it has nothing to do with your sexual orientation hugs and kisses to all!

Kevin and I are well on our way to becoming foster parents, with the hopes of adopting some day. We have decided that the right choice for us, instead of having biological children, is to find an older child available through the state. The process is overwhelming. It started back in the fall, where a worker for DFCS came to  discuss the whole process with us at our home. After passing the first initial visit (I am told they eliminate more than you would think here) came the paper work and classes. We put of both of these until January of 2010, and, our foster care classes came to an end this week.

The state requires 32 hours of training, which consisted of eight, four hour long classes held twice a week from 5:30 pm until 9:30 pm. I wasn’t that happy about the prospect (hence putting it off for a few months), but they turned out to be quite fun. Our first teacher, Brian Young, was amazing. He told it like it is and was quite amusing. Although his stories scared some people away from the prospect of foster care, his blunt honesty eliminated any doubt we may have.

During the month we also labored through the paperwork as well. The paperwork consisted of answering several questions about your life growing up, your financial situation, and the parameters on your placement, and, additionally the state also requires a background check, fingerprinting, and a doctor’s evaluation on your physical and mental health. We have all the paperwork done except a few small things including our tax returns and a plan of our house. We should have all of these done and in the mail by next week. Although these have all been quite trying and tiring, the next step is probably the most labor intensive, both physically and mentally: the home study.

The list of requirements for the home study are both detailed and vague at the same time. We will be starting the process of fortifying our house here soon. Locks and ladders and more locks, I wonder what it will take before we pass. I have been told they are very nice, but very thorough. As long as you are prepared for them, they come and tell you what you have missed (and from what I’ve been told, you always miss something).

So, it may be months before we are approved and even longer before we are matched. Hopefully, the house, the job, the pets, etc will all be ready for what we have to come!

Well, well, well. It’s now been 5 months since I have graduated and moved and I am still unemployed. I have not spent the entire time on the job hunt, but I have spent a lot. I have also not been without a job offer, I have had a handful of those, but none that suits what I am looking for. I am at the point where I need to start my career, not find a job. I have perfected my resume, or pretty darn close at least. I have a couple of layouts that I like that I can easily edit to fit the job I am applying for. That part of the job hunt I have gotten down pretty well, my problem now is the interview. It’s like an invitation for me to open mouth and insert foot. The last interview I had was for quite possibly one of the most amazing jobs in the world, working with amazing people. I had excellent connections going in but the problem was I have no connection between my brain and my mouth sometimes. I am smart, talented, dedicated and will make my future employer quite happy, those that know me can tell you that, but how does someone who doesn’t know you see that? Certainly not by hearing how I had to bribe someone at a past job. Yes, that did come out of my mouth during this so important interview.

In my own defense, you cannot run a business in Italy without bribing at least one person. I am an honest person, I volunteer, my morals are in check, but it is just the way business works over there. The full story goes that he came to turn on the gas for the stove. He said our venting wasn’t right for the oven, but our stove had no oven and we did have venting. He continued to say we would have to put in a full hood with fan etc., but we had done our research and knew that was only necessary if there was an oven, we basically had a ‘hot plate’ and therefore the rules were different. There was no arguing with him, he had the power to turn on the gas and there was little else we could do. He suggested that we “buy him a coffee” wink wink, so we passed him a twenty and our gas was on minutes later. Does this mean I am immoral? I sure hope not. I do know that it is not what should be talked about during your first interview.

I had a slight panic after talking about it and tried to think of a way to explain myself, but my brain would not work, another problem in interview. There is so much to worry about beyond what jabber is coming out of your mouth. Don’t play with your hair, sit up straight, make eye contact, and the list goes on and on.

I can only hope they will see past my blunders and find all that I have to give. If not, my job will come. I am fortunate not to be in any sort of financial crisis, so I can wait for the perfect job. Whether it be working for the amazing Patrick Byrne at Overstock.com or somewhere else, I will not disappoint, and maybe the not so perfect interview will make me work twice as hard to prove myself.

(Please remember I wrote this in a very emotional state, I know there are errors, I will try to correct them soon.)

I feel the need to tell the story of my boy Piombo, who we tragically lost on Saturday, September 26^th 2009. Not everyone I knew got a chance to meet Piombo, and not everyone that met Piombo understood him, or knew his life story. All animals need special care and love but special needs pets require a little extra time and energy and in turn become richly rewarding in ways I never knew possible. I have never been connected to another living creature like I was with Piombo, we have been through so much together and our souls were intertwined. His story is complex and he lived it in different phases.

I adopted Piombo from a shelter in the neighborhood of Trastevere in Rome, Italy on January 24th, 2000. He was about 5 months old. I had been wanting a dog after leaving Rex with a new home in Montana in 1998. Just days after finding a stable job and a place that allowed me to keep a dog I was on the hunt. I visited several shelters in the area with wonderful dogs but did not find my partner until that Monday evening. He was in the quarantine section of the shelter, he had just finished his long stay with the vet. He was born on the streets, and the litter was brought into the shelter. They were all terribly sick and after a long battle, the only one to survive was Piombo. The dogs were kept in cages outside and once a day taken to a little field where they could run around a bit. They tried to take Piombo there but he was paralyzed with fear every time they tried, so they decided it was best to just leave him in his cage. When I saw him in there he was in the back with his face in the corner, hiding as well as he could. My heart stopped and I knew I found my dog. I was with my boyfriend at the time, and the volunteer at the shelter. When I said he was the one, everyone questioned me. Are you sure? What about this other one? Etc. Oh, I was sure. We did the paperwork and I called a taxi to take him back to Hostel Casanova with me. He pooped in the taxi on the way home, costing me a big tip but, now that I know him like I do, it makes me feel that he was relaxed with me. His personality was clear from the beginning, he was scared but he was very respectful. He was lost and confused, never having had a family or even a hug. I was ready with lots of hugs. He was easily trained, he peed in the hostel once, I scolded him and put him outside and he was potty trained. Piombo enjoyed being good but equally enjoyed being bad, he quickly learned just how far he could push me. He was a clever, silly, sweet boy.

Because Piombo was born on the streets, he was feral,in the sense that he lacked the imprinting of a human. I feel that this was the cause of his incredible shyness. (For those that only knew him in Montana, he was a completely different dog in Rome) One evening I was taking him on a walk. I did not use a leash because he would just follow right behind me, as long as there weren’t people around he would stick to me like glue. Unfortunately someone unexpectedly came out of their parked car, spooking Piombo and he ran right in the middle of the street in front of an oncoming car. The car slammed on its brakes but hit Piombo and his front paw got trapped under the tire as the car pushed him about 5 feet on the asphalt. He jumped up and ran into the field across the street. The driver of the car, the angel that he was, bounded out of his car, ready to help. I sent him to the buzzer of Hostel Casanova requesting a sheet. He returned and I had Piombo and the driver rushed us to the emergency vet up the street. He had cut a major vein and summoned the whole team to work on him. After about two hours they stabilized him and I returned home an emotional wreck. He spent about a week at the vets. He refused to go potty in his cage (what a good boy) but he refused to go potty outside with the doctors as well. Anyone that knew Piombo in Rome knows how he would not go potty unless he felt 100% secure. This often required long walks down the streets praying that no one would be outside, which is a pretty impossible feat in a city with 3 million people. After 48 hours of Piombo refusing to potty they had to manually relieve his bowels. He was stubborn for some things, that’s for sure. The accident left him with a scar where the fur would not grow back. It reminded me of burnt cheese, the same color and texture.

He only lived in the hostel for awhile and we then found a home in Monte Verde Vecchio, right next to Villa Pamphili, Rome’s largest park. He thought he was in doggie heaven. He had visited the park while he still lived at the hostel, but now we could go every day. He would always find the biggest meanest dog in the park and try to be his friend. I guess he knew what it took to survive. Soon enough we found a group a friends at the park who we would walk with every day. There were Theo and Milly, the Great Danes, Jack and Argo two Yellow Labs, Beama the Bull Terrier, Twiggy the Irish Setter and Asia the Shepherd mix. He loved Asia, she would nip at him and play hard to get, just his type. He was quite the ladies dog. He could spot a female a mile away, and soon enough I was sure he needed to be fixed.

I was always sure I would get him fixed, I believe that domestic animals should be fixed, first of all they do not live in their natural state to begin with but second of all, it is better for their health in general. Besides easing their hormones and desire to fight or mark, it also eliminates certain cancers related to those parts. Italians, for the most part, feel very strongly the other way. I suppose it has to do with Machismo but they don’t have it in their culture to spay or neuter their pets. He was still a he, and not afraid to prove it. Piombo had also become quite a bully. He was once good friends with Jack, but buddied up with the large Theo and started picking on poor Jack. It became his way. He would pick on the happy go lucky dog, and kiss up to the mean large dogs. Some of his favorite victims included golden retrievers, pit bulls and labs.

Piombo was more than shy, he was excruciatingly shy. He hated going for walks because the streets of Rome are filled with people. You would ask him to go for a walk and he would hide under the bed. If you asked him to go to the park he would perk up and be ready to go though. I made sure never to trick him, if I only had time to go around the block, he knew it. It would take days of being around a person before he warmed up to them, but once he knew you, he would remember. My family came to visit quite sporadically, sometimes years apart, and he would remember each and everyone of them. I don’t know how he did it, but once you were in his good list he would love you with all his heart. He let a few people in more than others, one of those being my mom. He just knew it was his grandma and boy did she spoil him rotten every chance she got.

In 2002 we moved to the Aurelia neighborhood with Jenny where Villa Pamphili was a far walk but there were plenty of fields and parks nearby. He quickly made friends, his best friend being Zago, a large dominant Rottweiler. His owner was thrilled because Zago had not been able to get along with any other dogs before. Piombo also briefly had a special friend living with him as Jenny adopted Peggy Sue from the same shelter. This was also the year that Kevin came into our lives, what a blessing. We were so lucky to have such a special person to become a member of our family. Kevin lived with us for awhile then moved away, but destiny could not keep us apart and he returned to live with us in the spring of 2003 where he gladly became Papa’ to Piombo. We also met our good buddies Ulf and Anita while living there. Not everyone who met Piombo was able to understand how special he was. Just like people, some you just naturally bond with, and others just kind of pass by. These two were on Piombo’s good list for sure. His sweetness led to Anita’s adoption of Sky, she even still has a picture of Piombo in her office.

In the summer of 2005 we picked up and moved to Montana after Kevin graduated from the university in Rome. We needed to find a direct flight so he wouldn’t have to be on the tarmac in the heat waiting. We found one to Philadelphia. Watching them wheel away his crate in the airport in Rome was painful. They loaded him on an elevator and when the doors closed we were left with the image of panic in his eyes and both Kevin and I broke down in tears. He made it, it was a million degrees and humid in Philadelphia, but after mix up with the car and a quick stop in German-town (and lived to tell) we were off. Piombo rode in his crate in the back for the 2,500 mile trip. He always had to look where we were going which caused him to have to sit all crooked and awkward, but he could not just lie down and rest. He also would not eat. We made it to Minnesota to stay with my aunt Doni and her family. It was there we decided to just get a box of treats, which he decided to eat. He also met Doni’s son Leif, who realized what a cool dog he was. He followed him around and just loved on him, exactly what Piombo needed after the flight and days in the car. We left Minneapolis and met up with my sister and her kids in South Dakota. We then continued on to Montana where we stopped at Seana’s (my cousin who is more like my sister) in Colstrip. He was excited to be out of a hotel, to a real house, where he could hide under the bed. We finally made it to Missoula, Montana where we would spend the next 4 years living in the mountains close to Grandma.

Once in Missoula his shyness unbelievably faded. He became a new dog, almost reborn. Those that met him in Missoula could have never imagined the dog he was in Rome and vice versa. He thought Villa Pamphili was awesome, now he was in the middle of the Rocky Mountains where he would hike and camp. He was on an incredible journey that was amazing to watch. His biggest transformation came when we adopted his little sister, Tullia, in the spring of 2007. He was still a bully with other dogs, especially Tullia. He growled and snapped at her in continuation, but she knew it was all talk and never held a grudge. She thought the world of her older brother. She followed him around, slept next to him and just had to be in the same room as him. Piombo learned to be more calm and trusting with people around the same time. The process that used to take him days before he would trust someone turned into seconds. He would just walk right up to someone put his face down on their leg and wait for the loving. He still had the magical touch to him, for those that understood him were left with that magic. It was my turn to graduate and in May of 2009 and we packed up and moved to Utah.

Piombo spent his last months in his new yard in Eden, Utah. This was the only yard besides Grandma’s where he wanted to spend hours out there. He would watch the birds fly over the barn, bark at the people walking by, and just lie in the cool grass. On Monday September 21^st, 2009 I took him to the vet, what I thought was kennel cough turned out to be blood running down the back of his throat from the tumor growing in his nose. From the same beautiful Romanesque nose he would push into you just wanting to be touched and loved. The tumor was most likely cancerous and the bone around it was just about gone. What I mistook for his teeth needing to be cleaned, was the pain from red swollen gums due to the loss of bone. I found out he did not have much more time with us. The diagnose came when my mother-in-law and her partner were visiting us. Understanding our desperation they gave us the most generous gift they could, and quietly left, flying all the way back to Belgium nearly a week early so we could focus our energy and spend time with our boy. I cannot thank them enough for their sacrifice for us and Piombo. We spent his last days with as many walks as we could and just petting him. We spent hours rubbing his belly on the couch and cuddling with him on his blanket in the yard. By Friday he could no longer eat and sleeping was difficult. He could not lie on his back for his belly rubs and could only last so long on walks before wanting to turn back. Saturday evening, only days after finding out, the local vet came to our house and he was put down.

We loved him as much as anyone can love anything. I know not everyone can understand the love for a pet, but for us, he was not just our dog, he was an equal member of our family, our fuzzy little boy. This loss for me is only equal to that of the loss of my brother, and I am so blessed to have my mom helping my through this. Kevin is equally devastated. This loss has been nearly impossible for us, and we now have a full understanding of what unbearable pain means. Although we are hurting now, we know this hurt comes from the pure joy and love he provided for us. We could not be this sad without having experienced so much joy and love. The things that bring me the most comfort are knowing we loved him, he loved us, we did what was right and, when we are ready, our house will open to rescue another dog. He is in a better place, no longer in pain, hiking the rugged mountains with my brother Chad waiting to see us both again someday.

Devo scrivere un pezzo in Italiano cosi’ mi sento un po’ più’ libera di dire quello che me sento. Questa fine settimana forse e’ stata una delle peggiore nella mia vita. Non e’ successo niente di grave (spero) ma era uno di quelle dove mi sono sentita sola. Kevin e’ andato a fare campeggio sulla montagna con degli amici e’ normalmente non vedo l’ora di stare sola ma questa volta era diversa. Non sto facendo niente adesso, non trovo lavoro e non ho nessun hobby di occupare la mia testa. Stiamo qua da 2 mesi e veramente non ho conosciuto nessuno. Lui e’ partito venerdì, e ho pianto un paio di volte. Mi sento che non ho nessuno (a parte Kevin) nella mia vita. I miei amici non sono amici amici… ho perso il mio fratello e mi sono resa conto che non c’è’ speranza di stabilire un rapporto con la mia sorella. Non so cos’è’ di lei, ha fatto tante scelte sbagliato nella sua vita e fa pagare a me??? Io non la giudica mia per queste scelta, anche se non le condivido, ma lei sta sempre provando di mettermi giù’. Forse e’ gelosa di me, ma e’ stupida, lei ha tanti pregi, abbiamo fatto un percorso diverso, basta. Siamo giovani ancora, possiamo sempre fare le cose che vogliamo… Boh, non so. Non mi chiama, non posso dividere nessun sentimento con lei. Sono rimaste senza fratello. Gli amici, mm un’altra storia la. Non so se sono io o cosa, ma e’ difficile di trovare gli amici con cui va d’accordo. Non so come cercarli, non so…

Sabato e’ stata meglio. Venerdì avevo fatto dei programmi con un’amica della mia sorellastra e ho deciso di portare il cane per un piccolo giro prima di partire. Al ritorno ho visto due enormi uccelli nel albero morto di nostro giardino e ho corso a casa per prendere la macchina fotografica, ho preso la mia, ma non era abbastanza potente e mi sono ricordata che Kevin aveva lasciato la sua qua. L’ho preso e mi sono accorta che erano 2 aquile reali. Che belli, era un momento indimenticabile. Sono uscita con Lauren e quando sono tornata a casa ho dipinto la cucina tutto il tempo, potevo sentire le aquile nel giardino, mi viene la pelle d’oca solo a parlare.

Adesso e’ Domenica e sono terrorizatta che Kevin e’ morto o si e’ fatto del male. Sono quasi le 14.30 e non ho le sue notizie. Doveva scagliare fino alla cima Sabato e tornare oggi. Doveva essere freddo freddo la’ e sono molta preoccupata. Venerdi sera qui ad Eden faceva 35 gradi (F) e’ la mia testa non e’ tranquilla per niente. Non posso fare niente che aspettare. L’unica salvezza e le aquile erano acora qua sta mattina. Sono andata ad Ogden, e non gli vedo/sento da quando sono tornata, ma avevo il piacere di verderli sta mattina. Un po’ mi sono sentita che erano qua per proteggermi, che bello. E’, come sono sperata, ho appena ricevuto un sms da Kevin, e’ vivo!!!!

Se vuoi sapere di piu’ delle aquille, guarda il mio post in Inglese!

With the real estate market and the economy in shambles, there are a lot of houses available through foreclosures and short sales. We bought one of those houses about three weeks ago in Utah. Was it a good deal? yes, it was a great deal. Would I do it again? probably not.

I was graduating from the University of Montana on the 16th of May and we planned on moving to Utah at the end of the month. We started looking at houses in January and getting our pre-approval with a bank around March. We had it all planned out for about a year. We would be able to give our 30 day notice for our rental and close at the end of May. That’s what happened, but barely. It all came down to an exceptional real estate agent, a helpful home owner and a fantastic mortgage consultant.

We made a few trips to Utah to look at houses and bid on one. The owner was the builder and was not budging on the price and we weren’t about to give it to him. We then returned to house we had driven by earlier and realized its potential. We had found our house.

We found out it was a short sale which intimidated us a little but our Realtor knew the selling Realtor and we had a little time, it was only the end of March. We were told that a this short sale should last around 40 days. Our Realtor had experience with short sales and said the longest one she ever dealt with lasted 60 days, and there were a lot of problems there, the owners were still occupying the house etc. We put in our bid on the 30th of March.

The bid was fun, well maybe not fun, it was exciting. We were fortunate enough to run into the owner of the house. He told us there was already a bid in (which we knew) but he gave us a ballpark figure that he said would beat the other bid. This was fantastic, but we also knew that anyone else could bid and if he told us what bid was in, he would tell anyone our bid as well. We put in the a bid we found fair, about what he said with a tiny cushion. It was a number that we would be excited to get the house for. The bid was in and we waited until May 7th when they accepted our offer.

It was all good, until about a week or two before our set closing (May 28th). We ran into two problems, one with the bank lending us money (bank x) and the bank approving the short sale (bank y). Bank y did not return phone calls for anything and the underwriter from Bank x was concerned with our finances. The last issue was the most confusing to me. What is the point of a pre-approval if the bank hasn’t already decided to give you the money? I was graduating and did not have a job (in Utah) so all the income was from my husband. He runs his own business out of our house. The underwriter had us write letter after letter about how the move is not going to affect his business, why we are moving to Utah, and steps, no, detailed steps oh how to get a business license here. It was coming time to the big move and we were not sure if the underwriter would approve. We had the Uhaul rented and we had given our 30 days, not to mention if we didn’t close on the 27th we would have to get an extension, with Bank y’s approval, who know when we could get a hold of anyone there.

Our Realtor talked with the selling Realtor and she suggested we find another lender (who needed to do EVERYTHING in 4 days), we decided to keep the faith in our lender. We had a Uhaul reserved for the 27th we would load up and drive half way there to be able to close early on the 28th. We had two dogs, a cat and three frogs with us for the move and we needed it to be as smooth as possible. The 26th came and there were still problems and there was little chance we could close on the 28th. We decide we had to go anyways, and a little is better than none.

We went to pick up the Uhaul on the 27th and, well that’s another story, but we were packed and gone by 5pm. I was driving the CRV and Kevin, my husband, was driving the Uhaul. I was making frequent calls to our Realtor and things weren’t looking too great. We really couldn’t live in the Uhaul for more than 2 days, our poor pets! We stopped in Idaho for the night and the next morning we got a call from our Realtor the next morning. We weren’t going to be able to close. So worst case scenario. We are stuck in the middle of nowhere in a Uhaul with no place to go. We decided to try and see if the owners would let us move in early, maybe pay rent, until we were able to close. Our Realtor took care of everything and before we knew it there was a key waiting for us under the mat. We made it down there and a few hours later a man came to inspect the ceptic tank. That was the last thing we needed to close! Our lender and Realtor had pulled of the impossible. We closed Friday evening.

The impossible happened for several reasons. Our Realtor had connections. She knew who she needed to and she worked 24/7. Our lender was amazing. She knew the importance of this and got her boss involved. She was also available 24/7. The home owner was honest. The home owner had bought another house and the sale of his house (now ours) fell through. He was not vengeful or angry. He did everything he could to help sell the house, even though he was not going to see a penny from the sale. He was here fixing a leak and drywall on Sunday for the appraisal. He cared and was an honest, honorable man. Most houses in foreclosure/short sales have owners who peed on the floor and break the windows. Ours came by on the Saturday after closing to explain everything about the house.

It was quite the experience that I don’t think I would be ready to repeat. Maybe, if it was in the same town I lived in and had not deadlines or dates (such as no specific move out). Our house got appraised for $17,000 more than we paid of it. It may have been the market, it may have been the short sale, but I don’t think the money is worth the hassle. I would use the same Realtor and lender but I don’t think I would find an owner like the one here. When you throw in that you’re getting a house “as-is,” its a lot more stress than imaginable.