Real Life.

"Write my sweet, your pain away - of loves lost and won in the course of a day; your soul in the ink, it stains the page - with your joy, your fears, your contentment, your rage..."  J.H.

Where to begin.  One doesn't wake up one day and decide to go gallivanting across the country in a Tiny House, or leave their adult children and friends behind to start fresh in a new state. So what has brought me here? Not just "here" as in Tennessee, but here as in this night...this crossroads, this reckoning of my conscience vs. the life I have chosen - and the one I seemingly forsake. 

I have wanted to write for weeks. I have spent days in the yard, picking up leaves, daydreaming, thinking, crying, remembering...but I have not had a catalyst, or perhaps it's the courage - to write down the thoughts that have been in my head. I've done a good deal of avoiding these past few months, avoiding my fears and my reality. The fear and reality that at 48 years old I still don't know where I "fit" in this world  - or what I want. I've thought at times it was a man, or a child or a family that I was missing.....but I've had opportunities to have all of those things, in fact at one point in my life I HAD all of those things - and I have run from them. The family I have chosen is not my own, it's Emily and Kaila - and I am grateful and blessed everyday to have them in my life. But I had my own family once....and that is where this story begins.

I got a call today from my youngest son, Daryl. My Oogie Bear. Who I have not seen or spoken to since January. On that day I had to have a mutual friend tell me he was coming over and surprise him - because prior to that I hadn't seen or spoken to him in nearly 5 months. He had blocked me from all communication, phone, social media, even refused to answer my emails. He basically blamed me for everything that had gone wrong in his life, and wanted nothing to do with me. I was heartbroken, angry and none of it made sense to me. His older brother and my parents tried to act as a go-between, but to no avail. Daryl wanted nothing to do with me. On the day I surprised him at our mutual friends house he was angry and tried to leave before I could speak to him. I cried hysterically begging him to talk to me, to tell me what I had done that was so wrong that he had severed all ties to his own Mother. He just said that he was mad that he was homeless and that he loved me but he was "done with having parents."  I clung to him sobbing and trying to get him to hug me, but he just stood there, stoic and unflinching in his contempt for me. It broke my heart in a way that I can't fully explain. And then he walked out the door and I haven't heard from him since. Until today.

I've monitored his life through a few friends and family members enough to know he was working again, was still homeless and staying here and there - but had seemed to be getting his life back in order.  He visited my parents and his great grandmother a few weeks ago along with his brother and cousin - so I was hopeful we'd reconcile sooner than later. Today when I saw his name calling me I was immediately happy and then worried at the same time. He wouldn't call if it wasn't an emergency....and I was right. 

I answered the phone and he was hysterical. Crying so hard he could barely speak. I immediately thought someone had died....and waited to find out who it was. I prayed it wasn't his brother, or someone else close to me....but that was not the emergency today. Today was a crisis of poor choices and him having nowhere else to turn.  The fact that he had to swallow his pride and call me -was undoubtedly the hardest thing for him. Not that he was in a car accident (everyone is ok) and his car had been impounded, or that he was on the receiving end of his second DUI in 5 years...those things paled in comparison to having to call his mother for help. Of course he had no one else to call - and of course he knew I would never turn him away if I could help him. The $300 he needed to get his car out of impound was worth every penny to me just to hear his voice and know that he was alive. He's alive and he apologized over and over again and said he loves me - but he is not ok. I know he's not ok, those close to him know he's not ok and worst of all - HE knows he's not ok. 

Depression and addiction both run in my family. I've never had issues with substance abuse (despite some peoples opinions to the contrary), but I have suffered from depression for most of my adult life at one time or another. Police work only compounded my issues. My father was both an alcoholic and suffered from undiagnosed depression. I didn't know this when he was alive (he died at 44 while I was pregnant with Daryl from a heart attack), but in hindsight, he was most definitely suffering from depression leading up to his death. My father's brother was both Bi-Polar, an alcoholic and schizo-effective, his son Bryon was a recovering drug addict, my paternal grandfather an alcoholic....the list goes on. Add to it the fact that my father's side of the family all seem to have this Irish Catholic guilt and secrecy embedded into their DNA and you can imagine the cluster fuck of guilt and denial on that side of my family. Passed all the way down to my dear sweet Daryl...who has no idea how to deal with such a shit storm of emotions, failures, genetic pre-dispositions and anger. I hate that he hates his life.....because I've been in his same shoes. The difference being, I also know that the issues he's experiencing are temporary....and with help and dedication he can turn it all around and find happiness one day.

Tonight I feel lost. I feel lost and like a failure as a Mother. The one most important job I had in my life - and I feel as thought I royally fucked it up. Like I didn't pass along the life skills needed to my own sons. Granted, I didn't figure out much of those life skills until I started suffering from PTSD back in 2014. Prior to that I was still self-medicating, running, avoiding and pretending everything was fine when it clearly was not. When my sons were teenagers and I was too naive and stupid to think they needed more of my attention - I spent all my spare time devoted to working my child porn and child sex abuse cases. I thought those kids need me more....my boys are good.  God, If I could take back one decision I made in my life.....it would be thinking that my teenage sons didn't need me as much as the victims I devoted my time to. Of course they needed me....I just didn't see it until it was too late.

As I stepped out of the bath about an hour ago, my Grandmothers crucifix fell off my neck and onto the floor along with the chain. I rarely if ever take it off and I immediately thought the chain had broken. Only when I picked it up the chain wasn't broken. Neither was the clasp or the pendent itself. This small, inexplicable occurrence brought me to tears. Subtle at first, welling up inside me like a dam that was about to break - and then it did. Was this some bizarre sign from my dead Grandmother? I don't even believe in those things....not really. But it made no sense to fall off...it was absent a logical explanation. So what the fuck? If my Nana is trying to tell me something....it's shrouded in her damn Irish Catholic veil of secrecy that she kept her whole life. She never talked about the bad things that happened....not to her, not to her sons, not about any "family" issues. That old Irish Catholic guilt goes a long long way.....

I spoke with my Mom and Stepdad today, to let them know what happened with Daryl. I thought I was going to have to send them to the impound yard with cash but I was able to transfer money directly into his account. I apologized (again) for being such a shit bag as a teenager and we laughed about the "curse" that they put on me so many years ago when I was a teen. I remember so many times my Mother telling me, "One day YOU will have kids of your own, and I hope they are JUST LIKE YOU." This was said of course because I was a Grade A asshole from the age of 14-17. I think I had run away from home no less than 12 times in 3 years, stolen the family car twice (both times blowing the engine) and at one point refused to speak to my parents AT ALL - after being caught while I was AWOL. This behavior of course led my fairly normal parents to assume I was on drugs (I was NOT - never used drugs as a teen, I was just a stubborn little shithead) and send me to College Hospital for a 2 week stay in a "troubled teen psych ward." Let me tell you, there's nothing like realizing how lucky you are in the family department - as when you are locked up with a group of teens who actually have real family problems. My problems were that I didn't want to go to school, didn't want to follow the rules and basically wanted to do whatever I wanted. So stupid. When I finally got out of that lock up I was secretly grateful for how good I had it - and in my adult years have tried to let my folks know as often as possible what good parents they were and still are.

I will pray tonight. Probably holding my Nana's crucifix whilst watching "Brooklyn" (Nana loved that movie). I will pray that one day, 15-20 years from now, my sons will be at the stage in life where we can talk and laugh about what shitheads they were in their late teens and early 20's. Incidentally, I stopped being a shithead once I got pregnant with Douglas at 19 - because Motherhood came calling and I had to grow up REAL fast. My sons are on a bit of a delayed program....I'm blaming not only myself and their father, but the whole "millennial" culture that makes their generation more entitled and less independent than those generations before them.  I will pray that Daryl stops being self destructive and realizes these problems he's having are under his control - and only his control. That Douglas finds himself and what makes him happy - and that when I'm 70 we will all spend holidays and birthdays together with our extended families. I pray those happy days come....and one of the 3 of us doesn't leave this world prematurely, leaving the other 2 behind with nothing but regrets, guilt and unspoken words. My heart could not bare such an outcome - much as I feign warrior strength in the face of any adversity. My sons were my life for 20 years and are my legacy. I want nothing more than their ultimate happiness.

Well, that was a depressing as fuck blog. But life isn't always road trips, concerts and laughter.

Love your people my friends, and TELL them....tomorrow is never guaranteed.

Gypsy Love.

If you've ever felt it, you know what I speak of....

The intangible chemistry that draws you to another....like a moth to a flame. At times it's instantaneous, brought on by the first sentence out of someones mouth...or a glance that you can't quite decipher. It's something  in their eyes, or their smile, or the way they look at you....a quality within that person that calls to you on a primal and remarkable level. Simply put, it's magic. Gypsy magic I think....at least that's what I tell myself. Because my experience with this kind of intensity began with a Gypsy...

I have been in love so many times, I almost can't recall. I go all in when I'm with someone, so NOT loving who I'm with isn't an option. Why be with someone who makes you feel nothing? That's pointless and I've no time for it. But true chemistry....the kind that consumes you with very little effort, well that is a rarity - even for me. Though I've loved many, and been engaged 3 times...there are but 2 men in my lifetime that gripped my heart so fiercely that I believed I was created only for them. That the chemistry and connection was so strong...that nothing else mattered. Not logic, or logistics.....continents or demographics - that fierce longing and belonging superseded all else.

"...and so I find myself here, in the shadows of my past...filled with ghosts who are reminders, that love it never lasts...."

That first man, was so long ago - nearly 20 years to be exact. I don't think of him, or even reminisce of those days. In hindsight, he was a cad. A liar, a cheater, someone who was never worthy of my adulation. So I shall skip him altogether. 

But The Greek....the Greek is where this story begins. 

I have called him the Greek or the Gypsy for a year now. Few even know his real name. To say it evokes such a tenderness inside me, I think I prefer to keep it sacred and unknown to the world. Even now, it rolls off my lips like a whisper....like a dream.... 

We met on Tinder...much as I've met many men. I never expect much from these online dating sites, and he was no exception. A few intelligent messages exchanged and he had peaked my interest enough to meet for coffee.  I made time after I'd had dinner with another male friend, having expected it to be like most Tinder meetings....awkward and quick to end. However when I walked up to the Starbucks and saw him sitting there, I was immediately put at ease by the warmest most genuine smile on his face. He exuded a kind of confident happiness that you rarely see in men these days. Certainly not in one as young as he was....he was only 33 and yet had the wisdom of the ages in his dark, mysterious eyes. We sat for 2 hours - talking about the world and history and politics and all manner of things I normally could care less about discussing with a stranger. But he was different. Worldly, knowledgeable, educated, charming....with a magnetism that made me not want to leave this first meeting. I secretly wished he'd try to kiss me, but he did not. He left me bewitched and unable to focus on anything for the next 2 days until we met again.

The chemistry was palpable. I will not go into detail here, but I have never felt so completely at ease or at one with another person in my life.  His schedule was chaotic and he had little time for me or a social life....but the few times a week we would carve out for each other were spent in a haze of lovemaking, talking, reflecting, sharing and then more lovemaking. It was a brilliant and tragic 4 months and I wouldn't change a second of it. We both understood going into this "relationship" that it was without promise or commitment. He would be leaving the country at the end of his tenure (he was a visiting professor) - and going to teach in another country yet to be determined. Our age difference never factored into the relationship...he was mature beyond his years and his focus was on his career and not settling down with a wife or family. Though I often wished our paths had crossed at a different time in our lives, where he was more stable and ready for a family. Though by the time that comes around for him, it would be entirely too late for me. Much as I wished I could give him children and be his wife, it just was not meant to be. Time and circumstances can be so cruel....

So my Greek left the country the same week I began traveling in the Tiny House. Nearly 8 months ago now....

We've kept in contact and remain friends - and while I wish him every success and happiness in the world, I have longed for something that rivals that intense chemistry I felt with him. That oneness with another person. Feeling as though someone actually sees who I am - aside from all the antics and the crazy persona so prevalent on social media or when I'm entertaining a crowd with my silliness. Few people can see past that...and so I remain the "crazy Shannon" that is so easy for me to be. Feelings can't get hurt when you hide them behind laughter and jokes....so I play it that way all the time. It just makes life less complicated I find. Even still, I secretly wondered if his Gypsy magic had stolen my heart and carried it across the world with him. Well, I wondered that up until now. 

The world works in mysterious and unpredictable ways. It's a miracle we have any sanity left when life is busy throwing so many curve balls at us all the time. 

A few weeks ago I went to visit a friend. He was with some of his friends, who I got to meet as well. As per usual I was behaving like my typical crazy Shannon self - cracking jokes and amusing (or at least trying to) the group. There was a fellow there....he seemed a bit quiet and I barely caught a hint of any interest whatsoever when we were introduced. I assumed he was just being polite when he shook my hand and made eye contact. Southern gentleman and all. I honestly didn't pay much attention, as I was merely there to see my friend and catch up with him after moving to Tennessee. Then something strange happened, and during a  group conversation at the bar I suddenly became keenly aware of this man. Aware of him in a way that made me wish we were alone together, and could have a regular conversation without me being funny and crazy Shannon. Something about this guy was intriguing as hell and I had not been intrigued by anyone in 8 months (though believe me...I tried and I tried and I tried). It was bizarre - and yet the feeling I had was so palpable I could taste my desire for this man. So much so that once everyone had left I basically accosted him and told him I wanted to kiss him. Is it strange that I was surprised he obliged me? Because I was genuinely surprised he didn't run for the hills.

Fast forward to today and a whole new appreciation for chemistry and subsequent "angst" and frustration that go along with it. As luck would have it - the Greek did not take every piece of my heart and soul across the world with him. He left just enough for someone else to climb in there and make me feel like a dumbstruck, foolish schoolgirl. It's lovely....truly. Not the feeling of being foolish and more interested in someone than they are in me...but that fact that those feelings are still possible. That clearly I'm not some ice queen who has lost the ability to be submissive to a man. It's such a burden always being in control, that the lack of being in control is like a drug. I want this man so badly because he makes me feel like a girl. All warm and fuzzy and like a smitten kitten - it's quite embarrassing. But quite awesome as well. 

Of course, as my luck would have it...he also is focused on his career and NOT on being in any kind of relationship barring something ultra casual.  Again, he has his own things going on....and we are also at different junctures in our lives. He may be able to give me butterflies in my stomach and make me feel like a girl....but a young girl I am not. Youth is wasted on the young....as is fertility and the ability to create a family.  How many times have I heard that same sentiment echoed by men from my  past? Too many.  It always stings. Like a hard slap or a punch to the gut. I can be so many things....but I can't be that. 

"....fools dreams that are now memories, a solitary life; for hopes that go unanswered, and wrongs I can not right..."

03-01-19

Tiny House Travels: Shit you don't expect.

I don’t quite know where to start as there have been so many unforeseen trials and tribulations with this new Tiny House Gypsy lifestyle that I’ve chosen - that it begs the question, “Did I make a HUGE mistake???" To answer that question in simple terms, NO, I did not. I knew going into this new life on the road there would be issues. I fully expected life on the road to be filled with unforeseen catastrophes and daily problems that needed solving, so I m not some babe in the woods who has been blindsided by life's malfunctions.


HOWEVER....the past 5 months that I’ve owned my Tiny House on Wheels have been especially precarious, and have thrown more than a fair share of curve balls my way. I am still a HUGE fan of my Tiny Home. Make no mistake, I love my house, I love the design, I love the functionality of it....but the actual mobility of my home, well, that has left much to be desired. I purchased a THOW because I’m retired and I love to travel. So the idea of traveling in my home was very appealing. But from the time I picked up my THOW in Oregon last May it has been one issue after another. Granted, the majority of the issues have come from the structural integrity of the Iron Eagle trailer that my house was built on. I had 2 snapped spring leaf welds in under 3,000 miles. The second of which resulted in a blown tire and damage to my wheel well. Both of which resulted in days of down time and being stranded in places I did not want to be - in the midst of road trips that were meant to embrace the fun and carefree lifestyle of a retiree yearning for life “away from it all.” The sad fact is, that while you may escape the hassle of city life, life on the road comes with a whole new set of problems.


Today, in the middle of Texas in the pouring rain, I discovered my trailer tongue was severely bent at the seems, causing my house to slant dangerously downward at the hitch. An issue that I’m certain resulted from the “reinforced” welding that was done on the trailer last month at the Iron Eagle manufacturer in Oregon. After having snapped two welds I took it to them and they assured me they had reinforced every weld on the trailer and it was basically a “light armored vehicle” that was impervious to any future issues. Well, here we are 2,000 miles later and the trailer tongue is bending and bowing where they reinforced it, clearly a result of their weakening of the structural integrity of the trailer. Am I pissed? You better believe it. Do I blame my THOW manufacturer Tru Form Tiny? No, I don’t. I have weighed my home and it is not overweight for the rating of the trailer. The fact that is is heavy on the tongue side should not make such a huge difference....yet apparently it does.

The owners over at Tru Form are of course mortified at the situation. They build beautiful Tiny Houses and have been helpful and assumed responsibility every time I have had a problem. They certainly don’t need or want a Tiny House Travel blogger illuminating every little issue to a public audience on the worldwide web. I understand their frustration and I know they understand mine. The difference is, this is my HOME now, so I can only suck up so many setbacks before I’m screaming WHAT THE FUCK an am ready to lose my everlovin mind (I’m in Texas currently...so I’m pickin up the lingo y’all). I strongly believe the welding done at Iron Eagle Trailers is what weakened the tongue where it is now bending. That certainly isn’t the fault of Tru Form Tiny, and I do not place the blame on them. There were other issues with the house that they remedied under warranty (the TPO membrane on my roof tore loose after the first 800 miles, minor issues with my heater, etc,), and they have been attentive and helpful when issues have arised. There are a few cosmetic things that I will need to maintain more than I expected - such as the exterior paint and the cedar siding and deck. But that is the case with any house you purchase....you have growing pains. I expected the unexpected.....and here it is.


Speaking with the fabricator here in Texas, it’s going to cost $2400 to remove the tongue and replace it with a heavier Gage steel. My tongue weight is 2200 lbs, which is a heavy load for the tubing that is currently on there. I’m glad it’s being upgraded with a heavier steel, I just wish Iron Eagle would have caught that last month when they worked on it all day! Fortunately the fabricator is going to be able to salvage most of the moving parts on the tongue and just reuse them on the new setup. It’s going to take 2-3 days to complete and they only take cash or check. Guess who doesn’t have $2400 in her bank account right now? (currently I'm $136 overdrawn. YAY). Fortunately I have a few “bank checks” from a credit card that I can use to pay the initial 50% deposit. Then I will be left to figure out where the rest of the money is coming from, either .Iron Eagle or Tru Form. Somebody is paying for this mess...and it certainly isn’t going to be me.


Thank god I have friends here in Texas that I can stay with - and I’m not broken down in the middle of nowhere. Or even worse if this had happened when I had Kaila with me! I have to pick her up in Mandeville, LA next week. I was supposed to pick her up at the airport in NOLA on Saturday....but that is impossible now. Hopefully they will get the Tiny fixed and road-ready by Saturday and I’ll make the 2 day drive to Louisiana to pick up my favorite 9 year old by Monday. Again, LUCKILY - Kaila has friends in Mandeville since that’s where her Mama is from, so she will get picked up by John & Ginesse Barrett and get to spend a few days playing with their daughter, Cassidy. I’m pretty disappointed that I will miss picking her up at the airport...as this is her first time as a solo “unattended minor" flyer. I bet she’s gonna be so excited when she comes off that plane! I expect I’ll hear all about it....sadly, not firsthand. Oh well....she and I will still have a fun 3 day road trip from NOLA to Nashville where we can do silly stuff and she can tell me all about rocks and minerals, American History and various other factoids. I can’t wait to see her!


I would like to sincerely thank everyone for your calls, texts, messages and comments these past few days. It’s been hard to answer all of you with so much going on. Not to mention the broken iPhone that I am hopefully going to replace today. I swear, having a phone that doesn’t work properly is annoying and super frustrating! But seriously friends, THANK YOU. I appreciate the support - and I’m getting to the point where I’ve weeded out most of the wackos and freaks on this public Facebook page, and have mostly normal (relatively speaking), kind and considerate Facebook friends. Make no mistake, I still enjoy the shit talking and the crazy Shannanigins - but sometimes ya just gotta deal with real life for a bit. Here’s to hoping next week is better than this one was!


Stay safe, keep laughing, and be kind to each other....life’s too short to be an asshole. :)

Neville the Cat.

Here it is, the long awaited first installment of my Tiny House Travels blog. Good lord, there's got to be an easier way to say that. THT blog? Oh I don't know, everyone has so many catchy titles and slogans and logos for their blogs and I'm over here like WTF...is anyone even going to read this stuff? I suppose there are a FEW friends and folks that I know who like my blogs, and maybe someday my kids or grandkids will wonder what crazy Granny Shanny was up to on her road trips....so this is for them. And for myself, because writing has always been cathartic for me. Plus, I just finished off my Huckleberry Hard Cider and opening a second bottle seems a bit self destructive...so writing it is.

Let me start off by stating the (what should be) obvious: YES....I chose this new life on the road because I'm running. Running, because staying in one place for very long reminds me of things I'd rather not think about. It reminds me of a long career filled with heartache, children that are now grown and doing their own thing, countless ex's that turned out to be better off as just "friends" - and the fact that I have never really felt like I fully belonged anywhere. Being outside in nature....or alone listening to music....or doting on Kaila (or any other child I love dearly), is about as full a heart as I can muster these days. Beyond that, I find very little that fills my soul with joy. Though that's a pretty solid list of things I guess, so I should count my blessings - as I am fortunate to have many.

As for romance, well, there was a man....earlier this year....who gave me butterflies and made my heart feel full. Though when we started dating it was knowingly temporary - and he is now in a different country, not to be coming back. So cest la vie! It was a lovely 4 months....but I've yet to meet anyone since who has captured my attention so completely. Not to mention life on the road definitely does not lend itself to serious relationships. I've met some amazing people the past 2 months whilst traveling, but alas -  I'm still a free-spirited, rolling stone...

Now...ON TO THE TRAVEL PORTION OF THIS OVERDUE BLOG!

I started out in the Tiny House in early June, in what would be one of the hottest months on record. I was headed for Las Vegas (via death valley) to pick up Emily and Kaila who were flying in from Tennessee to join me for 2 weeks on the road. I had Neville the Cat in tow, for his first Tiny House adventure. He wasn't entirely sure about the whole thing, but actually travelled quite well in the truck with me. He'd just curl up on my lap and hide his little face in the crook of my arm, and sleep until we stopped - at which time he would pop his head up and look around....anxious to hop out of the truck. When we were actually stopping to set up the Tiny for a bit, he would go right from the truck to the Tiny House deck and go inside. He definitely knew his Tiny House - and felt very comfortable inside. Neville didn't much care for traffic, loud kids running around or other types of commotion. He was basically a cross between a house cat and a stalking panther. Whenever we were somewhere with open fields or forested areas, he loved sniffing around and "stalking" birds and other critters. He even liked hangin with the horses at the various horse properties we stayed at. He had gotten used to walking with his harness and leash and people would comment, "wow I've never seen a cat being walked before." Yeah, he was a pretty awesome 13 lb fur baby. My "cat boyfriend" for the past 3 years....and the best boyfriend he was.

His littermate and brother Christian Grey had been killed by coyotes in my front yard 3 days before I left on this first trip - it was horrible. I was thankful I still had Neville to keep me company, I'm such a nut about my cats that the idea of not having them with me was inconceivable. So it was unbearable during my travels the few times that Neville got out of the Tiny House and went missing for several hours. It first happened near Glacier National Park - and he was gone for 4 hours. Then again in Wenatchee and he was gone for 18 hours. Then again for another 12 hours in North Bend WA. Each time I was freaking out, calling him, looking for him, praying....doing everything you're supposed to do when a cat acts like a cat and runs off. I'd put his litter and toys outside - so he could smell them. Leave the door open so he could come back in....the whole routine. He came back those 4 times and each time he did I cried tears of relief and happiness. But the more Neville got to sneak out "exploring" the more restless he seemed at night. He would sleep all day, but once dusk set in...he would perk up, stare out the windows, scratch at the door to go outside....he just wanted to be OUT THERE.

When we drove from North Bend WA to Mt. Hood OR it was a long 5 hour drive. I stopped midway and took an hour nap in the Tiny House with Neville by my side. When we finally go to the Mt Hood RV Resort Tiny House Village it was past 7 pm. I was exhausted and there was a group of ladies in the village who wanted to see my Tiny House (I'm getting used to it, but when I'm tired...the tour is pretty short). So I chatted with these women and showed them the house, then took some Tylenol PM and literally crawled in bed by 8:30 praying for 12 hours of solid sleep. Neville was laying on the bed next to me, cleaning himself obsessively like he liked to do. I remember petting his head and telling him what a sweet boy he was....and then I fell asleep. HARD. So hard in fact that I hadn't thought much of the upstairs loft window that was open about 3" - to allow the cool breeze to flow through as we slept. The opening didn't look nearly big enough for Neville to fit through, and besides, I figured if he started scratching at the window trying to get out - surely it would wake me up. I woke up the next morning and Neville was not in the bed with me...in fact he was not in the house anywhere. The window was still only 3" open so I looked and looked and LOOKED again throughout the Tiny House....wondering where he could be hiding. But Neville was gone. Sometime in the middle of the night he had jumped the 13' down from the loft window (there was no screen on it) and went out adventuring......and that was the last I saw of him.

Of course I searched for him. Every day. I extended my stay in Mt Hood so that I was there for 5 days vs. the 2 I had originally planned. The managers helped me by sending out an email alert to all the residents with his photo. I posted flyers, I walked and drove the grounds everyday at dusk looking for my baby...but nothing. I received several calls from people who thought they'd "found" him, but it was always a different cat they had seen in the RV park.  Unfortunately it had only been 2 days since the last time he took off in Wenatchee - and during that instance he came back without his collar and tags on. I assume he caught them on some branch and they are still out in the hills of Wenatchee. So I hadn't had a chance to replace them yet. My poor boy, out in the Mt. Hood area with no collar....I can hardly stand to think about it without crying. I try to tell myself that he is out there still....stalking, hunting, evading harm...and maybe someone has taken him in because he's such a friendly and beautiful cat. I probably cried more in that first week he was gone than I have cried in the past 2 years. The Tiny House felt huge and empty without him in it. It still does. Hell, I feel empty without him. I loved that damn cat more than anything. The only thing that has kept me going is knowing this horrible grief will subside in time, like it has in the past when I've lost pets, or loved ones. Agonizing grief is painful....but not permanent. Still, I'm just now editing this blog - nearly 7 months after Neville went missing on August 21, 2018 - and the tears are still falling.

Oh Neville.....I miss you so.

The Next Chapter: TINY HOUSE BLOGGING!!

Here we go kids....buckle up for safety, it's about to get a bit ROUGH.