Category Archives: Maria, Rebooted

There is life after divorce. And it rocks.

November Full-Day Time-Lapse

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A recent time-lapse from my home in Malaga.

I love time-lapse photography. Although there’s nothing terribly special about this 2-minute compilation, it’s my first effort at a full-day time-lapse movie shot from my new home in Malaga, WA. The view looks northwest, toward East Wenatchee (center) and Wenatchee (left).

The formula: one shot every 10 seconds compiled at 30 frames per second. This was shot on November 3, 2013.

It’s interesting to note that because there are tall cliffs south of my property, in the wintertime, I don’t get direct sunlight on my home until late morning. I suspect that’ll get even later as the days get shorter. In the summer, however, I get nearly a full day of direct sunlight — perfect for gardening!

Life Goes On

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Setbacks are bound to happen, but they should never stop you from moving forward with your life.

Over the past two days, I spent a bunch of time with some friends of mine from Wickenburg. These folks were incredibly supportive last autumn, winter, and spring, while I lived in the house I’d previously shared with my husband (when he was around), waiting for him to get reasonable and settle out of court so we could move forward with our lives apart. It was a long wait. I finally left the house at the end of May, right after the second of two court dates. He never did get reasonable and the judge made the settlement decisions for us in late July.

These friends saw me at my very worst, including one of the two times that I came close to what might have been a nervous breakdown. All through those months, these friends gave me some of the moral support I needed and assured me, over and over, that I’d be fine and that I was better off without him.

Oddly, it was also these two friends who, just yesterday, voiced their amazement at just how well I’ve been doing since those dark days.

Because it’s true: I have been doing incredibly well. My business had a very profitable summer and I was able to replenish all of the savings spent on a too-lengthy legal battle — and then some. After the long wait for the judge’s decision, I was finally able to move forward and buy the land I’d wanted for nearly a year. And because I didn’t have to wait for another party’s input on my decision-making processes, I was able to immediately move forward to get the water turned on, install and activate the temporary power pole that brings electrical power to my lot, and even get a septic system installed and approved by the county. I did all of this in just 40 days.

The Problem with the Last Land Purchase

I think back on the last raw land purchase I made. It was 40 acres of “ranch land” in northern Arizona, an escape from the oppressive heat of summers in Wickenburg. I’d been part of a “team” back then, partnered with a man who researched everything to death before making a decision. Often, he’d spend so much time researching an option that the option was no longer available when he’d finally decided. Although we got a fence installed relatively quickly — my accounting records show that it was installed within 6 months of the property purchase — it was two years before the septic system was installed and six years before he finally agreed to put some sort of building on the land. The building was especially frustrating for me. We blew $800 on plans with one builder and $400 on plans with an architect and looked at more than a handful of prefabricated buildings before he grudgingly agreed to the “camping shed” we wound up with. Although we managed to turn it into a year-round cabin and spent several holidays up there — including Thanksgiving and Christmas — he apparently hated it there, later referring to it as “Maria’s white elephant” to his friends. Of course, he never said anything like that to me.

And that was part of the problem. He’d agree to something he didn’t believe in — like the purchase of this land — and then get bitter about it. Or he’d like something one day and hate it a month or year or more later. But throughout this process, he never communicated what he really thought or felt. He just went along with the general idea, but stalled when it came to moving forward with anything of substance. And he never communicated what he was really thinking — or he waited until we’d come too far down a path to go back.

He created dead ends.

And that’s why I’m so much better off without him. I don’t have to deal with his indecision or stalling tactics or change of heart. I can just look at a situation, think about it for as long (or short) as I like, and make a decision. I can act — immediately if I like — and get the benefits of the results as soon as possible.

A Sad Flashback

Yesterday, I was feeling melancholy. It was the 29 year anniversary of the day my ex-husband proposed to me.

I remember the moment perfectly. We were in our bedroom at our Bayside apartment. It was after work. He’d gone to New York to pick up the ring that afternoon. It was the 10th of the month — back in those days we celebrated the 10th of every month to mark the anniversary of the day we met (July 10, 1983).

Engagement Ring
My engagement ring.

I knew it was coming; I’d gone with him a few days before to pick out the diamond. After being spooked by the diamond sellers on 47th Street, we’d would up at his mother’s jeweler on 57th Street. The diamond was beautiful — a one-caret solitaire, white with just a tiny “feather” imperfection. It cost him $3,000, which was a lot of money in those days — but then again, he made a lot of money back then. The setting would be a simple four prongs. It wasn’t as large as the diamonds my friends at work had been getting, but it was infinitely more beautiful, almost perfect.

On the afternoon of September 10, 1984, he got down on one knee in front of me, showed me the ring, and asked me to marry him. I said yes.

I later changed my mind.

Months ago, when I was packing up my things, I found an old journal that dated from 1991. In it, I found numerous entries that reminded me of the problems we were having, even back then. Him belittling me in front of my friends and family members — which he never stopped doing, even after we were finally married. Him putting me down, telling me that I’d never accomplish various things I set out to do. Him basically making me feel like crap — the exact feeling I shouldn’t get from a future husband.

So I didn’t marry him. For a while, I even stopped wearing the ring. The only reason I started wearing it again was because I was getting tired of creepy guys hitting on me.

And then, after 23 years together and an unfortunate sequence of events, when I thought we really were “life partners,” I married him.

Out of all the mistakes I’ve made in my life, that was, by far, the worst.

I had legally tied myself to the man I’d later refer to as my ball and chain — a man who held me back from so many things I wanted to do with my life, a man who made promises he broke, a man who made excuses rather than take action, a man who attempted to communicate his constant disapproval of my actions with sour looks instead of words.

Don’t get me wrong. I loved him. I still do — although the man I loved is long gone, dead to this world.

It frustrated me to no end that a man who had once been strong and ambitious had turned into a weak old man, afraid to communicate his true thoughts and feelings to both his mother and wife, more likely to make excuses about why he couldn’t do something than just step away from the television and do it. The frustration turned to sadness when he gave up on our relationship. It turned to pity when I saw what he’d replaced me with: a desperate old woman who sold herself online, a mommy who would lead him by the hand through our divorce proceedings, feeding him bad advice all along the way and costing him tens of thousands of dollars in legal fees.

How could I not pity him?

Although the pain of his betrayal is still sharp a year later, I do have to thank him for cutting our marriage short. Yes, I was tired of waiting for him to get his act together and start living life. But I would not have left him. I loved him too much.

By leaving me, he set me free. He put me back on track for a good and fulfilling life.

And while it’s sad that I have to move forward without the man I loved, that old man is dead and gone for good. Fortunately, there are other stronger men out there. Men who know how to have fun and make the most of life. Those are the men I’m meeting now. One of them will surely take that man’s place in my life — possibly a lot sooner than I expected.

Life Goes On

“You can’t move forward when you’re looking back.” Another friend of mine gave me that priceless piece of advice sometime within the past year or so. He was right.

So I’m moving forward — and I’m doing it at my typical fast pace. Life’s short — why wait to achieve the things you want?

The divorce proceedings were a time-consuming, costly setback, but nothing more. It was as if I took a year off from life. I’m back now and moving full speed ahead.

Thanks, honey, for setting me free and making me a stronger person.

I’ve Got the Power!

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Literally.*

Last week, I blogged about cleaning my hand-me-down temporary power box in preparation for rewiring it and installing it on my 10-acre lot in Malaga, WA. At the end of that post, I mentioned that I hoped my friend and I could have it in place later that day.

Well, I got what I hoped for. When my friend rolled up just minutes after publishing that post to this blog, he was eager to get started on the job. By the end of the day, the pole was in place.

Rewiring

Power Box After
Here’s what we started with.

The first job was clearing out the old wires to replace them with new ones. Not everything had to go. We had to remove the wires on the left side of the box and replace them with a new set that I’d bought the previous week. On the right side, we had to connect wires to the 30 amp breaker and run those wires down to an RV outlet that had to be positioned farther down the pole.

I backed my pickup down to where the pole was and we lifted it into the back of my truck with the business end on the tailgate. Then I moved the truck forward into the shade of the house under construction — now nearly finished — where I’m currently living. I fetched all the pieces I’d bought at Home Depot and the electrical supply shop the week before and got out some tools.

I think my friend was pretty surprised when he realized that I knew how to use tools. Apparently, a lot of women don’t. When he pointed out which wires needed to be removed, I grabbed the right screwdriver and got to work on it. After all, I was supposed to do all the wiring myself — that was a requirement of my permit. (In Chelan County, either the homeowner hires a licensed electrician to do all the work or does it all herself. The rule didn’t say anything about coaching from a knowledgable friend.)

I had most of the tools needed to get the job done. There were only two I didn’t have — and got the next time I was out: a good wire stripper and a hacksaw. The wire stripper was needed for obvious reasons — each new wire’s end had to be stripped before it could be fastened into place. The hacksaw was to cut the plastic conduit that also needed to be replaced.

Step-by-step we worked our way through the box. I learned about how the box was organized and what each wire did. It was surprisingly simple. And safe — it wasn’t hooked up to any power yet.

Then we were finished. It had taken less than an hour.

Planting the Pole

We closed up the tailgate, climbed into the truck, and headed out. I think my friend was more excited about getting the pole set up than I was. Don’t get me wrong — I was eager to get it set up. But when you consider that he had plenty of other things to do that day, it was really nice — and so refreshing! — to be with someone who was so focused on helping me get a job done. (That’s part of what real friends are all about.)

At my property, my friend was pleasantly surprised at the trench and hole I’d dug. After seeing me limp around on a bad foot for three weeks, I don’t think he had very high expectations. I think he’d come with the idea that he’d have to do some digging, despite the fact that I’d assured him that I’d dug the trench to specs. He later told me that out of everything I’d done so far on this project, digging that trench was the most impressive. (I have to agree. I surprised myself.)

Because he’s a man, though, he had to pick up a shovel and extend the trench a little in front of the transformer box. I’m not sure if he did it because he thought we needed the extra length or if he was trying to see for himself how difficult it was to dig. If the later, he discovered that it was quite easy to dig. After all, a middle-aged woman with a gimpy foot had done it.

I backed the truck up as close to the post hole as I could and we wrestled the pole out of the truck and into the hole. It was a bit of a struggle, mostly because of the conduit hanging loose with a 90° angle at the bottom and 10 feet of wire hanging out. But we finally got it into place. We threw some rocks into the hole and followed that up with some dirt. We realized that the fastener we’d brought to connect the grounding wire to the grounding rod wasn’t big enough. I’d have to come back and make that connection another time.

Power Pole Installed
My friend took this silly photo of me with the power pole and box installed.

The last step was putting in the two required supporting poles each in a different direction. We used the same poles my friend had used for his setup. The heads on the screws he’d used stripped immediately, but I had some long nails in my toolbox to get the job done.

My friend voiced some concern about the grounding rod being inside the hole. He seemed to think it needed to be driven in from the surrounding grade to make it more sturdy. But it was sturdy. If I could have pulled it out, I would have — just to drive it in elsewhere. It would have to wait. I could aways get another rod if I needed to.

Finished, my friend took a picture of me by the pole. Then we put away the shovel and other tools and celebrated by going out for a late Thai lunch in town.

I called the Chelan County PUD and told them the power pole was ready for inspection. I knew it would be at least 24 hours before the inspector came out.

Fastening the Grounding Wire

Later that day, while doing laundry at a local laundromat, I stopped at a hardware store to pick up the piece I’d need to connect the grounding wire to the rod. But rather than take care of it that day, I went out to dinner with another friend. We spent the evening back at the Mobile Mansion where we chatted and drank wine and I helped him fix a problem he was having with his GPS. (Once a techie, always a techie.)

The next day, I had a charter flight down to Othello and Pasco. I had to pick up my passengers at 8 AM sharp. Before leaving, however, I put the grounding rod connector piece and a screwdriver in my bag.

Helicopter Parking
Heck, why make the drive when I was only a few minutes away by air?

At about 1 PM, when the flight was done and I’d dropped off my passengers, I flew over to the property and landed at the end of the driveway. I shut down and took the connector and screwdriver over to the power pole.

ConnectionI sure did drive that rod in close to the pole.

I ran the connector through the very long piece of copper wire and made the connection to the rod. My friend had told me I could bury the extra wire. Seemed like a shame to me, but I really didn’t care. All I wanted was to pass the inspection.

The Inspection

I was home for less than an hour when the phone rang. It was the inspector. He said he’d be out on the property by 3 PM.

Thinking that showing up in a helicopter would be a wee bit too cocky, I jumped into my Jeep and made the 30-minute drive from Wenatchee Heights to Malaga. I had to stop for gas, of course — why is it that my vehicles always need fuel when I’m in a hurry? But even though I arrived early, the inspector was already there, looking at my pole and the trench and the hole.

Penny and I hopped out of the Jeep and I extended my hand as I walked up to the inspector. “What do you think of my trench?” I asked proudly. “I dug it myself.”

We both laughed.

He did the inspection, pointing out the few minor things that were wrong with the setup. Because they were minor, however, he let the pole pass inspection. He put the official sticker on the box.

Another hurdle jumped.

I’ve Got the Power

That was on Tuesday. Part of the inspector’s job is to call the Chelan County PUD and arrange for them to hook up the power. I had no idea if I needed to be present, but I figured that they had my phone number and would call if they needed me.

The rest of the week rolled by. I got busy. (I always get busy.) I didn’t hear anything about the power pole.

On Saturday, I had a charter flight. I was taking a couple up to Tsillan Cellars in Chelan for dinner. I had to meet them at the airport at 4 PM. But it was a nice day and I felt like flying. So I fired up the helicopter and took it out for a spin in the Leavenworth area where some friends of mine were hiking in the mountains. One of them had texted me his general location with some landmarks. I thought it would be fun to try to spot them from the air. And I hooked up the GoPro to get some video while I was out. (More of that in another post.)

By 3 PM I was ready to head back to Wenatchee. I needed fuel and wanted to relax for a while before meeting my passengers. I figured I’d fly by my property to see whether I could tell if the power had been installed.

Meter on my Box
The meter on my power box confirmed that power was available at my lot.

I didn’t want to land there and shut down, but I did have to get close. I hovered near the transformer box. The wires I’d left loose were buried. As I flew away leaving a nasty cloud of dust (from the digging) behind me, I realized that I now had both water and power on the property.

I confirmed that the power worked just yesterday when I drove out to take a look. There was a meter on the box and it was running. I took a shovel and finished filling in the hole and ditch.

I was another step closer to my new home.

[*Note: Thanks to my old friend Steve for inspiring the title of this blog post.]

Temporary Power: Cleaning the Box

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Prepping my hand-me-down temporary power box.

As I wrote yesterday, I decided to do the installation of the temporary power at my building site in Malaga. This would not only teach me more about how electrical wiring is done, but it would save me about $300.

The decision was made easy, in part, by a friend’s offer of his old temporary power pole which was about 80% wired for my needs. He’d built a home in Wenatchee Heights and had the permanent power turned on last summer. He didn’t need the box and offered it to me in trade for a few trees he wanted to plant on his property. He also offered to supervise my wiring of the box and took me shopping at Home Depot and an electrical supply store to get the few parts I needed to make it work for my purposes.

Yesterday, I went to examine the pole and electric panel, which he’d dug out and laid on the ground. I tried to move it but couldn’t — the post is an 8-foot long 8×8 piece of lumber further weighted down with the electrical box and some heavy wires and conduit. (I should point out that if I had to move it, I know I could — probably by fastening it to my Jeep’s bumper and dragging it to a new position. And when it comes time to bring it to my future home, I know my friend will help me get it in my truck and wrestle it into place in the 36″ deep hole I dug on Saturday.) But even in its current location, I could open it up and check it out.

Electric Box Before
The electrical box was full of twigs, left behind by an industrious bird.

Sometime during the past few years, a bird had built a nest in the box. The meter side was absolutely full of twigs, feathers, and dirt. It would all need to be cleaned out before I could do any wiring. So I donned a pair of latex gloves and got to work.

While a lot of the twigs were easy to get to and remove, others weren’t. I had to get a tool — a flat-head screwdriver, in this case — to partially disassemble the box where the meter would go so I could reach the twigs. I also used a needle-nose pliers to reach and grab where my fingers wouldn’t.

I got a phone call from a friend while I was working and took a break. While we were chatting — about, among other things, the latest crazy talk from Arizona, if you can believe that — I went into my friend’s house to track down a ShopVac. I have one, but it’s in storage, and I know my little battery-powered DustBuster wouldn’t be able to do the job. I found a big ShopVac with an extension cord and carried down to the back door.

Power Box After
This is as clean as this box is going to be.

When my conversation was over, I plugged the vacuum in and ran the cord out to the backyard where the power pole lay open. Five minutes later the electrical box was as clean as it would get.

I reattached the panel over the area where the meter would go and closed the box back up. Then I returned the ShopVac to its place in the house and put away all my tools.

Taking care of the box must have put me in the mood to clean because I spent the rest of the afternoon clearing out the miscellaneous stuff that had accumulated under the helicopter’s seats, washing the helicopter bubble cover, and cleaning out the RV basement.

(Now if only I could get through this stack of paperwork that never seems to go away.)

My friend returns later today. With luck, we’ll get that electrical box wired this afternoon — and maybe even bring it to my future home and position it in its post hole. There’s a good chance I’ll have electricity there by the end of the week.

The Little Dig

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Hard work, but not a difficult task.

This past week, I made a radical decision: I decided to install my own temporary power box at my future homesite.

Chelan County Electric GuideTemporary power is what’s commonly installed at a construction site to provide power to the builders for their tools. It consists of a 4×4 post with a circuit box, meter, and outlets. Chelan County is very specific about how the box should be installed. It’s all detailed in their 74-page book, Residential Electrical Services Connection and General Information,” which is available as a PDF from the Chelan County PUD website.

I’d spoken to two electricians about doing the work. One wanted $500, which included “renting” me the post for six months. He never did say what it would cost if I still needed it after that. The other promised to come look at the site but never showed. I called him to follow up and left a message. But by the time he called back, I’d already made my decision.

A friend of mine had a power post he no longer needed. All I needed to do was buy some more outlets and wire and some conduit and a grounding rod. He went with me to Home Depot and an electrical supply place. I spent $120 for the items I needed, along with a electrical how-to book.

The biggest challenge, he told me, would be to get the hole dug and drive in the copper grounding rod. The rod was about seven feet long. It had to be driven all the way into the ground. He said that driving in that damn rod would be the hardest part of all.

I went out to the property the next day. I wanted to scout out where I’d put the pole. I also wanted to measure the distance from the pole to where I planned to park my RV during construction. I was hoping to run 30 amp power to the RV. I needed 75 feet of cable. I think I had 50. I began rethinking the parking space.

Pole PlacementYou see, the power pole has to be 3 to 10 feet from the transformer, which is already on the property. So I’m limited as to where I can put the pole. Fortunately, the transformer and pole location will be quite close to the building site. That’s good because the building must be within 100 feet of the transformer. So I’m all set for that.

While I was there, I took a shovel and thrust it into the dirt, expecting to hit rocks. After all, I’d had a hell of a time driving the T-post for my name/address sign three weeks before. But the shovel went in smoothly. I dumped a shovelful of dirt to the side. Easy. The next one wouldn’t be that easy, though.

I dug again. It was.

I got out my tape measure and measured about 7 feet from the transformer, in a line almost abeam my city water spigot. And I dug.

I dug for a good 15 minutes, always expecting to hit rock. I didn’t encounter a single stone.

Start of my Hole
I got pretty far the first day, just looking for rocks I never found.

By that time, I had a good trench going but I was sweating hard. It was afternoon on a sunny day. I wasn’t dressed for digging. My foot, which I’d sprained more than two weeks before, ached. I’d have to come back earlier in the day, before it got warm out.

That day was yesterday. I showed up at 8 AM. After a little weed whacking to clear the area, I got to it.

The trench needed to be 24 inches deep. The hole for the pole needed to be 36 inches deep. Unless you’ve actually dug a trench and hole that deep you have no idea how deep it really is. It’s deep.

But there were no rocks. The dirt came up easily, shovel after shovel. I had no trouble getting down to 20 inches on the trench and 30 on the hole. Then it started to get a little harder — the dirt was packed solid.

I drove down the street to where my friend Kathy lives. She’s an avid gardener. She was outside with her husband, talking about plans to add a new tasting room to their winery. I asked her if she had a “digging stick.” I described it as a long, pointed pole that was heavy. I had one back in Wickenburg but had left it behind. No problem. Kathy had one. And a post hole digger. We loaded both into my truck and I drove back.

I pounded with the digging stick to loosen up the soil. The post hole digger worked great to pull the dirt out of the trench and hole — after all, they weren’t much wider than my shovel — but was too heavy for me to work over and over. I went back to the shovel.

By 11 AM, after several breaks, I was done.

But there was one more thing: the copper rod.

I brought it over to the hole and lowered down onto one side. Then I got the post driver I’d bought to put in my name/address sign and put it over the rod. I rammed it down hard. The hit made a gawdawful clanging sound, but the rod must have gone in 6 inches.

I put on a pair of earplugs and got back to it. Soon I was kneeling beside the hole, banging away with the fence post driver. When the rod was about 4 inches out of the ground, I stopped. I could always finish it off later.

The Finished TrenchHere’s the finished trench and hole, approved by my tiny inspector.

I stopped and took a photo. When I put it on Facebook, my friends joked about using it to bury my wasband. We pretty much agreed that the ditch was so narrow he’d have to go in sideways. I told them I’d rather use it for its intended purpose since it was unlikely that I’d be able to cram his mommy in there with him.

On the way home, I stopped to chat with my next door neighbors whose home, the subject of my wasband’s investigation back in April, is nearly done. (I still giggle about that every time I drive by and see their RV parked there.) They were cleaning up after the builders — their way of saving some money. They’d loaded up their little flatbed trailer (another giggle) with scrap wood while their three sons played in the dirt. We exchanged phone numbers and talked about road maintenance.

Then I continued home, stopping just long enough to drop off the digging tools I’d borrowed.

Digging had been hard work, but it was surprisingly easy. As someone on Facebook mentioned, the lack of rocks was like some kind of good omen — it was meant to be. Still, you can bet I took plenty of ibuprofen last night.