one by one

After my record speed immigration status, I'm not going to act surprised as the pieces of our uprooting and overall assignment change falls into place one by one.

First, some dear friends of our the Carrs volunteered to travel with us to help move, watch kids & pets, drive, etc. That is a huge blessing.

Second, my current house flip project is under contract as of last week. That is a major factor in our move as the sale of that property will finance the logistics of road travel and etc. We are penciling in a date in mid to late May 2010 for the move.

Then recently, we heard from one of Agent Wife's cousins in the town we're moving to that their rental house might be available to us by the time we arrive there. Nice.

Our final root to pull is selling our residence. I have planned to fix & pretty up the exterior with proceeds from the flip project. Then, hire The Jedi Master and crew to fix/pretty up the interior after we are gone. But a coworker of mine and his wife (long time friend of the agent b files) have a vague interest in buying our house as is for a reduced rate.

I could make a few more bucks by prettying up the house and selling it when it's vacant. But it would be sweet to sell it as is and thus walk away from it late May. Either way is win/win.

Things are coming together nicely - further proof to me that the CEO of the universe has ordained this assignment transfer all along.

one slip

Had a rare call to duty today during my work hours. Obi-Wan slipped into some diabetic trance due to lack of eating breakfast.

Agent Wife called me this afternoon after Obi-Wan's housekeeper called her from the hospital. An ambulance picked him up around 1:30.

I was working nearby the hospital and ran over on my break. He's was already back to normal and preparing to leave in the next hour.

Turning 93 this spring, Obi-Wan is legless, wheelchair bound and won't go down without a fight.

the testimony files

I guess it's no news here that we are receiving an assignment change from headquarters and moving up north. But this week I received our passports back and mine is officially stamped with an immigrant visa. We have until August 3rd (or 3rd of August...got to start getting used to using the day before the month) until it expires.

We officially announced to all of our friends, extended family, and vague acquaintances that we are moving. Most responded with joy and well wishes. Others with shock and disbelief, as if leaving Abilene is unfathomable.

The little known miracle here, and thus testimony to the masses, is how fast this happened. "This" being my immigration process.

We mailed all of our applications, photos, FBI records, and photo copies of our anal cavities to Ontario on 25 August 2009. My visa is stamped 17 November.

That's less than three months. This process was supposed to take around twelve months, possibly longer.

The doors in our desert period have been closing for the past year or so. And thus the doors in our new calling are wide open.

wrapping up the final chapter

Agent Wife recently wrote a letter to both The Tiger and The Bulldog in prison. They are in the same cell block and should be released within a month of each other next summer.

They both wrote back. Tiger, always the clown, stated something like, "Can't wait to BBQ with you again...because the food here sure does suck". I can just hear him saying that. Bulldog on the other hand is having a more spiritual change and thus his letter is more down to earth, stating things like, "this ain't the life for me" and "I'm going to change". Wow.

*********************

Obi-Wan is still Obi-Wan. I don't get over there as much as I use to. I miss our afternoon visits and such. And I really miss our dinners together when he'd cook some meat and we'd bring over something he might eat or might not. It's getting harder for him to cook these days, and he really hates that.

*********************

The days fly by when working on my current house flip project, due to finish in about 3 weeks or so. If I stopped and looked at my life with the eyes of the rat racers, I should be bored and or ashamed of trudging away at manual labor. But I'm having an absolute blast. This really brings out a dormant artistic side of mine. Although most days don't seem too artsy. But the big picture is: creating something desirable (and valuable) from something undesirable. I love every minute. Every ounce of energy I have is going into this, so it seems.

*********************

And again...on the assignment change...things are moving so fast that I would be surprised if we are still in the fair mother city six months from now.

I recently received a letter from the Canadian consulate who is processing my permanent residence status. It basically stated: "You're in. Send us your passports so we can stamp them with the appropriate visas".

I mailed off the passports today. When they come back, I think we should have about 3-6 months to get up there.

new assignment: progress report

My Canadian immigration status is progressing quite well.

Back in August we mailed in a package of papers as thick as a dictionary. One month to the day we received a response from immigration officials notifying us that the first of two major hurdles was cleared: Agent Wife can sponsor me. Her sponsorship was never an issue in my mind, but I was pleased to hear back about something so quick.

Now, my permanent residence request is in the hands of a different office where it could take 6 to 12 months for processing. Whatever happens, happens. But we would love to have our oldest start school there next September and thus be settled in by mid summer. So we are praying for a quick turnaround like the first hurdle.

Thankfully, the Canadian government has a track record with me on communicating through any red tape process. It's quite nice. A far cry from Agent Wife's American immigration ordeal ten years ago where we were left in the dark almost two and a half years.

adios, forty-nine cent

My fast-living, heavy drama, and Eminem stunt double coworker Forty-Nine Cent is no longer with us. He broke his parole a few weeks ago in a way that would be impossible to hide from the authorities.

Upon learning of his potential fate, both the Jedi Master and myself (and maybe even Chuckie) advised Forty-Nine Cent to turn himself in. He sat on that a while and eventually did so via a scheduled parole meeting.

In the six months I've known him, I've watched Forty-Nine Cent go from newly wed to expectant father to getting kicked out of the house to sleeping on friend's couches. Now, back to prison.

I honestly wanted to see him succeed in life even if his half-assed work output annoyed the hell out of me.

Forty-Nine Cent is one of those guys who doesn't know what truth is. Everything in his universe is a word game and a poker match. Truth is created out of thin air. If he was highly educated he'd make a good lawyer. And by that, I mean a terrible lawyer. He makes excuses for everything as does his mother in his behalf.

Dear CEO: if this is the best thing for him, please show him the liberating freedom of truth. And please care for his unborn child.

Adios bro. We had good times. And with my impending assignment transfer to Canada, I will most likely never see you again. May the CEO bles you and keep you.

least likely

Recently, I built a deck for the current flip house project of mine. I've never built a deck. I have assisted in some similar projects, but never have I gone solo on anything this large alone.

For nearly three days I designed this and labored alone while the Jedi Master and the crew worked at a different job site. Numerous times early on, I threatened to drop everything and join the others. My confidence lacked in this hurdle. And it's more comfortable to be a robot and follow orders in this line of work than for me to a) plan and b) execute with little experience.

Overall, the deck (and patio cover) is complete. And although I can (and will) nit pick every last ridiculous detail and unflattering asthetics of the entire project, a professional carpenter would be proud of it. It is very square, very sturdy, and very functional.

My lack of confidence is possibly my "thorn in my side" as that guy Paul makes vague references to in the new testament. And I've rarely confessed this: my lack of self confidence is the reason I am not a professional musician today. I never seem to be pleased with my music.

But always, the CEO shows me that I can do things my head deems impossible.

I have a minor obsession with history books and literature on the subject of mass evil (the holocaust, genocides, child sex slavery, etc). Some would say that's unhealthy. I say it's a healthy dose of sobering reality. Amidst the joys and great freedoms in my western world I refuse to get lost in those freedoms.

I am currently reading Searching For Schindler by Thomas Kenneally who also authored Schindler's List in the 1980s (the basis for the Spielberg movie). It recounts his interviews and massive research for his first book on Schindler.

I have gathered much about Oskar Schindler that I didn't pick up on in the movie (it's been years since I've seen it). Mainly: Oskar was one royally screwed up human. A failure of a husband, a major womanizer, heavy drinker, and proud swastika wearing party member who screwed and raped the nazis from within by making millions in the black market and manufacturing ammunition duds - he hardly seems like a christ figure to the entire jewish nation. But somehow, he had compassion and extreme generosity that drove him to keep several hundred jew alive and healthy.

I've always loved how the CEO of the universe uses least likely candidates to perform important tasks.

battlefield

If there was ever a week from hell on the job site, this past week would be one.

I try not to seek out demons behind every bush and/or activity in life as my charismatic church days have taught me. But sometimes I am convinced that there is more than meets the eye in various situations.

In one way or another, our foursome (Jedi Master, Chuckie, Forty-Nine Cent, and myself) are working on my second flip project. Perhaps I bit off more than I can chew with this one. Over all, we WILL be successful with this house. But it appears to be an uphill battle, which is more than we anticipated before purchase. So it goes. But carry on we must.

We were into week three: little visible change, much grueling labor ala house leveling etc., discovered that the lean-to garage is not salvageable – after working on it at least two days, a trio of prostitutes who live down the street soliciting their services to me and the guys, and two of our crew either facing or contemplating divorce.

Then, during a moment of little production and personal counseling between Forty-Nine Cent (who just received news of his wife’s desire for divorce) and the Jedi-Master, the female trio from down the block start shouting Forty-Nine’s name and flashing themselves.

If there was ever a calculated attack from the enemy of this world - that would be it I think.

Meanwhile, I am thankful for a work partner like the Jedi Master who agreed with me to drop our tools, call it a day, and join me in prayer at my home.

fine line

I believe my Canadian immigration status is progressing as fast as it can. We still haven’t mailed in our applications that have been worked on for over a month. I have jumped through every hoop: been fingerprinted by the local sheriff, OK’ed by the FBI and Texas Dept of Safety, bought almost $100 in passport photos, paid $250 to a doctor in Dallas to tell Canada that I’m medically OK, and hunted down a real copy of my birth certificate.

But now the real gymnastics: trying to pay for the application fees. It’s not that we don’t have the damn near $1000 for the application fees (that’s a turnip that might have enough blood in it), but every immigration website runs us around in circles as to WHAT to pay and WHERE to pay it.

So, we are praying that a phone call to a Canadian embassy next week will solve this.

Meanwhile, of the handful of people we have shared this news with, it’s not surprising that the smattering of people that make up my family are not excited about our move.

I don’t know why. I guess it makes sense being that I’m the only child my parents have. But I don’t have hoards of aunts, uncles, or cousins that will miss me. So why stick around anyway I figure. I’m not that close to the people I’m blood related to.

My mother refuses to acknowledge the subject of our move. She goes silent when it’s mentioned. Not surprising I guess. Silent treatment or subject changing is how she’s responded with everything I’ve wanted to do that was outside her suburban work-a-holic judgmental church-going universe. Which is about 99% of the actions in my entire life.

I’ve always wondered if there was any preacher out there who gave a sermon on the fine line between ”honor thy father and thy mother” and Jesus’ words of ”hate your own parents to follow me”.

Jesus was being a tad metaphorical with that “hate” part, or so I assume. But honoring and hating are about as polar opposites as you can get.

I wouldn’t say I hate my own parents. But maybe not giving a shit about their desires for my life is a version of hating them.

*photo by Alexander Dudley - 2004

contemplations

Sometimes it is difficult for me to continue communicating via reports on the world wide waste-of-time through a blog outlet. Although several real-life events limit my commitment to such an endeavor these days, I also am a big believer that facebook killed the radio star. Thus, such reports might be an online version of spitting into the wind.

But where else can I explain that I rarely visit my dear friend, former catfish nugget chef and electric wheelchair enthusiest Obi-Wan. Some of this is based on time restraints. But most is conscious choice these days. Obi-Wan has become more of a griper and gossip than in the past. I really choose not to sit through another diatribe on how the acid queen has wronged him or how Lamont is the worst son in the world. But I feel guilty of this friendship avoidance. Am I only to hang around through the good times and not the annoying?

Once upon a time I would sit and listen patiently. Then later, I would slowly interject opposing, if not contemplative questions and views mildly defending those who have wronged us. Because ultimately, we too are sinners, and so forth. But no avail. Obi-Wan wants the universe to know of those who have wronged him. Or whatever.

I have yet to tell him of our assignment change coming within the next twelve months. I think the news could send him towards death. He hates it when we leave on vacation because he “misses seeing our car in the driveway across the street”.

Often I wonder about the timing of his life and our exit from the fair mother city. I had assumed Obi-Wan would pass on by the time we moved. But maybe he won’t. I don’t know.