Time for a change

Just for kicks, Robby, his girlfriend and I drove out yesterday to look at a “safe” place owned by an MCS woman in the mountains 45 minutes east of here. I loved it! The air actually smelled sweet from all the wildflowers and general freshness. The granny flat in the back of the owner’s house is pristine, with tile floors, all hardwood cabinets, even an organic cotton mattress set. No pesticides have ever been used there, and no one has ever smoked in the house. It’s in a very rustic location, a tiny unincorporated community of a few houses, cabins, trailers and a general store. If you drove through the area, you would barely notice anyone lived there.

The owner, a lovely 76-year-old Belgian woman with a thick French accent, has MCS and cancer [though she doesn't appear sick at all.] She really knows her stuff about MCS. We sat in her kitchen and talked for almost an hour, and she taught me a bit about nutrition. I could learn a lot from her. It was so nice to talk to someone who doesn’t require explanations or convincing–she’s already on the same page.

But the place was too small for the two of us and Robby made it quite clear when we got home that he’s not willing to make the sacrifice. I was very disappointed to realize that I needed his cooperation to make it work, and I wouldn’t get it. It’s not like when he was younger and I could make all the decisions on my own.

I had started to feel worse as soon as we got home, and this morning woke up with my usual headache and creakiness–it takes a couple of hours to feel well enough to do much–which really emphasized how much I want/need cleaner air.

So I’m seriously considering renting the place for the summer, just for me, as a kind of “spa” treatment, and letting Robby play house here. It could be a good experiment in adult living–and budgeting–for him. He’s 16 now, and he needs to get a job anyway.

I think this could work. I figured out the finances, and if he can cover his food, transportation and utilities, we could even pull it off until he’s eighteen. I could drive into town a couple of times a week to see him and help out if needed. Heck, it’s not even a long distance phone call. We could talk every night, and I’d be less than an hour away if there’s any emergency.

It might work, you never know. :o]