\Kar”ma\, n.[Skr] (Buddhism)
One’s acts considered as fixing one’s lot in the future existence. (Theos.) The doctrine of fate as the inflexible result of cause and effect; the theory of inevitable consequence.
The first few weeks we spent in our new house in Bailey, had me thinking a lot about karma. Specifically, bad karma.
Oh, we were thrilled with the move of course. Our house sits on a pine-wooded acre down a dirt road, with the foothills of the Rocky Mountains as a backdrop. After nine years in the concrete wilderness that is Phoenix, Arizona I was amazed at the good fortune that had brought us here and even now, almost two years on, the place we call home is still an endless source of delight.
However, back then, in those early days, I was beginning to wonder if I’d done something seriously not good in a previous life, and was now being required to pay for it. You see, in that first two or three weeks, we had a run of what can only be described as…shitty luck.
The day after we signed the contract on the house, a major wildfire broke out less than three miles from the house. Colorado has been in a state of drought for some years now and wildfires are the inevitable price we all pay for living in an area which once was virgin forest. Even so, we weren’t quite ready for our first to break out quite so soon. Some kids messing around with matches behind the High School managed to set the fire, which eventually burned over 2,300 acres of forest. After a few nerve-wracking days, the volunteer firefighters had it under control and our house, along with all the others in the area, survived unharmed.
The week after we moved in, a second fire broke out, slightly further away this time but much bigger and more destructive. For a spell it was headed our way, in the words of one firefighter “like a tidal wave”. Over 90,000 acres were lost this time, but once again we were spared. Nonetheless, we learned which news sites had merit and which were junk, then kept the good ones open on the computer most of the summer.
Unloading the moving van was a major project and we couldn’t have done without the assistance of the realtor’s son and his friend. Two strapping football players, they called Dear Wife Ma’am and treated me with a respect usually reserved for people over 70. They wouldn’t let me lift anything heavier than a shoebox and between them, had the entire load in the house within a few hours. Nonetheless, Dear Wife still managed to strain her knee in the process and for several days, was walking with a cane.
The next adventure was when our water ran out. Like most properties in the mountains, our property is served by a well so as part of the purchase process, we paid to have this tested. Or rather we didn’t. You see some previous prospective buyers had already done the honors and as the well passed with flying colors, there seemed little point. Of course, we weren’t to know that the contractor who’d performed the test was a charlatan and his figures were entirely fictional. The well had apparently collapsed some months before and contained no more than a few gallons of water. Having a new well drilled is a costly process, but not one that can be rushed. (Something to do with a too fast drill cauterizing the rock and sealing the fissures that replenish the water). So, for several days we had a trailer containing a water tank parked in our back yard, so we could bathe, wash dishes and flush the toilets. We could not however, wash any of the items we were still attempting to unpack.
I nearly ruptured myself loading our fridge onto the van in Phoenix, and then we damaged one of the front porch steps unloading it here. As it turned out, we needn’t have bothered as it had died somewhere on the journey. The delightful avocado fridge left by the sellers froze everything solid, so in short order we had two broken fridges sitting on our front porch. Does that officially qualify us as rednecks Mr. Foxworthy?
The sink, which worked fine during the home inspections leaked like Niagara Falls, as did both toilets. Somewhere between us buying the house and moving in, the sliding back door decided it would rather stay shut thank you very much and requires two hands and a lot of back muscle before it will open.
Our youngest dog, no doubt stressed from all the upheaval, decided to forget the rules of housetraining. The house we bought had very nice carpets. The house, in which we now live, does not. To be fair, she’s not entirely responsible for the carpets. Our eldest dog developed an allergy to the food she’d eaten for years and got into the habit of regurgitating it wherever she happened to be when the mood struck.
The insect screens inexplicably developed large gaps around their edges, allowing entry to all manner of curious beasties, including one particularly harmless looking thing, which bit me on the hand causing it to swell like a balloon. The insects were joined by a plague of wasps in the plaster ceiling of our living room and a family of squirrels in the loft.
Our problems weren’t confined to the house either. My car, which had provided 180,000 miles of semi-trouble free service, blew a cylinder head gasket and had to be towed to the repair shop. No doubt feeling lonely, Dear Wife’s truck coughed and ground to a halt at more or less the same spot, the following day. It’s not easy living in the mountains and working in the city without transportation. But we managed. Actually as it happens, we’d just purchased a third vehicle. A shiny new mountain bike as a sort of birthday cum mid-life crisis present for me. The first time out on it, less than two miles from the house, something went twang in my left knee and it still bothers me today. I doubt if I’ve put a hundred miles on the bike.
Now don’t get me wrong – I’m not complaining. I didn’t then and I’m not now. We really do love it here. But considering this all happened in the space of about three weeks, I’m just…. wondering. Karma, hmm. Wonder what I did. Whatever it was, I hope I enjoyed it.
One’s acts considered as fixing one’s lot in the future existence. (Theos.) The doctrine of fate as the inflexible result of cause and effect; the theory of inevitable consequence.
The first few weeks we spent in our new house in Bailey, had me thinking a lot about karma. Specifically, bad karma.
Oh, we were thrilled with the move of course. Our house sits on a pine-wooded acre down a dirt road, with the foothills of the Rocky Mountains as a backdrop. After nine years in the concrete wilderness that is Phoenix, Arizona I was amazed at the good fortune that had brought us here and even now, almost two years on, the place we call home is still an endless source of delight.
However, back then, in those early days, I was beginning to wonder if I’d done something seriously not good in a previous life, and was now being required to pay for it. You see, in that first two or three weeks, we had a run of what can only be described as…shitty luck.
The day after we signed the contract on the house, a major wildfire broke out less than three miles from the house. Colorado has been in a state of drought for some years now and wildfires are the inevitable price we all pay for living in an area which once was virgin forest. Even so, we weren’t quite ready for our first to break out quite so soon. Some kids messing around with matches behind the High School managed to set the fire, which eventually burned over 2,300 acres of forest. After a few nerve-wracking days, the volunteer firefighters had it under control and our house, along with all the others in the area, survived unharmed.
The week after we moved in, a second fire broke out, slightly further away this time but much bigger and more destructive. For a spell it was headed our way, in the words of one firefighter “like a tidal wave”. Over 90,000 acres were lost this time, but once again we were spared. Nonetheless, we learned which news sites had merit and which were junk, then kept the good ones open on the computer most of the summer.
Unloading the moving van was a major project and we couldn’t have done without the assistance of the realtor’s son and his friend. Two strapping football players, they called Dear Wife Ma’am and treated me with a respect usually reserved for people over 70. They wouldn’t let me lift anything heavier than a shoebox and between them, had the entire load in the house within a few hours. Nonetheless, Dear Wife still managed to strain her knee in the process and for several days, was walking with a cane.
The next adventure was when our water ran out. Like most properties in the mountains, our property is served by a well so as part of the purchase process, we paid to have this tested. Or rather we didn’t. You see some previous prospective buyers had already done the honors and as the well passed with flying colors, there seemed little point. Of course, we weren’t to know that the contractor who’d performed the test was a charlatan and his figures were entirely fictional. The well had apparently collapsed some months before and contained no more than a few gallons of water. Having a new well drilled is a costly process, but not one that can be rushed. (Something to do with a too fast drill cauterizing the rock and sealing the fissures that replenish the water). So, for several days we had a trailer containing a water tank parked in our back yard, so we could bathe, wash dishes and flush the toilets. We could not however, wash any of the items we were still attempting to unpack.
I nearly ruptured myself loading our fridge onto the van in Phoenix, and then we damaged one of the front porch steps unloading it here. As it turned out, we needn’t have bothered as it had died somewhere on the journey. The delightful avocado fridge left by the sellers froze everything solid, so in short order we had two broken fridges sitting on our front porch. Does that officially qualify us as rednecks Mr. Foxworthy?
The sink, which worked fine during the home inspections leaked like Niagara Falls, as did both toilets. Somewhere between us buying the house and moving in, the sliding back door decided it would rather stay shut thank you very much and requires two hands and a lot of back muscle before it will open.
Our youngest dog, no doubt stressed from all the upheaval, decided to forget the rules of housetraining. The house we bought had very nice carpets. The house, in which we now live, does not. To be fair, she’s not entirely responsible for the carpets. Our eldest dog developed an allergy to the food she’d eaten for years and got into the habit of regurgitating it wherever she happened to be when the mood struck.
The insect screens inexplicably developed large gaps around their edges, allowing entry to all manner of curious beasties, including one particularly harmless looking thing, which bit me on the hand causing it to swell like a balloon. The insects were joined by a plague of wasps in the plaster ceiling of our living room and a family of squirrels in the loft.
Our problems weren’t confined to the house either. My car, which had provided 180,000 miles of semi-trouble free service, blew a cylinder head gasket and had to be towed to the repair shop. No doubt feeling lonely, Dear Wife’s truck coughed and ground to a halt at more or less the same spot, the following day. It’s not easy living in the mountains and working in the city without transportation. But we managed. Actually as it happens, we’d just purchased a third vehicle. A shiny new mountain bike as a sort of birthday cum mid-life crisis present for me. The first time out on it, less than two miles from the house, something went twang in my left knee and it still bothers me today. I doubt if I’ve put a hundred miles on the bike.
Now don’t get me wrong – I’m not complaining. I didn’t then and I’m not now. We really do love it here. But considering this all happened in the space of about three weeks, I’m just…. wondering. Karma, hmm. Wonder what I did. Whatever it was, I hope I enjoyed it.
