Category Archives: Days in My Life

I don’t just sit around and watch TV.

Why I Made My Tweets Private

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The short explanation: I was tired of being stalked by a paranoid, neurotic, and vindictive old woman.

How To Make Your Tweets Private

Shame on you! You obviously didn’t take my Lynda.com course about Twitter where I explain how to do this. But since you were nice enough to come visit me at my blog, I’ll give you the simple steps here:

  1. Log into Twitter.com.
  2. Go to https://twitter.com/settings/account. This is the Account Settings page for your account.
  3. Turn on the Protect my Tweets check box.
  4. Scroll down to the bottom of the page and click Save Changes.
  5. Enter your password if prompted and click OK.

That’s all there is to it. From that point on, the only way someone can see your tweets is if they follow you — and they’ll have to get your approval to do so. While I don’t normally recommend doing this, it’s a good solution if you’d prefer to control who can see your tweets.

I just made my tweets private. It was the only thing I could think of to get my husband’s girlfriend — if you can use that word to refer to a 65-year-old woman — to stop stalking me on Twitter.

How It All Began

It’s been going on since at least November 2012.

Flushing Fish
I think the tweet text makes it pretty clear that the fish was already dead when I tried to flush it.

Back then, while I was cleaning my fish tank’s glass cover, I managed to get a cleaning solution in the water that killed four of the five fish in there. I removed the fish and attempted to flush them down the toilet. Unfortunately, the fish were large and they wouldn’t flush. For some reason, I thought that was funny and took a photo of it, which I shared on Twitter.

Well, my husband’s girlfriend decided that my flushing of a dead fish was evidence that I was destroying my husband’s property — namely, his “exotic” fish. (Nevermind that the fish tank was mine, purchased before marriage, and the dead fish were just tropical fresh-water fish costing about $5 each — if that.) She apparently convinced my husband and his lawyer that they needed an expedited hearing in front of the divorce judge to stop me from doing whatever it is they thought I was doing. They demanded an opportunity to inspect the house and remove his personal possessions so I would stop destroying them. She printed out 25 pages of my tweets — the vast majority of which had absolutely nothing to do with my divorce — and submitted them as “evidence” of my wrongdoing.

This is when I realized a few things:

  • My husband’s girlfriend was in charge of my husband’s side of the divorce. It all came from her; I had confirmation of that later by means I’ve promised not to disclose. My husband certainly didn’t read my tweets (or my blog) and he knew the fish were mine.
  • My husband’s girlfriend was paranoid, neurotic, and likely as delusional as my husband had become. What else could I think? She read a tweet about a fish being flushed and decided it was evidence that I was destroying my husband’s property. Seriously: WTF?
  • My husband’s lawyer was not giving them sound advice — or, if he was, they weren’t taking it. After all, if he’d read the 25 pages of tweets, he’d clearly see that there was nothing in there to indicate that I was destroying anything belonging to my husband. They’d simply look like idiots in front of the judge.

This kind of backfired on them — as so many of their court actions did. My husband was given a date and time to come to our house and retrieve any of his possessions that he was worried about. That meant moving a lot of crap out of the house that he would probably have preferred leaving right there. It also prevented him from accessing the house later, as he tried in May, because he’d already used up his only court-approved opportunity to remove possessions. Oops.

You think she’d learn her lesson. A smart person would. But no: she continued to watch my tweets and attempt to use them to harass me throughout the months the divorce process dragged on.

Show Me Your Weakness and I’ll Exploit It

I have to admit that once I knew she was reading my tweets, it was difficult not to taunt her. She had no life — that was clear — why else would she be so obsessed with what I was tweeting about? Despite my heartbreak over losing the man I’d loved for more than half my life, I had a great life and I tweeted every detail.

I didn’t work much throughout the winter and spring and I traveled a lot, making multiple trips to California, Florida, Las Vegas, and Washington. I shopped for a whole new wardrobe after losing 45 pounds the previous summer. I met new people home and away and did all kinds of things with them. When I was home, I had a steady stream of house guests in the house they supposedly couldn’t wait to get back into. They’d insisted on dragging the divorce on past the original January trial date by asking for a continuance — I made the best of the situation by having a great time while I was stuck there. I tweeted all winter and spring about my activities, making sure I mentioned every fun thing I was doing, knowing just how much it would get under her skin.

A normal person would have stopped reading the tweets. But she’s not normal. She’s obsessed. I accused her in January of living vicariously through my tweets. She read that one, too — I saw it later as “evidence” in court.

She was stuck with my sad sack husband, directing his divorce because he lacked the balls — or moral integrity — to do it himself. I was enjoying real freedom for the first time in nearly 30 years, doing whatever I wanted without having to look at his sour, disapproving face.

And, of course, I packed.

More Tweets in January

The tweets came up again in January when she attempted to get an Injunction Against Harassment on me. I fought it in court. More tweets submitted as “evidence.” I don’t even think the judge looked at them. Why should he? Pages and pages of my usual blather — those who follow me on Twitter know what I tweet about — all copied in triplicate as “exhibits” for the court. I could only imagine what those photocopies cost — law firms charge through the nose for everything!

They showed up with their lawyer. Three of them against me. I won. They had no case.

Another court action backfires on them. Another few thousand dollars wasted fighting the phantoms of her delusions.

The Ceiling Fans

Ceiling Fan Tweet
I really couldn’t resist. Note that I didn’t say here that I removed the ceiling fans; I just insinuated that I did.

When the divorce trial was finally over the other day, I admit I did send one last tweet intended for her consumption, one last thing to really piss her off. The ceiling fan tweet.

During personal property negotiations, she’d listed the ceiling fans as something I must leave behind. I still remember the discussion my lawyer’s assistant and I had about this demand. It went something like this:

Me: She thinks I’m going to take down the ceiling fans?

Her: Apparently so.

Me: Why the hell would I do that? They came with the house. What the hell am I going to do with six southwest style ceiling fans in Washington state?

Her: She’s just trying to get under your skin.

Me: All she’s doing is showing how stupid and petty she is. I don’t want the damn fans.

Of course, she also demanded the curtain rods. But in the final agreement, the curtain rods went to me. I took them, with the curtains — admittedly, mostly for spite, although the ones in the living room and guest room (which were the only ones I really wanted) will look nice in my new home. And although the ceiling fans were not on the list of the items they could keep — after all, I considered them part of the house — I didn’t take them. I just tweeted as if I might have. The ceiling fans had become a running joke with my Twitter and Facebook friends and I knew they’d enjoy the tweet.

Because my husband had refused to inspect the house with me present, it would be at least 36 hours before they could get in to see what I’d left behind. I’m sure her blood pressure was red-lining the whole time, thinking about those ceiling fans.

Sadly, she didn’t stroke out.

It’s Over. Really.

In my mind, the divorce was over. Everything was in the hands of the judge. We’d settled the personal property and I had come away with everything that was mine and the joint property that I wanted, leaving behind far more for them than I’d taken for myself. (My lawyer’s assistant thinks I gave too much away.) I had finally moved out of my house. I was back in Washington, living where I’d spent the previous five summers, working, playing, having a life.

My husband’s girlfriend, however, wasn’t finished with me yet. She just couldn’t let go. She just couldn’t stop harassing me. I guess that when you spend so many months catering to an obsession, it’s hard to call it quits.

I blogged about the latest hilarity here. No need to repeat the details in this post.

It does, however, all come down to tweets. She built her delusion about my ownership of property in Washington on her interpretation of my tweets. Apparently, plain English isn’t good enough for her. In her paranoid mind, she believes everything I’ve written contains a coded message. She reads my tweets and interprets the code she believes they contain. The result: “facts” to feed her delusions.

(A mutual friend of mine and my husband’s can’t wait to meet her. She’s an amateur psychologist and thinks she’ll have a lot of fun trying to figure her out. I’m looking forward to her report.)

Although I made it clear in a recent email to a bunch of people that I think her obsession with my tweets is evidence that she’s sick, I seriously doubt whether that’s enough to stop her from obsessing. And frankly, I don’t want every little thing I tweet about to feed her delusions and get her running to her lawyer to bother mine.

It’s over. I’m free. I shouldn’t have to deal with her crap anymore. Hell, I shouldn’t have had to deal with it in the first place — and I wouldn’t have if my husband was smart enough (or man enough) to rein her in. The only way to break her of the obsession is to take the object of her obsession away from her.

So my tweets have become private, at least for now.

Bees: Finding Residents for My Hive

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A beehive isn’t much good without bees inside it.

I started my beekeeping hobby in June 2013 and have been blogging about it periodically. Here’s a list of the posts in this series:

- Bees, Please
- Bees: Choosing and Buying Equipment
- Bees: Finding Residents for My Hive
- Bees: Filling My Hive
- Bees: My First Hive Inspection

Now that I’d finally made the plunge into this new hobby, I couldn’t wait to get started. But the equipment was only part of what I needed. I’d also need bees.

I had a problem there. Most people who buy bees do so in the spring. I was planning to start in June, after the big pollen season had ended. Although the beekeepers I spoke to seemed to think that it wasn’t too late to start, most agreed that I probably wouldn’t be able to collect any honey the first year. The bees would need it for the winter.

That was okay with me. I just wanted to get started and get a feel for it. Honey could come later.

But where to get the bees? Most mail order sources simply did not ship bees anytime other than spring. I’d have to find another source.

How You Get Bees

Of course, before I could get bees, I had to learn about the options for getting them. There are different ways to get them.

  • A Package. The most common way to get bees is in a package. They arrive in a box with the queen inside a special container called a queen cage. You literally dump the bees from the box into the top of your hive. Then you place the queen cage where the other bees can eat away a “candy” stopper that’s holding her in. She moves into the hive with the others and they go right to work.
  • A Nucleus Colony or Nuc. This is a box of bees with a queen already installed, mated, and laying eggs. It’s basically a very small hive. Most nucs are 5 frames in a single box. You take five frames out of your lowest hive body and put the five frames from the nuc into their place. The bees then go about their business, building on the additional frames you provide in the hive bodies. My Vermont beekeeping friend says that this is the best way to get bees.
  • A Split. Some skilled and knowledgable beekeepers can split one colony into two by manipulating the frames so that the queen and a bunch of bees go into a new hive body. The remaining bees in the original hive body are suddenly queenless so they make a new queen. Of course, you need a beehive to split it. You can learn more about splitting hives in this video.
  • A Swarm. When bees get too cramped in their living space, they move out in a swarm. Swarms are relatively common in May and June. Beekeepers who can catch them basically get free bees. (Heck, some people are even willing to pay beekeepers to take the bees away!) I watched a swarm get caught last May. This is the cheapest way to get bees and it’s surprisingly easy if you have the right equipment and the swarm is within reach.

Although I would have loved to have gotten a swarm — and not because I’m cheap — I was hoping to get a nuc. The trick was to find one.

Craig’s List to the Rescue!

A fellow member of the North Central Washington Beekeepers Association (NCWBA) knew I was looking for bees and immediately began to help. He forwarded me some Craig’s List ads for nucs available in the Spokane area.

Spokane is about 140 miles from where I’m currently living and nearly 180 miles from where my bees would live. Needless to say, I wasn’t terribly excited about driving 360 miles in one day to get bees.

But if I had to, I would.

There was no real rush. At first, I was waiting for my equipment to arrive. It did — the day before I had to go back to Arizona for some personal business. I simply didn’t have time to set up a hive and get bees all in one day. It would have to wait until my return.

In the meantime, I placed my own Craig’s List ad:

New Beekeeper Wants Bees (Wenatchee area)

New beekeeper seeks bees for hive. Healthy nuc or swarm or split. Yes, I know it’s a little late in the season to start, but it isn’t TOO late. Can you help?

Also interested in coming along to observe/assist swarm removal in area, even if I can’t have the bees.

I was in Arizona when I got a response:

hi my name is randy I have 2 five frame nucs I want 100.00 each you can call me at 470 XXXX for info

Thus began an email exchange with questions and answers about the nuc. They were 5-frame nucs with queens that were laying eggs. The queen was a Carniolan — a breed known for gentleness. The frames were quickly filling with comb, brood, honey, and pollen. They needed to be put in a hive soon.

The best thing about it: it was in Dryden, less than 15 miles from where the bees would be living in my new hive.

I made an appointment to meet with him and pick up the bees late one afternoon when I returned to Washington. More on that in another blog post.

Expensive Delusions

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When verifying the reality of a delusion gets expensive — and makes the deluded people look like fools.

I have to blog this. It’s the funniest thing that has happened since my divorce turned ugly last August.

The Back Story

As many readers know, I’ve been planning to buy and build a home on a lot in Malaga, WA. What some readers may not know is that back in July, when I thought there might be a chance of reconciliation with my estranged husband, I took him to see the lot I wanted to buy.

I envisioned us building a summer home there where I was making 80% of my income during three months. I envisioned him opening the bicycle repair shop he’d talked about on more than one occasion, possibly with bike rentals, along the nearby 11-mile bike trail in Wenatchee. I envisioned us living back in our paid-for Arizona home during the winter, taking it easy with a semi-retired lifestyle that would leave him plenty of time to fly his plane and build skills for his retirement career as a certified flight instructor.

I really thought that if he saw the land and the view that he’d envision the same life I saw for us. A life that didn’t include him being a slave to pay for a condo he didn’t need and I hated. A life with new, fun challenges in a beautiful place that wasn’t overrun with cheap retirees and rabid conservatives. A life with lots of recreational opportunities and a sunny future.

I didn’t realize then that he was already under the thumb of a desperate old woman who had seduced him with 30-year-old lingerie photos. I didn’t realize that he had stopped thinking for himself and was only doing what his new mommy told him to do.

That’s the back story: I found a 10-acre view lot in Malaga and I showed it to my future ex-husband, foolishly thinking he’d like it, too. Then I waited until the divorce was finalized and I got my settlement to buy it.

Fast Forward, May 7, 2013

My husband and his girlfriend/mommy managed to drag the divorce process out to April 2013. Other factors dragged it into May. On May 7, we had the first of two half-day sessions in front of a judge.

I was on the stand most of that time. During the cross-examination, their lawyer — I can’t really call him my husband’s lawyer since his girlfriend/mommy has been giving most orders to him since at least November — asked me a curious question:

“Isn’t it true that you own a home in Washington state?”

The question really took me by surprise. Me own a home in Washington? If that was the case, then why would I be living in Wickenburg, AZ, in a home filled with memories of a life I’d lived with the man I loved? The home I’d been locked out of by the man who obviously now hated me and had been harassing me since my return in September?

I answered truthfully: “No.”

He pressed on: “Isn’t it true that you have been living most of the past six months in Washington?”

I might have laughed. “No,” I replied. Other than a few short trips to Washington and California and Florida, I’d spent most of the past six months stuck in Wickenburg. Packing.

Afterwards, I talked about that question with my lawyer, family, and friends. It had seemed so out of left field. Did they honestly think I was living in Washington? If so, my testimony, under oath, should set them straight.

At least that’s what I thought.

Another Court Date

After another delay, we had our final appearance before the judge on May 31. My future ex-husband testified. Although most of his testimony was irrelevant and complete waste of time, he did manage to convince me that he’s become quite a liar. Or he’s more delusional than I thought.

My favorite piece of fiction: That during the six years of our marriage, he’d helped me with my helicopter business at least 100 times. That’s quite a feat for someone trapped in a 9 to 5 grind who uses his vacation time to visit family in New York and spends most of his other free time watching television. I was able to get back on the stand and insert a dose of reality for the judge’s consideration.

When we left the court, we all let out a sigh of relief. Now that it was in the judge’s hands, it was finally over. They’d finally stop harassing me.

At least that’s what I thought.

The Abuse Continues

The first indication that I was wrong came the day after the court appearance. He transferred the the balance of our joint checking account, which has always been equally contributed to and used for household expenses, to his personal checking account.

It’s not the money that bothered me. Frankly, it isn’t worth spending time worrying about the $445 that was my share.

What bothered me was the fact that the account was being used to pay our sole joint liability: the home equity line of credit. When the automatic payment came through, the payment would bounce and the account would be charged $35.

I knew this for a fact because I’d been watching my husband’s old checking account, which I could see when I logged into Bank of America. He’d drained that, too, but had stupidly forgotten to stop automatic payments from that account. Since September, he had bounced five checks and had been hit with a $35 fee for each one. (I knew because I still got low balance alerts for that account with all the others I monitored. That’s how I found out immediately about his withdrawal from the house account.) Some people just can’t manage their own finances. Good thing I was in charge of paying the bills all those years.

So by removing the money from that account, he’d set us up for bank fees and a possible hit to our credit scores for late payment of a loan.

And let’s not ignore the fact that he had no legal right to remove any funds from that account without the permission of the court unless it was to pay for house expenses. This money was true joint funds used for a specific purpose. Half the money was mine. He was stealing from me.

What a freaking idiot.

Amazing that it took him less than 24 hours to prove again how stupid he could be.

And Now for the Funny Part

On June 5 — still less than a week from that final court date — I was sitting at an outdoor restaurant, having lunch. I’d just spent the morning traipsing all over that 10-acre lot in Malaga with two surveyors, identifying property corners and the northern property line. I wanted to make sure I could visualize what my future 10 acre lot looked like. I wanted to see what land I had to work with.

(I was very pleased with the results. The lot appears about three times the size I’d visualized, working from incorrect corner markers.)

As I sat eating lunch, I checked my email. And that’s when I saw the latest bit of nonsense from my husband’s side of the divorce: They were insisting that I had already purchased the lot. In fact, they insisted that I had closed in January and that I was already developing it!

I really didn’t have any idea where they’d gotten these specific details. Although the email communication I’d been forwarded — from my husband’s mommy/girlfriend to their lawyer to my lawyer — mentioned tweets, I can’t remember having ever tweeted anything about having bought the land. Why? Well, I’d never bought it. So how could they have information about a closing date? And what made them think I’d started developing the land?

An earlier email message answered one of those questions. Apparently, back in early April 2013, they’d hired an “investigator” to snoop around the property I planned to buy. He’d photographed an RV (not mine) and cargo trailer (not mine) on a lot with a view a lot like the one I’d soon have. He’d provided details about septic system takeouts and obvious earthwork. The investigator’s report and some of the photos were included in the email forwarded from my husband to his lawyer to my lawyer. This was their proof that I’d lied in court — that I owned a home in Washington and was building on it!

Click play to cue soundtrack for this hilarity. (Many thanks to Facebook friend Dean for offering up this very appropriate music track.)

The only problem is, the photos showed the lot next to the one I was planning to buy.

You cannot imagine how hard I laughed when I realized this. My husband and his girlfriend/mommy had spent hundreds of dollars hiring an “investigator” to photograph my future neighbor’s property!

How they screwed this up so badly is beyond me. Who gave the investigator the address? Where did it come from? That has to be a story in itself.

How Delusions Become Costly

You realize that to find out what property I own in Malaga, all a person has to do is go to the Chelan County Assessor’s Office website and do a parcel search for my last name. If my husband or his girlfriend/mommy or their lawyer or the investigator had spent about 5 minutes doing this, they would have concluded that I didn’t own any land in Malaga or anywhere else in Chelan country. And if they thought they got the county wrong, they could have done the same for Douglas and Grant countries.

But the trouble is, they weren’t interested in reality. They were interested in producing evidence to back up their delusion.

They were convinced that I owned land in Washington. That was their delusion.

Maybe they did try a property search. They would have come up empty. But in their deluded minds, they knew I had property in Washington. They would have made excuses for why the tax rolls didn’t reflect their idea of reality. Perhaps they hadn’t been updated lately. Perhaps I’d bought the land in someone else’s name. Perhaps the Chelan County Assessor’s office was conspiring against them to hide the truth about me and my vast Washington real estate holdings.

Hey, anything is possible when you don’t rely on facts.

So they hired an “investigator” and told him where to take photos. Maybe they told him approximately where the lot was and he did some “investigating,” coming up with the only lot on that side of the road that was being developed. Having an RV on it must have sealed the deal that it was my lot, even though the tax rolls said it was owned by someone else.

Never mind that the RV on the lot wasn’t the one I owned, the one he claimed in court to have installed $5,000 to $9,000 of improvements in. (Another lie.) It wasn’t even the same make and model. And even though the “investigator” took photos of the Washington state license plates on the RV and the cargo trailer, no one had the idea to run those plates and see who they were registered to? If they had, they’d see that they were registered to someone other than me. Probably the people who owned the lot.

But that would shatter the delusion. Can’t do that. Delusional people only want evidence to support their delusions.

And apparently, they’re wiling to pay to get that evidence.

What Now?

Well, I’ve informed all parties that they investigated the wrong lot. I made it quite clear how amusing I think this is and how incredibly stupid I think my husband, his girlfriend/mommy, their lawyer, and the “investigator” are. I haven’t heard anything more about it.

But I suspect they don’t believe me. After all, they are delusional. I said in court, under oath, that I did not own a home in Washington. I said this on May 7, 2013. I did not lie in court.

But they obviously didn’t believe I was telling the truth then, under oath. So why would they believe me now?

Bees: Choosing and Buying Equipment

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I consider and order my first hive and related equipment.

I started my beekeeping hobby in June 2013 and have been blogging about it periodically. Here’s a list of the posts in this series:

- Bees, Please
- Bees: Choosing and Buying Equipment
- Bees: Finding Residents for My Hive
- Bees: Filling My Hive
- Bees: My First Hive Inspection

Once I’d decided to move forward with beekeeping, it was time to buy equipment. Unfortunately, there were many options to choose from. Without going into an in-depth discussion of how bees live and thrive — I’ll let you read up in the books like I did — I’ll go through my equipment choices and explain why making decisions isn’t so straightforward.

Deep vs. Medium Hive Bodies

My Hive
This simple beehive consists of five parts (top to bottom): telescoping cover (with aluminum roof), inner cover (not visible), medium hive body, deep hive body, hive base (with entrance for bees).

A hive body is the box that contains the bees. A bee hive consists of one or more hive bodies, each filled with vertically hung frames.

In general, beekeepers — and I hesitate to say “most beekeepers” because I really don’t know — use so-called deep hive bodies at the bottom of the hive and medium hive bodies at the top. A deep hive body holds frames that are 9-5/8 inches tall; a medium hive body holds frames that are 6-5/8 inches tall.

From my research, I learned that the benefit of medium hive body over deep hive body is weight; consult the table for details. It’s for this reason that medium hive bodies are usually used at the top of the hive for “honey supers.”

Hive Body Weights

This table, created with data from “Beehives, A Guide to Choosing the Right Size Boxes,” shows the difference in weight for a hive body full of honey at each standard size.

  10-frame 8-frame
Deep 80 lbs 64 lbs
Medium 50 lbs 40 lbs

Seems like a no-brainer, right? Get all medium hive bodies so I can more easily lift them when necessary. The trouble is, the queen bee seems to prefer laying eggs in deep hive bodies. So there’s a possibility that a hive consisting of just medium hive bodies might not be as productive as one with deep hive bodies.

I consulted my friend in Vermont, who has been doing this for years. He recommended deep hive bodies at the bottom and medium hive bodies at the top. The “traditional” way.

10-Frame vs. 8-Frame Hive Bodies

Hive bodies can also hold either 10 frames (the traditional size) or 8 frames. Again, the main difference between these sizes is weight; consult the table.

Another no-brainer, right? Well, the way I saw it, the larger boxes would give the hive more room to grow so I’d have to add hive bodies less often to prevent swarming. Giving the bees more horizontal space would also eliminate the need to give them more vertical space — I wouldn’t be building bee towers. That’s the way I saw it, anyway.

Wood vs. Plastic

Hive boxes and frames are available in wood or plastic. The plastic boxes seemed to have more insulating properties for the winter, but all the beekeepers I talked to scoffed at the idea of using anything but wood.

Assembled vs. Unassembled

Hive bodies and frames come assembled or unassembled. They also come painted or unpainted. Frames come assembled or unassembled. Coated or uncoated. With foundation or without foundation. You can save money by buying hive components unassembled and putting them together yourself and then painting them or coating them with wax (as necessary). (You can also build your own bee hives from scratch, but I certainly didn’t want to go there.)

This was definitely a no-brainer for me. I’d buy them fully assembled and painted/coated.

Other Hive Parts

I’d also need some additional parts to each hive:

  • Frames. This is where the bees build their honeycombs, rear their brood, and store honey and pollen. They hang vertically in the hive bodies and usually include a wax-coated foundation on which the bees can build. There are a lot of frame foundation choices, but I think it’s best to start with whatever is standard.
  • Inner and outer covers. This protects the bees from the elements. Because each hive body is open on top and bottom, the top one must be covered.
  • Bottom board. This provides a base for the hive and an entrance for the bees. A reducer enables you to adjust the size of the opening.
  • Hive stand. This is a platform to keep the beehive off the ground. Most people build makeshift hive stands out of cinderblocks and scrap wood, although you can buy fancier ones.
  • Queen excluder. This keeps the queen from moving up into the part of the hive that’s reserved for honey storage.
  • Mite screen. This helps control varroa mites. (That’s a whole discussion in itself.)
  • Feeder. When you first get your bees, you have to feed them a 1:1 sugar water solution to keep them going until they can find their own source of food. You do this with a feeder. My vermont friend recommended an entrance feeder, although I’ll likely need to switch to a top feeder in the winter time.

The Importance of Sticking to Standards

Over and over, in every beekeeping information resource I consulted, the importance of standards was stressed. It’s pretty simple: you want your equipment to follow standards because you will be mixing and matching pieces down the road.

Some of the books also mentioned that standards aren’t always followed to the letter. They suggested finding one source of equipment and sticking to it. This would ensure uniformity so all the pieces fit together properly.

Sure, there are lots of pretty beehives out there, designed for gardens or patios or even inside an urban home. They’re more for show than for actual bee rearing. They usually don’t have standard parts so they’re not very practical if you’re serious about beekeeping.

Other Equipment

The hives are the homes for the bees. But other equipment is also necessary to keep bees. I had to get that, too.

  • Bee suit, gloves, hat, and veil. These items protect me from the bees themselves. I don’t think I’m allergic to bee stings, but who wants to take chances?
  • Smoker. Beekeepers use cool smoke to calm bees. I’d need a smoker for each time I opened the hive and manipulated the frames.
  • Hive tool. This is a specialized metal tool used to pry frames apart, scrape away accumulated propolis and wax, and work with the hive components.

Placing My Order

Although my Vermont friend had suggested Betterbee as an online source of beekeeping equipment, the local beekeeping group I joined suggested Mann Lake. They said Mann Lake had quick turnaround time and free shipping for orders over $100. I went with Mann Lake.

I had a choice of placing my order piecemeal (a la carte, so to speak) or ordering a kit. If I ordered a kit, I could order a complete beekeeping kit, which included everything I needed (other than the bees), or just a hive kit, which included a complete hive and still required me to order the other things I needed.

The Bee Kit
This is the bee kit I ordered. (No, it didn’t come with the guy.)

With so many choices to make, I decided to keep it super simple and order the Deluxe Traditional Starter Kit, which included four 10-frame hive bodies (two deep and two medium), 4 frames (in appropriate sizes, inner and outer cover, bottom board with reducer, bee suit with zip-on veil, hat, gloves, queen excluder, smoker, smoker fuel, hive tool, bee brush, and a book titled The Backyard Beekeeper. I also ordered an entrance feeder and a drawer-style varroa screen.

Now that I’d finally made the plunge into this new hobby, I couldn’t wait to get started. More on that in another post.

Packing Up, Getting Out

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I’m finally free.

I’ve been living in my Arizona home since September 15, 2012. That’s the day I returned from my fifth summer work season in Washington and found the locks changed on the home I’d been living in for 15 years and the hangar I’d been leasing for my business for 11 years.

Apparently, my husband thought that keeping me out of my only home so he could move his girlfriend in was as easy as changing a $15 lock. Needless to say, he was wrong.

He’d been away when I returned that September day. He moved out in early September — or possibly before that– forwarding all of our mail to the Phoenix condo, turning off the water heater, and unplugging many appliances.

September 15 was his mother’s birthday and she was 90. I knew there would be some sort of party for her back in New York and that he’d go. I later discovered that he used that opportunity to introduce my replacement to a collection of stunned family members and friends. Because he spent the next few days with his girlfriend at Niagara Falls — how quaintly romantic! — I had plenty of time to get the locks changed so I could secure my home and hangar and have his airplane removed from my hangar and tied down on the ramp.

For the record, if he hadn’t changed the locks on the house, I probably wouldn’t have, either. At least not right away. And if he hadn’t locked me out of my hangar, I definitely wouldn’t have moved the plane. But since he went on the offensive, I went on the defensive.

The next eight months would be more of the same.

His First Visit

Fish Tank
This fish tank was an early source of harassment. Although it was mine, purchased before marriage, they claimed it was his, that it was worth over $1,000 and contained “exotic” fish. When I gave it away, they used it as evidence in court that I was disposing of my husband’s assets.

He showed up at the house with a police officer on September 18 — the same police officer I’d spoken to only days before when I was concerned that he might do something to hurt me or my possessions when he returned home. He was angry and it showed as he stalked around the house with his camera, taking photos per the instructions of his girlfriend or lawyer.

He didn’t want to talk to me. When I asked him why he locked me out of the house, he replied, “You weren’t supposed to get back until October.”

I said, “And what were you going to do then? Meet me at the door with a bunch of friends to keep me out?” He didn’t reply.

When he left me, he went back to Scottsdale, back to the house he was living in with my replacement, the 64-year-old woman who had become his mommy. The same home where our poor dog, Charlie, was confined in a small, walled-in backyard.

His Delusional State of Mind

Soon afterward, he made his only settlement proposal. According to him, I should hand over my half of our paid-for house (worth $285K), pay the $31K balance on the home equity line of credit (which was mostly borrowed by him through automatic overdraft protection withdrawals), and give him $50K cash. In return, I could leave with everything else that was morally and ethically mine — everything I’d worked hard for my whole life. He’d keep the house, the condo, the furniture, and so many other things I’d bought for our home over the years.

Basically, he was demanding that I pay him so he could move his girlfriend/mommy right into the home I’d made for us over the 15 years we’d lived there.

He was convinced that I was so desperate to leave Arizona that I’d give up what was rightfully mine and simply go away.

I honestly don’t know what gave him this idea. I only had one home — my Wickenburg house. Where did he think I was so anxious to go? What did he think I would do with nothing to rebuild my life elsewhere? I still don’t understand what was going on in his head.

It was around this time that I realized he’d become delusional.

I Settle in for the Long Haul

When I didn’t accept that proposal and the judge awarded me exclusive use of the house and my leased hangar in Temporary Orders — giving him exclusive use of the Phoenix condo — he and his girlfriend/mommy went on the offensive with a series of actions and demands that showed just how little the 29 years we’d spent together meant to him. I had somehow morphed from his loving wife to an evil entity that he needed to destroy. All within four months.

It’s amazing how a weak man can be manipulated by a desperate and vindictive woman.

Because that’s really what it was all about. My husband’s girlfriend/mommy felt threatened by me. The only way she could possibly secure her future with my husband was to paint me as the bad guy any way she could. So when I came home from my summer work early, she likely told him I’d done it so I could steal things from our home. When I moved his plane out of the hangar, she likely told him it was because I wanted his plane to be stolen or damaged. When I won exclusive use of my only home — when he had another place to live and was actually living with her in Scottsdale — she likely told him that I’d moved back just to keep him out and prevent him from being happy.

Everything that I did to defend what was rightfully mine was twisted into some kind of offensive move to prove how hateful and evil I was.

The thing she feared most: that the two of us would get together and talk and possibly reconcile our differences. After all, on the same September day I’d returned home, he’d told a mutual friend that he still loved me.

So she did everything she could to convince him that I didn’t give a damn about him. That all I wanted was to manipulate him and prevent him from achieving his goals. That I was just using him as a tool to achieve my goals.

When I think about how easily he swallowed this line of bullshit, my heart aches. All my friends tell me I’m better off without him and I know they’re right. But I also know he’s not better off without me. And because I still care deeply about him — yes, I still love the stupid bastard — I can’t help feeling sad about the path he’s chosen and the kind of woman he’s chosen to take it with. The man I knew deserved so much better.

But, as usual, I digress.

Community Property, Misunderstood

My Crate
I got this nice wooden crate in college from a boyfriend. For years, it was the table in the den of our house. Oddly, it was one of the first things I packed. (The TV was joint property that I left behind; the Klipsch speakers and stereo equipment was his.)

I discovered that even though we’d only been married six years and I’d acquired many of my assets prior to marriage, he thought that he owned half of everything we owned. He had crazy high numbers for the value of my assets and his quick math had come up with the insane settlement proposal he kept trying to push on me.

The reality of the situation was that he only had a claim to half of everything acquired during the six years of our marriage. That took many things off the table. But he refused to acknowledge this. I’m not sure why his lawyer didn’t set him straight. Or maybe he did but his girlfriend/mommy convinced him the lawyer was wrong. Who knows?

Even when we went to mediation, in December 2012, he was working with inaccurate information. We spent three hours in separate rooms, each of us with our attorney, while a mediator went back and forth. There were 14 items on the equalization list — it would benefit both of us to clear as many of those items off the table as possible. In the end, we agreed on four or five items and I was ready to sign off on them. But he suddenly got stubborn and refused to sign off on anything. All or nothing, he said.

I wonder to this day whether he called his girlfriend/mommy to get that advice. I can’t imagine his lawyer advising him to take such an idiotic stance.

Putting Off the Inevitable

Soon afterward, they asked the court to continue the trial date — originally scheduled for January 2013 — because they supposedly wanted to get a formal evaluation of my business. The court rescheduled for April 25, 2013.

This was a huge mistake on their part. For some reason, my husband still believed that I was in a hurry to leave Arizona. He apparently believed that if he dragged out the proceedings by pushing back the court date and turned up the heat on the harassment, I’d give up and go away.

Again, this boggles my mind. We were together 29 years. You’d think he’d know me better. But he really was delusional. He believed what his girlfriend/mommy — a woman who had never even met me! — told him.

I know this was their plan because they did absolutely nothing to get a formal evaluation of my business and they did indeed turn up the heat on the harassment.

To make matters worse (for him), he failed to deliver the discovery documents my lawyer had requested. After waiting two months for them, we had to take him to court to get him to comply. The judge awarded me legal fees for that action. And even then, he still didn’t submit all the documents on time. We had to subpoena all his bank and credit card companies for the information we needed. It was as if he didn’t think he needed to comply because he was so sure I’d just give up and go away.

Thanks, Honey

Meanwhile, I was glad to have the additional time at home. After all, it was my home — my only home — and it was comfortable and cheap to live in. I had no place else to go. By pushing back the court date, he did me a real favor.

He didn’t do himself any favors, though. The longer I stayed, the more of my possessions I packed.

Keep in mind that I lived in that house at least 9 years before we were married. I had incredible success in my writing business during those years and was making a lot of money. I bought many things for my office and the house — from office furniture and shelves to a hot tub to a wine fridge to kitchen appliances to decorative items like silk plants and curtains. These were all my things, my sole and separate property.

When I first got home in September, I concentrated on packing and storing my most valuable possessions: my antique lamps, my Navajo rug, my Lenox china. But as I remained in the house, day after day, putting up with the harassment they dealt out via threatening letters to my lawyer and other actions, I packed or discarded more and more of my possessions that I probably would have left behind if we’d settled sooner: books, CDs, DVDs, everyday dishes, pots and pans, about half the crystal stemware, kitchen linens, bath linens, bed linens, kitchen gadgets, and so much more.

Kitchen
The microwave looks as if it’s built into the wall with the oven, doesn’t it? Well, it wasn’t. It’s gone now and there’s an empty shelf in its place. I look forward to using the microwave in my new home. And, for the record, I threw away those curtains. What a bitch they were to sew.

I clearly remember the day I pulled my Sharp microwave oven out of the wall in the kitchen. He’d sent the police to our house to interrogate me on a charge of harassment after I’d made a one-minute visit to him in his condo the day before. The police officer was incredibly kind as I sobbed over my husband’s betrayal and his use of the police to harass me. He agreed that my husband didn’t have a case and even apologized for bothering me before he left. But my anger over this most recent offensive move convinced me to counter it. I got out my tools and pulled the microwave my parents had given me as a housewarming gift back in 1986 out of the wall. I put the shelf that had been there when we moved in back into the wall slot and cleaned it up with some Pledge. The next day, I boxed the microwave up and put it into storage.

I started using the fireplace every day. I managed to burn nearly all the firewood before it got too warm to have fires.

The more my husband fucked with me, the less I’d leave behind for him and his girlfriend/mommy.

Hell, I had nothing better to do than pack anyway. And I had plenty of storage space to put everything. The local thrift shops got all of my things that I no longer wanted. Things I might have left behind if we’d settled sooner, on better terms, without all the pain and harassment. Books, decorative items, luggage, games, electronic equipment.

As they began challenging my ownership of items, I began looking for receipts. That’s when I found the receipt for the telescope and additional lenses. I packed that up in late April and put it in storage. When I resettled in Washington, I’d have it fixed up and put it to good use.

Another Failed Attempt to Settle

Guest Room
I left behind almost all of the guest room furniture. But I did take the linens and, of course, the curtains. The curtains might work in my next bathroom; the rods are really nice.

When I got a new lawyer, his lawyer said they were interested in trying to settle with me. I was all for that. I had already presented him with a counter offer that was very generous. I was hoping he’d come to his senses and accept it. I agreed to attempt mediation again but only if we both sat in the same room and discussed it like adults.

It came as no surprise that he refused. He was afraid of me. He was afraid to be in the same room with his wife without his girlfriend/mommy there to advise him. Poor baby.

We attempted to settle the personal property with correspondence between lawyers. My proposal offered to give him almost all the furniture in the house and condo in return for just a few items that I wanted. We’d each keep whatever vehicles and other property was in question and he could even keep the condo. The net effect was that he’d come out at least $30K ahead for these assets on the table. I asked my lawyer’s assistant what she thought of my proposal and she said she thought it was extremely generous. “Let this be your bellwether, then,” I told her. “If he turns this down, it’s proof that he’s being unreasonable.”

Of course, he turned it down. It had gotten to the point where they — my husband and his girlfriend/mommy — didn’t want me to have anything that I wanted — even if that item was a piece of furniture worth $100 at the garage sale prices the court used.

They sent us a list of property in the house that was obviously prepared by my husband’s girlfriend/mommy. She referred to our upstairs den or TV room (as we called it) as the “mezzanine.” (Jeez, why didn’t she just sign her name to the list?) The list included many of my sole and separate assets, including my antique lamps (no, they’re not “Pierpont Puffs”), Navajo rug (a “woven tapestry,” according to her), and china (yes, it’s Lenox, but she got the pattern wrong). When they added the value of all these items, it came out to more than the value of the empty house. Apparently, she was just as delusional as he was.

Of course, by this time, most of my things had already been packed and moved out of the house. Most of the stuff that remained was either his — like the stereo equipment and his dad’s old bookcase — or the jointly owned furniture items or the items I needed to live comfortably.

Somewhere along the line, they said I could keep the bedroom set but neither sofa and nothing from the condo. They demanded that I leave behind the ceiling fans and curtain rods in the house. Like I was going to remove six southwestern style ceiling fans and take them to my future home in the Pacific northwest.

My lawyer and I pretty much ignored them, although my Facebook friends and I had a good laugh at their expense.

More Packing

I started taking down curtains, beginning with the ones I’d made not long after moving into the house. The curtains and curtain rods were mine. I would have left them behind if my husband’s girlfriend/mommy hadn’t made an issue of them. I dropped off most of the curtain rods at the local thrift shop. Hell, it wasn’t as if I wanted them.

By this time — April — I had pretty much run out of things to pack. I was eating off paper plates. I’d brought a countertop microwave and pots and pans down from our vacation property so I could still prepare meals.

I had a string of house guests to keep me company. We ate out a lot.

Hot Tub
When I couldn’t sell the hot tub, I gave it away. I certainly wasn’t going to leave it behind. (I’ll get a new one when I settle down.)

I gave away the hot tub. Its new owner picked it up while I was out on a day trip with friends.

I brought my helicopter back from California, where it had been parked on a frost contract. I did a bunch of flights for my big survey client — the one who had finally made my company profitable back in 2008. It was work I wouldn’t have had if my husband had settled sooner and I’d left.

I guess I need to thank my husband and his girlfriend/mommy for that extra revenue, too.

Finally! An Agreement!

I tried one more time to settle the personal property after our May 7 court date. I still had the list of items I wanted and the items I was willing to leave behind. We removed any mention of the vehicles and condo and RV in an effort to keep things simple. And because my lawyer was on vacation, his very capable assistant handled the communication with my husband’s lawyer.

I was shocked when they suddenly seemed to agree to my proposal.

The letter his lawyer drafted up said I could have the items from his condo that I wanted if I left the house by June 1. I asked about the other items on the list. I was told that they were agreeing to the entire list. We went back and forth a little. My lawyer came back from vacation. He dealt directly with my husband’s lawyer. The adjusted the language in the agreement to include a reference to the list so there would be no misunderstanding. I told them I needed until June 2 to finishing packing up and leave.

Meanwhile, my husband refused to allow me to be present when the items were picked up at his condo. More harassment. They had to do everything in their power to make everything difficult for me. I began to suspect that they’d damaged the items intentionally. I demanded photos. They sent them. Everything looked okay.

I still couldn’t understand why they were suddenly being so agreeable. Had their lawyer finally talked some sense into them? Or were they just that eager to get into the house I couldn’t wait to leave?

The Final Move

I made arrangements to send movers and a friend to act as my representative. In all honesty, I was glad I wouldn’t have to make that long round-trip drive to Phoenix — 90 minutes each way! My friend lived in the area and it would only take an hour or so out of her day. It would have killed half of mine. And frankly, I was pretty sick of driving between Wickenburg and Phoenix.

The pickup was set for May 30.

Bedroom
I took everything you see in this picture — except the ceiling fan. Seriously: the ceiling fans? What the hell did they think I was going to do with them?

A friend helped me move the jointly owned items I wanted from the house — the items on the list that he’d agreed to: our bedroom set, the chair in the bedroom, the lamps in the bedroom, the leather sofa in the TV room (AKA, mezzanine). We put it all into storage where the movers would pick everything up at once.

The furniture pickup went as planned. My friend inspected everything before it was packed. The movers brought it to my storage place and unloaded it. The furniture move was remarkably affordable and easy to take care of.

The movers made some comments about my husband’s girlfriend/mommy that got us all laughing. One of them said her clothes were too tight for someone her age. The other one said he thought my husband was gay.

Whoa.

I went back to the house to finish packing up the few things I had left: mostly clothes and scattered odds and ends.

And of course, the rest of the curtains and curtain rods.

The long distance movers will pick everything up this morning. (I guess I’m not the only one who works weekends.) They’ll load it into their truck, close the doors, and head north. I’ll turn over the hangar I’ve been renting for 11 years to my landlord, who has already parked a bunch of vans in the area formerly occupied by my husband’s plane.

I expect my possessions to arrive in Washington by the end of the week. A nice, secure, climate-controlled storage unit is waiting for them in a friend’s storage facility. With luck, I’ll be able to start unpacking in my new home by the end of the year.

I’m glad to be out of my Wickenburg house — more glad than anyone could possibly imagine. Although it was comfortable, it was full of reminders of a life with a man I love — a man who not only now hates me but is anxious to install his girlfriend/mommy in my place. It was a prison, of sorts. The only thing that made it tolerable was the steady stream of house guests and trips I made to visit friends and family members. Even when I was ready to leave, to go to work in Washington again, I couldn’t let it go because it was such a valuable bargaining chip.

A chip that paid off in the end — by enabling me to settle the personal property out of court and get what few jointly owned items I wanted.

Unfortunately for my husband and his girlfriend/mommy, there’s a lot less in that house than there would have been if he settled in September when he claimed he wanted to. Their stubborn greed cost them thousands — money they’ll have to spend to replace the items I packed while waiting for them to stop harassing me and reach a reasonable settlement.