Well I'm finally liberated. What a fucking nightmare. I was hanging out at the nursery, which was a reasonably comfortable spot, although I knew it was not permanent. My jailer was kindly, if a bit grumpy, but I enjoyed the mild California climate and he watered me regularly. When two women walked in and oohed and aahed over me, and they seemed to understand me, I thougtht that things were looking up. They put me in a pickup and took me to a nearby ranch, which was effing beautiful. My heart soared as I saw what was going to be my forever home, and I waited to see who my new neighbors would be. There was a gorgeous Pinus parviflora 'Cleary' that I really wanted to be planted next to. And that brings up the subject of names. My name is not fucking 'Loo'. My name is Chamaecyparis lawsoniana 'Wissels Saguaro'. Even my birth mother showed no respect; she named me that because I was born with twisted arms and she thought that they resembled a saguaro cactus. Nice, Mom, making fun of my disability.
So I'm getting in the groove of living on a ranch in California when the next thing that I know, I am put inside some kind of mobile jail. They put me in the bathroom for chrissakes. The two women were joined by a third and we all drove off to god knows where. They showed NO consideration for me; I'm in the bathroom, staring at the toilet, they were up front oohing and aahing (they seem to do that rather indiscriminately--I feel less special) at beautiful scenery. None of them seem to know how to drive--I was swaying all over the place and kept getting carsick (at least I was next to the toilet). I had no fucking clue where we were going to end up and what plans they had for me.
I had ONE chance at liberation and it failed. They were cruising down the highway, yakking away, which god knows they all seem to have graduate degrees in, when I heard a siren and then an airhorn behind us. I would have warned them, but decided that I had no obligation to help my captors. No fucking Stockholm syndrom for me, thank you very much. They finally realized that Wyoming's finest were in pursuit when the state trooper pulled up next to the driver (the little one was driving) and waved her over. She pulled to the shoulder, almost knocking me silly with her bumping and swerving, and he came up to the passenger window. These women looked so sketchy I was sure that he was going to insist on a vehicle search, but the one riding shotgun started gassing away about who knows what and and feeding the guy line after line (I told you they knew how to talk). After some back and forth he took their papers and went back to his patrol car. I hoped with every fiber of my trunk that he would come back with his sidearm drawn and I would see the sky again, but no, his buddy accompanied him back and let these dingbats off with a warning. The one with the spiky hair (has she even looked in the mirror? And I'm the one that is supposed to look funny, and trust me, the three of them could use some serious hairstyling) starting whining and carrying on about how traumatic the experience was. Trauma? You want trauma? Try riding in a fucking bathroom for 3,000 miles with no idea where you are going to end up. God I hate whiners.
I could go on and on about how horrible the experience has been but it would take too long and it all gives me PTSD to think about it too much. What really chapped my hide was that at one point, they stopped at a pretty nice place and tried to make friends with me. They got out chairs and cocktails (they like to booze it up at night and watch stupid shit on TV) and sat in the grass and put me out there with them. I wasn't having it, especially when the little one used my pot as her cocktail table. Jesus Fucking Christ what an insult. They all continued to yak and laugh hysterically and the one with the curly hair made bad jokes which the others found hilarious. That night there was some stupid altercation about silverware and they were yelling and then laughing and the RV rocked like a fucking roller coaster. I almost threw up. And the serious downside of being trapped in the bathroom is that I was in there WHILE THEY WERE USING THE TOILET!!!! Jesus...
So we finally pull up to what appeared to be the destination, and the yakking and yelling and laughing got so loud I thought that my vascular system would burst. After a lot of carrying on, they got out, and liberated me from my cell and I'm sitting there on the sidewalk, wondering what the hell is going to happen next. I've learned not to get my hopes up given the fact that these babes only seem to think about themselves and are completely unreliable. As they began pulling all of their shit out of the vehicle, a man stepped out of the house carrying a tray of drinks (I told you that they liked to booze it up). I didn't want to hope too much, but compared to these dollies, he appeared to be kindly and sane, and he didn't shoot his mouth off and try to compete for air time the way that they all do. They must have some kind of hold over him, because he asked to kiss the little one and she refused. Maybe I'm just one in a long line of captives who they somehow manage to control. He must be the one that I heard them talking to earlier, ordering him around about having dinner ready for them. Shit they really have no regard for others.
Well, I don't want to get my hopes up, as I've mentioned, but there are some signs that this might have a happy ending. The little one announced that she had a spot all picked out for me, and if that is true, it might be ok. There are two other Chams nearby--not immediate family but close relatives, and I like the idea that I'm in view of the street so there will be lots to look at during the day. She may be a lunatic but she seems to know what she is doing in the garden, which is more than I could hope for. And the guy, even though he appears to be completely under her thumb (jeez even the spiky-haired one was ordering him around), seems completely reasonable and not so fucking loud. Maybe this will be ok but god knows it is going to take me a long time to recover from this nightmare trip.
UPDATE: Praise the lord, early this morning, the spiky-haired one and the one with the curly hair took off! It was six o'clock in the morning and they were all standing on the sidewalk screaming and yakking and to my amazement, those two got into the jail and drove away! So now I've only got one idiot to contend with, and as I said, the guy seems reasonable and I like the spot. I wonder if all of my neighbors were kidnapped, too, but I have to wait until I'm planted to really get to know their stories. I figure I'll get over the trauma some day, but I'm already worrying about who those two idiots are going to kidnap next. Sigh...it's not easy being a tree.