Clearance

I feel like I’ve had a productive weekend. Over the past three months—at least—I have been disappointed in myself on Sunday nights for not having completed a myriad of tasks. I would have checked off some of the items on my lengthy, ongoing list, but I wouldn’t COMPLETE the list.

Granted, I work at the store and/or writing articles at least two weekends a month, and the weather hasn’t been conducive to some of my wanna-do tasks like walking in the park or shooting photos.  If there is snow falling, and temps are in the teens, I’ll get my fresh air taking the dog out and leave icy roads and paths to those who have warmer blood than I. From Thanksgiving until the end of January I was also fighting off the flu and felt foggy and sleepy when I had a chance to rest. At any rate, this Capricorn seemed to have no extra energy to actually work on the tasks at hand.

Which brings me to this weekend. Maybe it’s the days getting longer, maybe I’ve finally cleared the flu hurdle, or maybe it was the full moon eclipse a couple of weeks ago, but I feel like things are moving forward in a lot of areas of my life. I’ve been gradually picking up speed and direction, and am making that leap from planning to doing.

Friday I got several things accomplished before getting to the office. One batch of snow hit Friday afternoon, and I shoveled the drive when I got home. Saturday I had a hair appointment, picked up a few groceries, and had the car washed. At home, I went through articles and emails I’d saved to my phone to read later while Hulu played “Tiny House Hunters.”  I watched all of these inspiring people paring down their possessions to “the things that really mattered”—and would fit into 192 square feet.

This is something on which I’ve been working for awhile, since the spring after my parents died, really. I came to Rochester with what I thought were mostly essentials to find that I don’t need all of the stuff still up in the garage. In addition, this house, funky and lovely as it is, is far more house than necessary. After Christmas I put holiday decorations in “to go” boxes in the mudroom and went through a storage closet, bathroom closet, and coat closet to thin those out.

Today I started on my bedroom closet. There were two bins and a suitcase containing seasonal and miscellaneous clothes. Memories of past lives and boyfriends went through my head as I dug through the jumble of fabrics. And socks. I already have a drawer full of socks, but here, remarkably, were more. I started four piles: garbage, general giveaway, teen shelter, and keep. At the end of this session, I put the "keep" pile into the suitcase—only because I didn’t have enough hangers. Shoe boxes went in the one bin to tidy the closet, and everything else went out to the mudroom.

Since I was on a roll, I decided to check out bins of kitchen ware in the basement, two small and one extra large. I went through these when I moved in and got rid of some things, but, now settled, I knew there was more waiting. Sure enough, I ousted the remaining cookie sheets (the one I use is enough,) several lidded casserole dishes (my crock pot and Dutch oven serve my purposes,) and the muffin pans, both regular and mini. Truly, I rarely bake, and any cupcake mission is best left to the professionals at any one of the 1,000 bakeries here in Rochester. Almost everything in these bins joined the clothes out on the porch, and only one small (18 gallon) bin went back downstairs to consider later.

So here I am tonight with a little sense of accomplishment, though there will be several more go-arounds with closets and bins before I get to tiny house level. But this is do-able. 

What are the essentials in my life? What is most important to me? When WAS the last time I actually used this or that? Which wine glasses will be the keepers, and how many of them? (lol)

All of this clearing is shaping up to stock a mega-garage sale this spring. In the meantime, what should I do with these?  

Hyacinth

MARCH 29, 2016 IN GENERAL, FLOWERS

“And the time came when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”                                   Anais Nin

Overall, I am fortunate. I have good friends and nice friends. I have support and encouragement from people around me. Also around me, well . . .as I type this I’m looking at blue water under blue sky and know that this is a luxury.

I’m feeling the pain of a faith being tested. I’m pushing back the fear of the unknown, consciously forcing myself to look toward the faith side and turn my back on the fear. This has been a far more difficult winter than I imagined, with twists and turns—not all bad, but distracting. I feel like I’m sliding down a dusty slope, trying to reverse the momentum or at least gain enough traction to delay the descent.

And now it is spring, and the progress I’d expected to make over the winter has not materialized. Maybe my expectations were too great and my faith in my choices too secure. Or maybe I’ve been too IN-secure to let myself truly believe.

I am simultaneously restless and paralyzed. I want to pace back and forth and circle through the rooms, and yet the movement has no force or destination. I want to sit quietly and calm my mind.

I saw the hyacinth at the grocery store a couple of weeks ago, its flowers still closed. Like narcissus at Christmas, hyacinths at Easter have a heady fragrance that soothes and excites—spring is here. Today the buds have all opened, and the stems are bent from the weight of the full blooms. The fragrance is not as strong now that the flower has matured. It is fulfilling its purpose: to grow, to blossom, to beautify, to create happiness, to take us out of winter and give us spring.

What is my purpose, and is this my spring? 

Too Many Scattered Thoughts

DECEMBER 13, 2015 IN GENERAL

I’ve been trying to write for several weeks. I thought that once I got to where I was going it would all be okay. I could regain my focus on tasks at hand and move ahead. Without relaying all the laborious details, these weeks have been somewhat disappointing and even distressing. 

Today's photos were taken ages ago when we had a couple of days of snow. The sunrises here are beautiful, and I photograph them regularly. Truly, the weather has been amazing, so that is positive.

Right now my “to do” list is still full, and there are things that I HAVE to finish today. I’ll write a real blog entry when I’m in a better mood, a better frame of mind. This afternoon the water outside is calm, reflecting the grey, broken clouds. I’ll enjoy the quiet evening, make a phone call or two and push through the must-do tasks on the list.   

Back to the Future

NOVEMBER 08, 2015 IN GENERAL

“Scattering pieces of me in towns all over the place. A trail of crumbs dotting the map from everywhere we've left to everywhere we go. And they don't make any pictures when I connect dots. They are random like the stars littering the sky at night.”   Brian James, Zombie Blondes

Last week on Facebook a friend was feeling a little nostalgic dropping off her old house keys as her family moved to a new home. I’ve been there, too. I’m trying to wind this effort up, hoping to at least take the final pieces out of storage by the end of the week, even if they have to go into the garage for now. The house is still in disaster mode with my landlord’s newly acquired house contents pushed to the perimeters and my boxes and bins and suitcases waiting for the furniture.

But otherwise, there is so much “flow” with this move, a strange mixture of excitement about developing my work and making a home and an ease and comfort in revisiting old routines and places. “All of life comes to me with ease, joy and glory,” per Access Consciousness.

For many years—and I know I’ve mentioned this at some point—I walked through Webster Park on Sunday mornings, sun and snow. So on this chilly 43 degree morning I had the opportunity to try it again after nine years away.  Parts of Holt Road are unrecognizable because of housing development, but the park is the park, thankfully. There is a new playground at the entrance, but Zsa Zsa and I meandered the loop along the creek, out to the lake, then up and down the hill. This was new for ZZ. She’s not a walker, but she is a trooper and gave it all she had. I ended up carrying her for about half the time, which was fine.  As I walked, snapping photos with my phone, I wondered how many times I’d photographed the same scenes in decades past on film. I’ll have to look for those images to compare. 

So beautiful, this quiet time along the creek, shushing through leaves in fresh, clear air. I missed Sunday walks in Oregon and Ohio, and now I’m back, recharging my soul for the next week—and weeks to come. 

The Long and Winding Road

OCTOBER 25, 2015 IN GENERAL

Some people see their paths clearly. Everything is laid out in front of them, their compasses point north, and they’re off and running. Other people—like myself—seem to have less direction or clarity or a path that is at least partially covered in vines or fog. Maybe it all feels right sometimes. Things fall into place, and people show up exactly at the time they’re needed. One contact or project or tidbit pushes you along in the Universal Flow. I’ve been there.

However, the last few years I’ve groped in the fog and hacked away with a machete. While I knew Ohio was the “right” choice I could not seem to make much headway. I felt isolated most of the time for many reasons.

Finally, though, I tuned out the desire to “make it work” and tuned into more subtle messages. I evaluated my experiences and reviewed the paths I’d taken. I went back to an old exercise of mine that asks, “What would you do if it could be anything?” and eliminated limitations, gradually putting thoughts out There about what would be ideal for me. 

I’ve learned the following:  1. what you think you want and what you’re supposed to have are not always the same things; 2. meditation is an excellent tool for filtering and calming; 3. having patience is very important; 4. focusing on lack creates lack, and focusing on abundance and blessings creates abundance and blessings; 5. it can all be frustrating and grueling, but you have to be patient; 6. and trust in a benevolent Universe/God/Spirit; 7. your gut feelings are your instincts, and if you can tune into those—as crazy as they may seem—they won’t steer you wrong; 8. patience, grasshopper, patience.

My “work” is still evolving, but my house-hunting exploits are the stuff of legends. Plan A was to purchase a house for cash and not have a mortgage payment. As soon as this was possible the market skyrocketed, greatly diminishing my choices of homes and neighborhoods. There was a cute little place near the corner on Jewel St. at Norton, however, that caught my eye in spite of there being only one exterior photo of the property. The neighborhood was marginal with a church directly across the street, but a suspicious looking multi-family across Norton that seemed to have cars generally pulling up and leaving.  

When realtor Tim opened the door, I fell in love with the house. It was everything I’d imagined: old style tiles, hardwoods, a sunroom, glass front kitchen cabinets, an attached garage, charm, reasonably priced. But would I feel safe in the neighborhood? Could I take Zsa Zsa for a walk? Did I want to zip my car in the garage and live inside looking out? There had been a shooting down the street.  I decided to make an offer anyway because it was such a nice house in good condition. Ahh, but no-go. The man told Tim that he was taking it off the market to rent to a friend of his. I wasn’t happy, but “wasn’t meant to be” kept going through my head.  

Subsequent houses went from bad to worse, including a house that was imploding because it had been built on a spring (or cave or something) and a mobile home 20 miles from the city with a ceiling that was buckling. I’d tried to wrap my head around a possible deal for a house on the water, but couldn’t get it to feel comfortable. A talk with one of my friends finally convinced me to rent instead by reminding me of the freedom I had as a tenant in Oregon and reiterating that repairs on these houses were imminent, as were Rochester’s notoriously high taxes. Oh, yes. It was coming back to me from owning my house years ago. 

My friends and I switched gears to find suitable rental properties: at least off-street parking, two bedrooms if possible, and, of course, Zsa Zsa friendly. We cruised by a few possibilities; I visited a couple of city lofts. I was making appointments and staying in my friends’ camper next to their house with my belongings in storage.  

One Sunday I simply drove around thinking, “There has to be SOMEthing. What am I missing?” which took me along the bay. I spotted one “For Rent” sign in front of a two-car garage and took down the number. When I called the next day, the landlord and I seemed to connect right away. The house was a funky, artsy-craftsy two-bedroom with the garage.  And it was right on the water. In fact, it had everything I’d asked for from the Universe at the beginning of this whole process.  BAM, Emeril style.

I imagine myself as the princess kissing frogs to get to the prince, (need I mention the trust and patience involved?) but am excited to be in a place that feels kind of like home even with my furniture in storage. I couldn’t have gotten here without help from my friends Diane & Bill, Rich, Jodi, Carol and Larry—sages, cheerleaders, voices of reason, sounding boards. I am so, so grateful for the advice, suggestions and patience as I toddled through this particular stretch.

 I’ve spent the entire day here at the house just reading, unpacking, cleaning, putting a slipcover on a chair, looking at paint swatches. Neighbor Dave mowed my little back yard. The path continues, and so will I. The fog has cleared. Tonight the moon is shining on the still water. 

A Valentine for Zsa Zsa

FEBRUARY 01, 2015 IN TIMES LEADER

The following column about my pup Zsa Zsa was published in today's Times Leader. People have asked me how she is doing, and the answer is well. She's very funny, and I have to be vigilant and consistent, but she is a good little dog. Though the word "Amish" didn't appear in the newspaper, make no mistake that they are top offenders in the puppy mill problem. When I took ZZ to the vet's for the first time, she knew immediately from where the pup came just from the physical traits and subsequent health issues mill dogs exhibit.  We're trying to remedy the mess these people made of this innocent animal's life. Here are a few more Zsa Zsa notes:

• Nicknames: ZZ, Zsah, and Lil' Z (gansta) 
• She loves to be in the sun and will follow patches of it on the floor around the house 
• She also likes toys and bones and isn't shy about taking what she can from her cousins or buddy Toby, though she isn't aggressive or threatening. It's hysterical to see her charge into a pile of toys and drag out the biggest bone (Samoyed size) without being intimidated at all. Think ant and rubber tree plant.
• She is still trying to figure out cats (who isn't?) but, again, isn't threatening--simply curious, much to the object-cat's chagrin
• In spite of the long days spent on the front seat of a U-Haul in November, she loves to ride in the car and now pokes her head out of the pet carrier to view the world outside the window. Previously, she has curled up and slept.      

COLUMN 25

At the end of 2013 I adopted a three-year old (estimated) ball of fur with one dark eye and one blue that weighed six pounds soaking wet.  I wasn’t sure I wanted the responsibility and expense of a pet.  My parents died the month before. I had no idea where my life was going.   

It began when I called Vicki Groves of My Young and Old Fur Babies Rescue to donate some blankets, and she said, “You’ll never believe what I got this week.”  She told me about her visit to a Holmes County veterinarian’s and stopping the vet tech as he lifted this pup, with tail wagging, out of the cage to euthanize her--just another breeder in an puppy mill that out-lived her usefulness. The vet thought she was a grey and black Shih Tzu, but after Vicki bathed her four times at the clinic to get the filth and smell from her coat, it turned out the pup was apricot and white.  She didn’t bark and seemed very sweet.

“She would be a great dog for you,” Vicki concluded. “She needs a quieter home; she could lie on your lap while you write.

When I dropped off the blankets, this little bundle fell asleep on my arm. Soon after, I, with the encouragement of most of my Facebook friends, made arrangements to adopt her. I’d picked out a Chinese name that meant “little joy:” Xiao Xiao. Right away it was apparent that she was more of a “little diva,” so her name became similar sounding Zsa Zsa instead.

I won’t lie. This co-habitation has been an adjustment for both of us. Her breed is notoriously stubborn, but she obeys eventually and looks to me for direction, acknowledgement and food. Zsa Zsa also has health issues due to irresponsible breeding practices. She’s allergic to almost everything, literally, so I cook vegetables, fruits, whole grains and fish for both of us.  I also have to make logistical schedule adjustments to come home every few hours to let the pooch out of her crate.

As she’s been acclimating to a world beyond a wire cage, I’ve observed a few lessons from her. Maybe she was sent to remind me of these as I reassess my own life.

First, Zsa Zsa goes with the flow. She’s fine hanging out with her toys and blankets at home, but is always up for adventure whether going to see her “cousins”--my cousins’ Samoyeds and kitty-- or traveling across the US in a U-Haul.  She greets everyone and is curious about everything new, a little cautiously sometimes, but always giving whatever it is the benefit of the doubt. If it has popcorn, all the better.

Vicki thought the mill may have severed Zsa Zsa’s vocal chords (not unusual) because she didn’t bark while at the rescue. Thankfully she wasn’t put through that horror. Turns out, lesson two, Zsa Zsa only barks when she thinks it’s necessary. She watches, evaluating what’s happening instead of throwing herself into it with mouth running.

Third, Zsa Zsa doesn’t let her past determine her future. I can only imagine her previous miserable life, and if it had turned out that she was snappish with people or fearful of other dogs, who could blame her?  Instead, she wakes every morning facing fresh, new days, more good now than bad. She is afraid of the dark, though, so we sleep with a nightlight (and I with a mask over my eyes) to reassure Zsa Zsa and to keep me from waking to an ungodly screeching howl at 2 a.m.  But her uninhibited joy as she scampers and struts is contagious.

Fourth, Zsa Zsa tries. Even if she’s unsure or afraid, she gathers up some moxie and gives it a go. She wants to contribute to “the pack,” and I want her to have some confidence, so when she succeeds at a challenge, it’s “good girl,” “yay,” and lots of pats on the head.

Now the not-so-good news. Zsa Zsa would have died without anyone knowing of this harmless, sweet and spunky little creature of God. There were already garbage bags on the vet clinic floor containing dogs not fortunate enough to catch Vicki’s eye, and this goes on every day. Holmes County and Lancaster, Pennsylvania are known as the “puppy mill capitals of the world.”

Virtually all puppies in pet stores—around 500,000 annually--come from mills, as do puppies at flea markets. A mill owner rakes in upwards of $300,000 per year at the expense of confined, malnourished and even injured dogs that keep the puppies coming. While puppies are sent away from the mill, the mothers—like Zsa Zsa—merely exist in wire cages breeding twice a year until they can’t produce, then are euthanized by a vet or killed on the farm. Googling “puppy mill statistics” will yield links to USDA and Humane Society reports and the ABC News story on Amish puppy mills. The only way to stop the cruelty is to stop buying these puppies and putting your money in the pockets of the monsters. Instead, support the rescues that save these dogs.

Lucky us, Zsa Zsa and me, when Fate smiled.  Another year of exploring ahead, and, as Vicki predicted, Zsa Zsa is snoring on the couch beside me. Valenti can be reached at gvalenti@timesleaderonline.com.