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?  

Letting Go and Hanging On

JULY 13, 2015 IN GENERAL

This is the fifth time I’ve written this entry. I started it last Sunday and scrapped that subject.  I started another during the week, and stopped. I began two other versions today (Sunday) alone. And shot other photos yesterday. It was all ready to go until I got ready to fire up the laptop to post. What I’ve really been thinking about this weekend are memories.

This week I heard about a woman’s supposedly revolutionary best-selling book on eliminating clutter in your life. The idea that everyone thinks is brilliant is simply “keep only the things that mean something to you.” Okay. I’ve been doing that for a year and a half.

At no other time in my life have I had to weigh the emotional “value” of things than as I’ve gone through my parents’ house. I don’t even know many of the people whose pictures and cards I’ve found. I hadn’t lived with my parents in nearly 30 years when I came here to help, and I had never lived in this house. I recognize knick knacks and drinking glasses and vacation photos that bring back memories, but I don’t need to keep all of them.

I have my own keepsakes that bring old memories and feelings to the surface: a favorite coffee mug, a postcard, a purse, some jewelry, and of course photographs. For years I kept an envelope with a scribble on it. I think I’ve let that go, but the memories of that period and lover are still mixed. Sometimes happy thoughts are crowded away by painful ones, even so many years later.

I have some Depression glass that was my grandfather’s and a fern stand that was his mother’s, as was a lamp that my mother inherited. They remind me of the lovely house on the bank of the Ohio River; memories of my grandparents are good. Those things will come with me again.

July 6 was an old boyfriend’s birthday—and I mean decades ago. Memories of the good and bad trickled into my head all week: skiing, concerts, Kennywood, then, phone calls, tension and a nasty breakup. I know I am not the same person I was then, and it all happened as it should.  

Today on NPR’s “Radio Lab” a guest told a story about a friend who had passed away. He talked about memories and how he and this friend had shared a very special, intimate moment. He noted a realization about it: that he is the only one on the planet now who has had that experience and that memory. His friend is gone, and he can share it through talking about it, but he is the only one who can feel the memory. When he goes, the beautiful moment will die, also.

He re-started the memory flow in my head—fireworks in Pittsburgh, a special dinner in NYC, a discussion of love in the dark, a drive along the coast, a night under a meteor shower—all unique, intimate  moments shared with just one other person at the time. Do they remember them, too? 

My final thought in this stream of consciousness is that “things” are not memories, they are triggers. Yesterday, while “downsizing” a bin from Oregon I found a t-shirt from one of the best days of my life. I not only took it upstairs, but put it on, recalling vignettes from that happy time. It’s impossible (and not really practical) to keep everything that has a memory attached. I’ve done well in clearing the clutter and not hanging on to items with marginal meaning just because someone else was fond of them. I am looking forward to having my own space again, surrounded by things that are important to me. But the number of fond memories I have of friends, family, loves and places would fill many houses. They are the most important possessions and travel with me in all places through all of time. 

(The photos are from friend Jodi's recently acquired old farmhouse, where she and husband Kelly will make new memories)

Your Road is Your Own

SEPTEMBER 21, 2014 IN GENERAL

So now that I have been through the house, examining and weighing the remnants of my parents’ lives, it is time for my own reckoning.

Yesterday I started in my corner of the garage. Several Rubbermaid bins have been sitting there since I moved from Rochester to Oregon. The three or four that I went through (those bins not buried under hypertufa supplies and my Oriental rug) still yielded paperwork to be shredded and things to add to the giveaway piles. I brought my silverware into the house to use.

I was surprised at how detached I was as I methodically glanced and tossed. Not wearing my glasses was probably a good idea. Once in awhile something caught my eye, and those few things were placed in a “review” pile.

Though I would prefer “spring” as a metaphor for growth and rebirth, there is change in the air today. I heard Canadian geese this morning, getting an early start. I was hopeful when I heard a brief rain as I woke up, but that was the beginning and the end apparently. The blustery wind has blown the clouds and any chance of rain east for the foreseeable future. Color is creeping through the trees, and we know what’s next. I looked over my curious pile of memories this morning. Change is imminent.

1.  In my “office” bin, I found this program from a Bobby McFerrin concert. NEAD, the agency where I worked at the time, gave me two prime tickets for my birthday. I was so appreciative. The people in that office were kind and giving and funny. Everyone was on the same mission and worked as a team. So proud and blessed to have been a part of it.

The letter is from an acquaintance. I felt guilty when I pondered this because I truly had no idea who this person was, yet I am “dearest Glynis.” I finally figured out that he was a friend of a friend whom I met once or twice with my friend in Cleveland. Other than that, I know nothing about him.   

The notebooks were entirely different. There were logs from one of my part-time jobs for a market research firm along with, surprisingly, notes to someone I was seeing at the time. I don’t think I ever sent these notes—a good thing, I’m sure. It was upsetting to read some of them because this wasn’t a good time in my life. The words are not angry, but in fact overly caring. It was difficult to read because I know how unhappy I was, and I used all of my strength to cover and push that pain down. Live and learn. Well, sort of.

2. The wine bottle is something I brought back from Oregon. It was in a basket with other more pertinent things. Clients—five brothers--at my wine shop meet in Cannon Beach every year from different parts of the country. They came into the shop and grilled me about wine, did some tasting and talking and bought a couple of bottles for the weekend. As they were leaving town, they stopped in to say goodbye and presented me with a half glass of this premier Bordeaux ($200+ bottle.) I was touched and flattered to be included, and it gave me a little confidence, too. The bottle shattered on the garage floor when I dropped the basket.

In one of the bins I found my father’s sunglasses from the 1960s, which, after he said I could have them, I wore occasionally. He came into the garage just after I broke the bottle. I thought he would be mad that 1. there was glass all over the floor and 2. that it was a wine bottle. Instead he seemed genuinely concerned that I not hurt myself cleaning it up and sorry that I broke something that I valued.  

You never know for sure how people will react.

3. This other notebook had a different “theme.” In it I explored different path choices. What was the comparative cost of living in Santa Fe or Taos? What were my skills? My marketable skills? And this page, for some reason left blank. “What I would do if I could do anything.” That is the question, isn’t it?

The framed card is one that sat on my desk in Rochester. It reads, “Your road…is your own.” True again. I find myself trying to determine what I want to do next and where I want to go now, but this time I’m releasing things I don’t want to carry on the next leg of my journey. My road IS my own, and I can DO anything I want. I have figured this out at this point.

Each of us has a path, and, if you’re moving along it, the scenery is always changing. I feel like I’ve been here before, but not. This time around I’ve let go of things, of the past, and am continuing that work. Maybe that’s what this is about: releasing, shedding like fall leaves, finding one’s essence and truth within.

Archeology

SEPTEMBER 01, 2014 IN GENERAL

I worked on the house this weekend. My brother had to postpone coming down until next weekend, but, since it was my first weekend at home in awhile, I took advantage. I accomplished about two-thirds of what I wanted to do, but that’s okay. I’ll keep moving my parents’ things into the basement and moving my things upstairs. This will clear out rooms and closets (I hope,) as I get ready for the next steps. There is just too much stuff of theirs and mine.

I want to bring a desk upstairs, but a living room loveseat will have to go. I cleaned out six of the seven drawers in the desk on Saturday. The last drawer is stuck, and I’ll have to keep chiseling away at it. The photos show what is making this clear out a monumental task: all kinds of bits and pieces, random papers, obsolete paraphernalia. It all appears in every drawer in dressers, chests, envelopes and boxes.

This assortment includes normal desk supplies with a china hand that belonged to a now-unknown knick-knack; screwdrivers, screwdriver parts, a folding ruler, a classic flashlight and a toothbrush; boxes of razor blades and rubber bands sold by the pound (still usable;) family history that starts with my great, great-grandparents and ends with my mother’s handwritten memories for a reunion and a stray puzzle piece.

Is there anything more endearing than children’s art? My brother’s class (kindergarten or first grade, I think) sent some cheery notes to my father, who was in the hospital with a kidney infection a few days before Thanksgiving. Many have flowers or cars or turkeys, but one of these has a “pome,” another has a penny as a present, and my brother crafted his own card for “Mr. Ault.”

The excavation continues.

The Next Chapter

June 1, 2014

Well. Here we are, and here we go. If you’ve been reading my blog, you are aware of the “themes,” the “mantras,” the “riffs” that run through my thoughts and life.  The Universe has been at work again, and I have a new blog site. GoDaddy discontinued their blog product and told everyone they had to move, so I packed up all 250+ entries from the past seven years, and here I am.

I, of course, am at another plateau anyway. Since last year, I have been “releasing.” I copied all of my years of blog posts into a Word doc—1,101 letter-sized pages of photos and words. Scanning through those entries reminded me why I moved to Oregon and what I can do when I’m working creatively.

As the world at large moves into its next phase, my world is shifting, too. There are new causes to explore and priorities to rearrange. Sorting through the house after my parents’ deaths in November is teaching me much about release. Let go of the sets of Time-Life books; one only needs so many throw blankets; keep my grandmother’s jewelry box. As it happens, my niece is moving into her first solo apartment, so she will be able to use some of her grandparents’ furniture, dishes and pans. This is good.

I’ve turned inward to release habits and thought patterns that no longer work for me. My focus is on evolution and re-finding my purpose, though I suspect part of it does include the journey here to help my parents these last four years. Now, though, I feel myself running in place, excited to move on, yet not quite knowing in which direction.

Just last week a friend posted that her “overworked and overwrought” husband is leaving his job “to take time to smell the roses. And to fish.” I say, “YES! Do it!” I’ve leapt off that cliff in the past and feel myself moving toward the edge again. Writing, photography, teaching, consulting, wine—I’ve done this before. The hard part is honing in all of the possibilities to develop something doable that makes sense. 

These photos are from a field trip I took recently with high school art students. It was great to be at the Carnegie Museum with them and to wander amidst art and creatures from other eras. The pot in the first photo is decorated with the archetypal swirl that appears in nearly every culture throughout millennia, always symbolizing change, transition, birth, growth. I've been drawn to the swirl for a long time and used a version of it for my first business logo in Rochester and Oregon. This pot is more than 5,000 years old. Fascinating. These objects are ancient, but the beauty and drama of their energy live on as the world continues its story.