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.   

Small Change

NOVEMBER 02, 2015 IN GENERAL

“You’ll find your fortune falling all over the town.
Make sure your umbrella is upside down.”

Lyrics to “Pennies from Heaven”

Quite awhile ago friend Chris Hughes (CUontheRoad.net) shared an article on Facebook about finding random coins—dimes and pennies usually—and the possibility that this phenomenon was spiritual or supernatural in nature. She, too, had been finding coins and wondering what was up.

At the time, my parents had just passed away, and there were lots of little “signs” from them as I went through the process of grieving and closing their estate. But over the past year as I readied the house for sale, packed things up and moved other things out, I, too, started finding coins more often. Now, my parents took saving change to a new level. I found coffee cans, Planters nut cans and jars, plastic butter containers, envelopes, and candy dishes overflowing in dresser drawers and tucked in the linen closet. I think there is still a can of pennies in a box somewhere that has to be changed out. Anyway, it wouldn’t have been out of the ordinary for me to find a few random coins lying around.

Until I would sweep a bedroom floor and return to find a penny right in the middle of it. One day I moved a box with my Hummel angels packed inside, and a dime fell off of the top of it. Coins appeared on the counter or kitchen floor. A penny fell from the UHaul truck as I unloaded it at the storage place. I know it hadn’t been there, and I don’t carry change in my pockets. 

The reason I mention this now is because things have stepped up considerably since I moved into this house—not “I’m going to be a millionaire” level, but certainly more often for a house that I’ve been cleaning almost every day. Toward the end of my stay in Ohio I started saving some of the pennies and dimes as I found them, and I’ve been collecting the really unusual finds here.

Several have appeared in the master bedroom: on the carpet, on the old mattress that I’m shoving out the door tomorrow and in my suitcase. Today, I looked over at my car’s passenger seat, which I had just cleared minutes before, and there was a shiny dime.

What prompted me to write this post was that I was unpacking some of my dishes (formerly my grandmother’s) into a cabinet last night. I thought of her, hoped that the rest of the set in other boxes made it through the move safely, and pictured serving friends future dinners on her dishes. Clink—a dime fell on the counter from between two plates as I unwrapped them. True story. I smiled and said “hello” and “thank you,” as I have been doing when I find these coins. The photos are of the some of these special gifts.

Many people are not inclined to believe in spiritual energy, or they believe that there is something scary or freaky about incidents like this. I, instead, feel a sense of comfort and encouragement. Someone, or more likely several guardians, are looking out for me, saying hello with pennies from heaven. 

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. 

Going, going ...

AUGUST 16, 2015 IN GENERAL

Well, if I felt like a “man without a country” before, it’s practically a reality today. On Friday my brother came down from Michigan to sign closing papers on my parents’ (our) house. I’ll be living here for the next weeks as I narrow my new home options down, but nearly everything has been packed, donated, given away or thrown away. The remainder is in limbo, waiting in near-empty cupboards and a couple of closets.  

I am also in limbo to an extent, though I pack and move boxes and furniture to the basement or storage room every day in order to feel like I’m moving forward. The constant sorting and filtering and reliving memories during this year have worn on me—not that I would regret or trade the experience of the past five years. While I feel the heaviness of loss and perplexity of the future on any given day, the trial by fire is but smoldering now as I finish with my parents’ lives and refocus on my own and the possibilities that come with a clean slate.

As a Capricorn, I like security. I’ve lived on the edge before. Secure is better. But not feeling secure is a lesson in growth. And trust. 

I set aside time to meditate every day, to clear my head and listen to any inner or outer voice that cares to offer direction. After all that’s happened I’m confident that angels maintain a vigilant watch on goings-on around me and give me some guidance. I had expected to stay for another year or so and save a bit of money working on one or two of the several job offers that appeared earlier this year. But, in spite of the fact that four different entities approached ME, none of them have materialized into actual work. Instead, they’ve vaporized—a clear sign that I am to move on.

The newspaper “eliminated” my part-time position (along with others’) at the end of May just two days before the State of Ohio said they would be in a hold pattern on a project for another 12 months-- translation: no funding for making my part-time County job full-time for at least a year. While this income decrease was distressing, it was the Universe’s way of pushing me to pack it in and pack it up. I told the buyers for this house to go ahead and begin the paperwork. We were supposed to sign toward the end of the month. They decided to go ahead and get it done last week.

Now what?

I have homes “saved” on various sites for Newport, Oregon, and Buffalo and Rochester. The more I talk about New York winters, the less enthusiastic I am to get there. I love the Oregon coast all year round and could probably get back into the photo/writing/wine thing without too much trouble. On the negative side, I missed the east while I was out there—the history, my friends, the architecture, the proximity to family. I currently don’t have work lined up in Rochester, however, so that’s unsettling (the security thing.) It’s a much bigger place, though, with a year-round economy, so there are more opportunities available. 

I went through the final bins in the garage yesterday and found a notebook/journal that I kept while going through my divorce. It was painful to read. I was hurt and confused and wanted so badly to make things better, to be the wife I was “supposed” to be. But as I read I saw myself progressing through that experience, that pain, that insecurity and coming to the other side, and I recognized my time here as somewhat similar: working through the range of emotions, new doors opening as others close, feeling stronger with a bit of time, and feeling the Universe push me to a new level in my life.

A few days ago a Rochester friend posted a “girl drink” recipe on Facebook, and my first thought and comment on it was “It looks perfect for chick flick night!” As I fixed Sunday breakfast this morning, I thought what fun it will be to have friends over for Sunday brunch, maybe once a month. At Dollar General picking up some plastic bags, I added a couple of little hanging votives from a sale shelf to my basket for my new porch. Or patio. Or garden. This is exciting.

I’m moving on, and my only security now is the knowledge that the Universe will put me in the right house in the right place and show me the right opportunities for the next leg of my journey. More to come. 

(RE: the photos, one day at the Hill, while trying to take a quick nap, I looked up at a skylight and thought about it as a frame for fleeting abstract paintings, little snippets of clouds and sky dancing, twisting, disappearing.) 

Surrounded

JULY 19, 2015 IN GENERAL

I’m getting closer to the finish line. While looking at all the updates on Zillow, I did see one little house that I thought might be a contender. Then the realtor sent me additional photos: part of the plumbing missing, a shabby roof, a large window rotted underneath, no furnace. Hmmm.  

The Salvation Army took away much of what has to go, but I’ll need to have them come out again for the final large items that I’m still using. They took my father’s recliner, and I replaced it with an old Mission style rocking chair that suits me better. I’m packing every day, and now I can take more down to the basement. I sorted and condensed bins in the garage on Saturday. There is still too much stuff, but I don’t know where I’ll be and what I’ll need. At least a lot of what I have is in boxes now.

As I was maneuvering boxes in the basement, I saw one from Oregon that I hadn’t opened. Inside were some photos, some books (what a surprise,) and a beautiful, soft knitted wrap from my friend Beverlee. Beverlee and Robert were my first landlords there and my neighbors and friends after I moved from their furnished, stunning loft apartment with a wall of glass. This wrap was on an arm chair facing the ocean, and I spent most of my mornings there with coffee. After moving across the street, I would sometimes see Beverlee sitting in that chair, the wrap on her shoulders.

She offered items to me sometimes when she did her own downsizing or redecorating. At some point I had admired this when she was wearing it, and during her next clear-out she brought it over to me. It’s soft and light and hand made with little imperfections in the yarn and stitching. I can still see it on the back of the wing chair and feel it against my arms on misty mornings and rainy evenings in front of the loft’s gas fireplace.

Finding this made me cry and cry. It may be all of the emotions attached to this process and feeling overwhelmed and tired from this solitary journey. I’ve been going through three lives for the past year—my father’s, my mother’s and mine—trying to determine what will remain of them. And this knit throw smells of the ocean and is what remains (for me) of Beverlee. She passed away three years ago this month after a painful battle with cancer. I was talking with her at her home in Phoenix before I moved here, and she had not been feeling well but was planning to get to their summer house in Cannon Beach that summer—and did. The disease finally took its toll.

My life went on and is still going on. Her memories now mingle with my parents’ memories and those of my grandparents as I sift through all of the things that once meant something to them. I took the wrap upstairs with me. I couldn’t open any more boxes or put sheets of newspaper around anything else. The house suddenly felt cold, even though it was near 90 degrees outside.

I put the wrap around my shoulders, sat in my chair, and rocked myself to sleep.

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.

Meditative Mushrooms for Monday

JUNE 23, 2014 IN GENERAL

I am still working on the house, cleaning and boxing and purging.  After posting this I will be downstairs moving boxes closer to the door to take to recycling and Salvation Army or Goodwill. I need to take knick knacks off of shelves and move some of my things to the garage. I’ve posted ads on craigslist for a couple of things, but I would really like to just open the doors for an estate sale or have the Salvation Army truck back up to the door and load it all up. This, of course, is a lesson to me to travel lightly. We don’t need nearly as much as we have.

And I am getting rid of my own stuff, too. Part of the issue is that I don’t know where I’m going from here, so I don’t know what to do about furniture. I think selling the house is the right thing to do, but then what? Put what I’ve kept in storage and go to Italy or France for a month? Purchase a house in the Ohio Valley?  Rent? Go to Oregon and retrieve the rest of my belongings? I do have to do that. But will I stay there? More meditation is in order.

These mushrooms have been in my camera since October, and I don’t know why I didn’t download them. There is something very “still-life-y” about them, and they are calming my mind today. Though they were taken in the yard, I feel the woods, the cool, quiet woods with soft earth created by and covered with damp leaves that don’t crinkle but muffle.