Monday Morning Orange Juice, March 4, 2019
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“Hear blessings dropping their blossoms all around you.” Rumi
Have a wonderful week.
In an Urban Garden
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September is here, and, though temps were in the 90s Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, they dropped steadily into the 50s on Saturday. On a recent warm afternoon I took a few photos of the Hamilton Street Victory Garden (the oldest community garden in the city of Rochester) before the inevitable effects of the season take hold. A program supported by the South Wedge Planning Committee, this and its sister garden on Cypress Street provided free plots for 55 families this summer.
Back to Basics
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Back to the beginnings of the GlynisDaily blog and transitioning into more creative expression again. For now, photos; later, written thoughts.
These are from Village Gate, a retail/restaurant/office complex in Rochester's Neighborhood of the Arts--in fact, where NOTA began.
Meditando l'italia (Pondering Italy)
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Over Memorial Day weekend, I was tasting and Instagramming a different wine each day (except Saturday, when I had to work during drinking hours.) I’d planned to taste a rose on Monday, the holiday, to really usher summer in. However, while I was downstairs, looking at bottles and pondering how I’d managed to accumulate so much wine, an Italian label caught my eye. I went upstairs ready to get the rose from the frig, when the word (and title) “ITALY” jumped off a bookshelf at me.
I took the book from the shelf and went back downstairs for the Italian Sangiovese. Time to step away from the tasks at hand and open my mind to possibilities again. I’ve been entranced by Italy for a long time.
From where does this come? My own family ties are in the United Kingdom with 19th century Native American links.
Maybe the Italian culture is what lures me. There is a warmth about close families, grandma making pasta, traditions. The (admittedly stereotypical) food is “comfort” food: spaghetti and meatballs, cheese, pizza, bread, and cookies. There is the Old World wine still made today with ancient grapes on ground that monks tended centuries ago—“Salute” (to your health)—and the home made red in jugs in the basement from Nonno’s backyard vines. Lately, more Italian wineries and contacts are following me on Instagram because of my food and wine posts.
And the language…swoon-worthy words like Montepulciano, Sole de Sardegna, Campania, cara bella, Toscana, Barolo, grazie mille roll seductively around the mouth and off the tongue.
This weekend, Italy kept appearing again. I was able to get reservations at a special Italian five-course dinner at a local restaurant Friday night. On Saturday, as I worked at home, PBS ran a pledge drive promo, “Visions of Italy,” an entire program of helicopter views of the countryside and coastline, and on Sunday, I turned on “International House Hunters” to find a Canadian family buying a vacation/retirement home on Lake Como. Coincidences, I’m sure. These things probably pop up on my radar because, as I mentioned, Italy always piques my interest.
I’ve been fortunate to have friends and family introduce me to their Italian customs and foods, but at different crossroads in my life I’ve considered an extended stay—or a move—to Italy so that I can really experience the culture and learn more about this ancient country. I’m considering this again, and maybe recent people I’ve met, wines I’ve seen, new followers on Instagram, and special dinners are really part of a plan put in motion a long time ago, this time not only keeping Italy on my mind, but pushing me to pursue this path.
Clearance
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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?
Another Year Over
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As during the past year, I am finding it hard to put my thoughts in black and white today.
I’ve written 100 or more blog paragraphs in my head over these months and weeks, but my sentences and consciousness begin rambling down paths and tangents, so that nothing makes sense--just as in the rest of my life and the world in general in 2017.
This was a year of discouragement, distraction, and disillusionment. I found myself withdrawing from writing, creative pursuits, and social life, trying to feel that feeling that tells me I’m on track, but there was so much clutter and “stuff” all around. There was no energy at the end of the day.
My strategy has been to try to counter all of the negative energy—especially in social media—with positive energy: posting and sharing good news only, resuming a meditation practice, taking a course on angels and another on healing, avoiding as much political discussion as possible. And I think this has helped clear some of the fog. But it’s obvious that there is more adversity out there than ever, and I’ve recently become one of the targets in someone’s bizarre hate campaign. Fortunately, my work, reputation, and ethics speak for themselves, but there are many people who don’t know me who are swayed and brainwashed by ridiculous attacks. It’s hurtful and another needless distraction and waste of time and energy.
There is something within us that always seeks some “promise of hope” for New Year’s Day and the 12 months ahead. I’ve been looking back to determine what has made me happy in the past, times when I’ve felt that I was in the zone and on the Path because I’ve seen precious little of it during the past three years. That will be a guide as I move forward. I’ve already begun cleaning closets and other “out with the old” tasks to simplify my space and life--again. I wish I could be somewhere and feel settled, but I always have the feeling that I’m a fish out of water, and everything around me is temporary.
Maybe 2018 is the year I’ll find home.
Open to everything happy and sad
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Open to everything happy and sadSeeing the good when it’s all going badSeeing the sun when I can’t really seeHoping the sun will at least look at meMoby, “Slipping Away”
Today did not start out well. It’s a holiday and one of my three or four days off for September. I set my alarm for “late” after finishing a movie well after midnight last night, and was planning on a leisurely morning. My new neighbors were up bright and early, though, chatting and walking around the yards in our little strip. I grudging got up at 7:15, not being able to sleep.
I took Zsa Zsa out, and one of the new neighbors’ dogs was in “my” yard doing his thing. ZZ ignored him, and he came over and peed on her. Yes, you read that right. The neighbor came over and apologized, but it meant I had to bathe ZZ right away. I did that, fixed our breakfast and went out the door for a walk at Durand Eastman Park.
Ahhhhh.
I did an article a few years ago—and have probably mentioned it here—on “nature therapy” in Japan. City dwellers there pay exorbitant fees to be bussed with lots of other city dwellers to parks and forests, where they wander around, lean on trees, lie on the ground and just take in the oxygen. A few hours later, refreshed and de-stressed, they board the busses and go back home.
I step onto the trail with Moby on Pandora and put one foot in front of the other. Moby always brings up a range of emotions for me: relaxing, inspiring, nostalgic, motivating, and some of it hits notes in my soul. Today was the first time in weeks I’ve been able to chill and walk under the cool shade of these tall trees. (breathe in)
As Moby’s instrumental rocks a walking beat (breathe in) I stroll past the houses at the beginning of the trail, breakfast in the air. (breathe out) And down the hill into the woods I feel my muscles soften and begin to release some of the stress of last month. (breathe in) Earth and green leaves, and another scent of summer less identifiable. (breathe out)
“Focus on everything better today,” the lyrics whisper. I smile at a couple walking by and a pass a couple expecting a baby. (breathe in) Sunlight in the trees, shadows on the path, smells of daily life in the woods. More people glide by. (breathe out) My body is now out of body—listening to the music, filling my lungs with this freshly produced air, feeling the rhythm of the songs as I step, step, step, step. (breathe in)
There are no red-winged black birds today at the bridge over the wetlands, but the reeds are thick, and I know there is life among them. (breathe out) Up the hill toward the lake, a thin jogger wearing thick glasses and a baseball cap approaches with his hand out to me in a “high five” move. Most passers-by give a nod or a smile, but he was a cyclone of energy. (breathe in) We hit our palms together, and I giggle.
I turn around at the park sign for the return trip (breathe out) and notice everyone heading in the opposite direction is smiling now, all met by the “high five” guy. What a little gift he gave with his encouragement and joy. (breathe in) I meet him again on the bridge. He is clapping and laughing as he runs this time. I put my palms together and motion toward him. (breathe out) “Thank you,” I say as we pass. He hesitates a little, grinning. I don’t think he expected a thank you.
A woman walking a greyhound (breathe in) asks me if I’ve seen a fawn along the path that someone told her about. No, I haven’t, but we chat briefly about the wildlife and greyhounds. I continue up the hill with my music. (breathe out)
I needed this. This has been one of the most difficult years, and it is most certainly—finally—turning around. I am fortunate, (breathe in blessings) but this has not come without pain and trust and faith. I am still processing all that has happened, but by October I should certainly be in a better place mentally, emotionally, and most other “--allys,” too. (breathe out gratitude)
“It’s all a mystery, let it come and let it be,” sings the haunting song by Blackmill in my ears. Up the hill I push the pace. Let it all come at me. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. (breathe in) Life is a balance, an ebb and flow. Patience, faith, determination. I reach the top of the hill, feeling the physical release of the last of the negative energy. (breathe out) Let it be.
Memorial Day (Looking Back and Forward)
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I actually began this post with my “Monday” entry on my ArtSoulWine Facebook page last night. Today is Memorial Day, and many Americans are remembering loved ones who died in service or who were war veterans. But also in my head is a phrase to which I am clinging right now: “Don’t look back. You aren’t going that way.” Dichotomy is a constant companion in my life.
I have had better days—and years—but, in a “doctor, heal thyself” tone, I tell my tired reflection in the mirror that this is only temporary, that good things are coming any minute now. I ask, “How can it get better than this?” I expend my energy not only seeking opportunities and brainstorming possibilities, but trying to remain focused on tasks I can do today in manifesting my New Life. Daydreaming into the past would be easy. I had a growing photography business; people sought me out for freelance projects; I did what I loved in a place I loved. Previous to that I had a job with “purpose” where I felt like what I did had a positive impact even if in some small way. Not only that, but I made enough money to live.
But life today is different, and there have been twists and turns on the path from there to here that have brought me to the edge of this cliff. Only lessons I’ve learned along the way can help me. Dwelling on what used to be or what might have been cannot. As Stephen King said, “Some memories were all right, but others were dangerous.” I place one foot in front of the other, one stumble from a fall.
One detour, of course, was moving to Ohio to take care of my parents. My father was a Korean War veteran, and, as I thought about remembrance and Memorial Day, I started searching for the photo album from his time there. He was in the US Army, drove a Jeep and was an instructor of some kind in the field. While he gave us anecdotes about various incidents and a puppy that showed up at the camp and that he adopted, he did not otherwise interact with other veterans or want to discuss his time there. He left what he could overseas, though it seems there was pain that stayed with him. He saw no reason to call that up.
Back to the album. I felt sick to my stomach as I went through boxes and bins. I unfortunately left some things in Ohio when I came to New York and was worried that somehow this had missed the moving van. Taken more than a decade before the days of television war coverage and eons before social media, the photos chronicle parts of the daily life of a soldier: a Jeep stuck in a flood, a burning hillside, loading machine guns, camps, the aftermath of a bombing, reading a letter from home. The album is something that meant a lot to my father, and I began feeling a loss of history and letting my father down as I turned up nothing in the house.
Today I found it in a small box in the garage (audible gasp of relief.) Why was this so important to me? I am a pacifist to the core. Do no harm. I think it was the “human-ness” and humbleness of the photos, taken from the eyes of a small-town boy from Ohio. There are most certainly other families that have albums like this. How many of the men laughing or staring tentatively into the camera lens didn’t make it home? That is what my father wouldn’t talk about.
In my current frame of mind, trying to stay present and look forward, I wonder what this album and this Memorial Day is telling me. We can express our gratitude and honor our loved ones’ service and courage every day, not just one. But the message that really comes through is about not dwelling on anger and the evils and human sacrifices of war and conflict, but refocusing on thoughts and prayers for tolerance and understanding and sending those out into the Universe, becoming peace within for peace all around.
I (or we) need to do what we can do today to manifest a better tomorrow and better life for all of us.
(My father, William Ault, seated third from the left)
(There is also a metal box with 35mm slides, meticulously marked with descriptions. I'll have to get out the slide viewer to see these.)
("It sure is a long way..." He was homesick and quite ill on the ship)
Untitled BW
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Without elaborating in a public forum, this is a dark time for me. It is difficult to write and difficult to shoot. This is not a matter of “changing my thoughts” or an “attitude adjustment.” I’m tired.
Hyacinth
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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?
Today (With Wintry Images from My Travels over the Past Month)
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“It is 2016, but your life may not feel very different in any way just yet…but your life could change dramatically.” Capricorn horoscope for today
In my last post I noted how difficult it’s been for me to write. Again, I’ve started this post and stopped several times. I’ve shot photos and scrapped them. I usually post to Instagram nearly every day, though, thanks to a daily photo challenge. But I’ve been thinking about this blog.
Today, as I type, I’m thinking that I should be outside walking. The sun has come out, and fresh cool air would do me good. I should also be making lasagna with the vegetables I purchased earlier this week—that really has to be done. I’m finishing laundry, and still need to finish taking carpet staples out of the hardwood floor in the bedroom. And Zsa Zsa is overdue for a bath.
This blog, to me, has always been a personal outlet, and maybe that is the issue. For the past few months I’ve been scattered, distracted, on the edge, trying to develop a new business, leaving the known for the unknown, struggling to get settled in this house. Progress is slower than expected. I’m worried and sad and excited. As my old life slips away, I feel unprepared for the new, yet I push ahead. As much as I used to love the holidays, I now dread the isolation of December. What I’m feeling defies description at any given moment. But I put up a good façade.
A recent conversation with a friend who paid me the nicest compliment I’ve ever received and a heart-wrenching Facebook post by another whose friend just committed suicide made me pause. From different directions and in different ways, the same message I got from each of them was that you never know what someone is thinking. We are all islands—with all due respect to John Donne—connected really by the water between us, whether ebbing back and forth or flowing past. Our energy draws us together, but it may or may not be strong enough to keep us that way.
This New Year brings release of old patterns and relationships and memories that are hurtful or that have run their course. All I can do is focus long enough to welcome new opportunities, new connections, new waters and new inspiration, and hopefully a cushion for next December’s blows.
Too Many Scattered Thoughts
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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
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“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.
Small Change
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“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
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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 ...
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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
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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
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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)
Just Flowers
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I am always surprised (and shouldn't be) when I see how much time has passed since my last post here. I do post on ArtSoulWine a couple of times a week and shoot a "photo-a-day" challenge on Instagram, but I find myself missing the more personal posts here.
A lot has happened this month, and it's ironic that the last post was my column titled "Disconnecting" because I've been "disconnected" from the paper in a company "reorganization." This is fine and as it should be. My work there is done. Now I'm watching for the next door to open, the next directional sign, ready for the next step (whatever THAT is,) and preparing to move on. I'm sure the Universe is aware of this and is getting ready to launch me into something.
Tonight I am a bit tired; my days are full still with details and thoughts--waaay too much time in my head. With an early meeting tomorrow, I took time tonight to go through some recent flower photos and play a bit with them. I'm thankful for that quiet time and the peacefulness that the photos are giving me. Enjoy...
5-Day Black & White Photo Challenge, Day 5
/MAY 20, 2015 IN GENERAL, PHOTO CHALLENGE
I would be remiss in listing local “must sees” if I did not mention one of my favorite places on the PLANET: Oglebay Park on the outskirts of Wheeling, West Virginia. The park began with a moneyed family’s summer home (now on the National Historic Register) and has become a premier park system, unique in the United States. Its 1600+ acres sprawl across hills and valleys, ponds and a lake.
Everyone and anyone can find something to do at Oglebay. There are three golf courses (a Par 3, a nine-hole and a championship 18-hole;) the Mansion Museum; a pool; tennis courts; Schrader Environmental Education Center; Good Zoo; a planetarium; a ski slope; Schenk Lake with paddle boats and fishing; picnic areas; an amphitheater; and miles of trails around the lake and all over the hills.
Wilson Lodge Resort & Conference Center has more than 270 rooms, a spa, conference center and two restaurants. There are also various sized cottages for rent.
Special seasonal events include a huge Festival of Lights driving tour Nov to Jan; Fort Henry Days in Sept; OglebayFest in Oct (arts and crafts;) a Maple Syrup Festival in March.
When I was in college at nearby West Liberty, friends and I spent many a day picnicking and skiing and just hanging out in the sun at Oglebay. I love walking the trails around the lake, and it’s rare when I don’t see various kinds of wildlife: deer grazing, turtles sunning, Canadian geese paddling around a pond; ducks in the lake; dragonflies; cranes.
Regarding the next challenge nominee, one is not able to do it, and I should hear from another any time now. Thanks so much for allowing me to participate—it was FUN!
Happy trails and safe travels…
