Over the Top? You've Got to be Kidding.

This piece comes with a disclaimer prior to your reading of this selection: A direct quote from my husband:

"Someone has to be over the top in order for us

to be ready to go."

With that said, now here's what the reality of that statement means........

An unwelcome friend has been visiting our house for the past several days. Actually since the Saturday when the 10" snow event was over, this friend showed up and has been camped out with us ever since. I haven't seen him for a while, but his return was not welcome. The old devil STRESS has joined us, and he has been whispering in Drake's ear, accelerating his heart rate, clenching his muscles, and ramping his obsessive/compulsive personality tendencies up to an intensity that's very, very hard to live with. We've been working continually since the movers of our storage stuff are coming on Friday the 5th. Drake's been totally immersed in the lists, the storage plan, the inventory, the checklist. He's obsessed with what we've forgotten. He's sure that we are going to have a zillion things undone when the movers come on Friday. Of course, when the control freak meets the uber project manager, this poor laborer has had to count to 100 several times this week.

Of course, I'm not affected by the stress of winnowing down, dividing up, and picking what to sell. Yes, I can hear you all laughing at that statement.

However, Drake is still in justification mode (ie - see the disclaimer above). I'm trying to get back into the enjoyment mode and be the very best laborer that Drake could ever wish for. Believe me, it's my only defense when he is as hyped up as this. This past week I had my successes, and I had my failures.

Here's my big failure. Once again, the dreaded "THIS IS MY STUFF" overwhelmed me. I've had to literally divide my clothes in half. I'm selling half of them. Now, I'm the first to admit that perhaps I have too many clothes. OK - I do have too many clothes. Even I realize that four closets of clothes is over the top. Even if you take away the memory clothes - which are pretty few - that I still have 3 and 3/4ths closets full of clothes.

Let me clarify for those of you who are scratching your heads, saying "Memory clothes, what the heck are memory clothes?" This is what I mean by memory clothes: They are the dresses I made for Easter for Sarah while she was growing up. It's the identical denim skirts that my best friend and I bought at Sakowitz just before we went to Puerto Vallarta. It's the dress I wore to my 10th wedding anniversary party. It's the first piece of lingerie I ever bought. You know, those kind of clothes. It doesn't matter if you never put them on again. They are so woven into your important memories that you can't bear to part with them. That's why women hold onto their wedding dresses - even after 40 years! Every woman I know has at least one item of memory clothing.

Usually my attitude toward clothing is just the opposite of holding on. I am married to someone who has very few clothes, but what he has, he wears and wears because he feels more comfortable in clothes that are familiar. I tend to be of the more must be better clothing school because I like having one of every color and mixing them up sometimes with some real bizarre results. Plus, I like finding clothes - at garage sales, at thrift shops, at resale shops and at the Goodwill. It's my second hobby after embroidery. That's how I wound up with four closets. The real problem was that I made the first few cuts over the past two years somewhat painlessly because, hey, I could always just buy more - and the quest was really more fun than the ownership. As St. Paul UMC garage sale devotees can attest, I have turned over entire station wagon loads of clothes - usually on a yearly basis. I was pretty sure that culling my clothes was not going to be that hard. (Boy, talk about lying to yourself.)

Now we are at the crossroads. I had to actually acknowledge the number of feet available to me for clothes. My portion of the Z rack in the storage unit will only hold 7.5 feet. The bar in the car will only hold 2 feet. I have 1 and 1/2 suitcases for taking anything I fold. Then I'm done. No more clothes than that. Can you imagine taking 2 feet of hanging clothes and 1-1/2 suitcases to last you for 6 months or possibly a year! (Now, Drake wants to jump in right here and say -"Well, you know you'll get 3/4th of the room for clothes, so you actually get 10 feet of Z rack for storage and 3 feet of clothes bar for clothes you're taking on the road.") OK - even so - that's not much. I took a deep breath on Wednesday, and I went into my closets. I thought I was ruthless. I gave up things I wanted to keep. I even gave up some MEMORY CLOTHES. I was sure that I had cut my wardrobe to the bone.

Wrong. After much waving around of arms, and accusations along the line of 'You know what we've talked about for a year'. Why are you surprised? I can't believe you're acting like you didn't know about this!' I then had to go back again and give away another third of my wardrobe. Painful. Very painful. For final insult, Drake then went through my clothes and picked out a few more items that he has always hated seeing me wear. To be fair.........I zealously pruned his wardrobe of everything that I hated seeing him in. It was a much higher pile of pruned items because Drake wears the same things endlessly. Clothes day was the low point of getting ready to go. I was miserable; Drake was frustrated by my attitude. Added as fuel to his hyper intensity of IF WE DON'T PUSH, WE WON'T BE READY, and my increasing physcial pain, it's a wonder we're still speaking. Lots of resentment on both sides - his justified and mine because even though I knew it was irrational, it made me feel better. The old devil living with us was in high cotton.

After backing off, sleeping on it, and realizing that the big picture of what we are trying to do is more important than a few clothes, I'm trying to get back into the enjoyment mode. There is something satisfying about releasing your stuff. I've sold beds, tables, bookcases, a dresser and a chest of drawers, two recliners, a TV and a stereo system without really turning a hair. I've got a garage packed to the rafters with stuff to price for the sale. I decided I'm not going to let a few clothes slow me down. I'm going. I want to go. I want a new life of new people, new places, new food, new sights. I want to have something to write about. To get that new life, this snake has to shed some skin. I've come to the conclusion that it's OK if some of it pulls a bit as it sheds away. it won't kill me, and from now on, it's not even going to faze me. Time to keep my eye on the big picture.

Oh, and today, even Drake admitted that perhaps he has been a bit intense. Just a bit. Now, we're laughing again. Now we're sure we will be ready to go - OK, I'm sure. I have faith in the best project manager in the world.

And now.....for Drake's meltdown

We're 100% 'go' now. It's getting pretty frantic around the soon to be old homestead. Today, Drake achieved his meltdown, and I achieved my Lenten sacrifice.

We decided we needed to finalize our storage unit. Now, Drake has spent hours planning how our storage unit will be loaded, and stacked in the unit we rent. To get a four bedroom household (minus a 5x10 cargo trailer of stuff) into a 10x20 foot storage unit takes a lot of planning, and plenty of erasures on a graph paper plan. And not just any two dimensional plan - but a 3 dimensional representation of where everything will be placed/stacked/tubbed and handled. However, after much work, and then more work, and then even more work as I changed my mind about what I was going to store/not store (Yes, he patiently changed his plan every time I changed my mind.), he finally had the perfect plan until today when we went to see the storage unit we will be renting.

The first unpleasant realization was that a 10x20 storage unit is not necessarily 10x20. The one we're renting is 19.6 x 9.9 as well as 18.10 along the other long wall because there's this fir down piece that cuts out along one of the short walls. AND if that wasn't enough, the door was totally in the wrong place. Drake assumed a long narrow space with the roll up door on the short wall. Oh, no, the door is offset on one of the long walls. On the plus side - the space is very secure, very clean and the managers actually live on-site. Plus, there's trailer storage space for when we're in town.

Melt down time. As we got back into the car after checking out the specific unit and measuring it, the first words out of his mouth were: "This is not going to work. I don't know what we are going to do. This is a disaster." Why is it we always jump to the negative conclusion. We wring our hands and assume that when our carefully laid plans blow up in smoke that they can't be replaced with something as workable. I think it must be human nature. 50,000 years ago, somebody probably had a melt down when the fire went out. (We have Quest for Fire recorded - and those meltdowns are regular occurrences in this movie. Of course, some of those situations were literally life and death.)

However, I didn't think it would go over too well if I suggested our storage unit problem wasn't life/death.) That's where the Lenten thing comes in - I actually held onto my temper. My Lenten sacrifice this year is to keep my temper in check. I won't say it was easy, and I won't say that I didn't come close to letting off a little steam, but overall I was pretty pleased with my effort. Unfortunately, now Drake knows what I'm trying to do over the next 37 days, and he's not above trying to aggravate me. I did see boxing gloves at the exercise studio this morning......... As long as I smile when I hit him, I should be OK.

The closer we get to the actual physical move, I'm realizing that there's still more STUFF that I'm going to be letting go. And, even better, I don't think I'm going to miss it. I've also realized that if I stay out on the road vagabonding for five years then all my stored stuff will seem like new when I recover it. Now, there's something to look forward to.

And, not to keep you in suspense, Drake has managed to revamp the storage plan, and he's confident the storage space is going to 'work'. Like I ever doubted it.

Melt down time! I finally discovered what 'stuff' I care about. I packed the kitchen - no problem. It didn't even faze me. However, what did faze me big time was packing my pottery. Almost everyone collects something. Yes, everyone. I collect three things: rocks - yes, I'm aware that's very strange. Seashells because Sarah and I love the beach, and hand thrown pottery.

I started collecting pottery before I could afford to collect it. In college a friend of a friend was a potter, and I loved his stuff! (Good call on my part since then he's become the 'big dog' at the Rhode Island School of Design.) He couldn't believe in 1970 that anyone wanted to buy his stuff. I certainly did. Twenty years later he tried to buy back some pieces I had of his, so he could break them. They weren't 'good enough'. I just laughed and refused. We collectors do tend to hang on to our collections with a surprising ferocity. actually had the balls to suggest that I could do with fewer rocks. I just looked at him like he had just graduated from idiot school. Give up my rocks? NEVER! In my heart of hearts I know, of course, that my rocks are as stupid and worthless as my 41 year old greeting card collection, but it makes no difference.

Ah, but I can justify my pottery pieces. Now we're talking ART. I'm always on the look-out for pieces that really speak to me. I've gotten more and more selective as I've acquired pieces over a 40 year span. My theory is that hand thrown pottery is some of the last accessible art. You can find it everywhere. It's affordable. Each piece is unique. I have pieces from almost everywhere I've traveled even if I had to mail it back. I think the best collecting story is the Delft fruit bowl story. In 1980, I wanted a piece of Delft, but didn't want to carry it around all over Europe (we were there for 30 days - great trip). I waited until the airport when I was leaving to buy my piece. Drake, poor fool, was really tired at this point, and said: "Just go over to the store and buy what you want." I took him at his word and spent $250 on a fruit bowl. That put him into shock - remember, this is 1980! Believe me, he's NEVER said that again. He has always made sure he participated in the pottery buys after that. I have racu pieces, porcelian pieces, earthenware pieces, a triangular platter on triangular legs, red ones, blue ones, green one, black ones, white ones. Oh the list goes on.

Two days ago, I had to pick only a few pieces to take with me. That put me into agony. Then I had to bubblewrap all the rest for storage. (I now have 'bubblewrap' arm.) I finally told Drake: "I'm mad'; I'm sad; and this is ALL YOUR FAULT. You'd better put on some happy music." I wrapped and wrapped. I almost cried several times, but I kept mentally pulling up my sox and perservering. I perservered to the tune of seven boxes of wrapped pottery. I kept thinking.......'I bought this piece in Acapulco in 1973. This one is from Boston - and it was a surprise that arrived after we got home. This one came from Vienna. I found this delicate piece in the Carribbean.' It felt like a funeral. And the worst part? I'm still sad.

I've truly had very few qualms about this great adventure. To be laid low by 'stuff' has been a humbling experience. I guess I'm not as immune to the feelings that I need my stuff as I had hoped. Good news, though, - couldn't care less about the kitchen stuff.

Bon Voyage

The balloon has gone up. The starting gun has fired. We're in labor, and FINALLY the baby is going to be born. For everyone who hasn't heard yet.........the house is sold (99% sure the deal is going to 'make'), and we will be packing up and leaving Hurst the last week of March. I've been joking with my friends who I've told about the hosue sale that this is like being pregnant. You wish for it; you work for it; you're chomping at the bit for it, BUT when it happens, it's such a shock.

That's how I'm feeling. I can't believe something we've talked about, decided to do, and planned for is finally here and it's going to happen. First, let me say that I can't believe how much 'stuff' I still have! l'm writing the blog today to avoid tearing into my office/craft/embroidery/sewing room. I really dread this room. I know that I'm going to be disgusted to find all my good intentions carefully wrapped up in plastic bags. All those clothes I planned to make. All those embroidery projects that I BROUGHT HOME FROM ENGLAND IN 2000. All that thread. All that material. What to take. What to store. What to sell or give away. I'll just have to apply my rule: How would I feel about this object if I didn't see it for five years?

My friend, Martha, is a recipent of the rule. I wanted her to have a piece of my own personally created embroidery, so I brought out all the pieces I've finished that are stacked in a drawer. (Yes, there are lots of them that most people have never even seen.) We smoothed each piece out on the dining room table, and she liked a couple. However, I knew in my heart of hearts which piece she would really love. I love it too. I loved it enough to frame it, and there are only two pieces of my own work that I've ever framed. I was struggling with selfishness. I hadn't even put the piece out for her to consider.

Then I thought of the RULE........ The piece I knew she would love would most likely wind up in storage - closed away for years. Because I thought of this piece with love, it would be so sad for it not to be enjoyed and treasured since it would be locked away in a dark storage locker. Then it was easy to let go of. Now it lives in the light. My reward will be that my dear friend, Martha, will think of me every time she passes it hanging on her wall. And knowing her, she will say a little prayer for my well-being. I learned a valuable lesson that's going to help me with the divestment of my stuff.

Everyone has possessions - sometimes they take on such magnitude in our minds that the sheer volume of them is overwhelming, or the thought of doing without them causes panic. They become a huge burden that we either hoard away, or cart around, or flaunt. Our stuff rules our lives. It's troubling to realize how much my life is ruled by the stuff I own. When the 'we're selling our big house and leaving' entered the realm of RIGHT NOW, I have rediscovered the struggle of letting go of stuff. I can feel that panic rising: "What if I need that?" "What if I might need that?" "It will cost me money to replace it, and I'll have to sell it for pennies on the dollar." Oh, lots of those kinds of thoughts start swirling around your head.

So, I've just decided to apply the RULE over the next two months. It helps put into perspective how little possessions really mean when you apply the five year rule.

Stay tuned. This is going to be an adventure!

All Dressed Up and No Where to Go!

Now it's time to wait...............

I feel like a senior in high school. Remember those feelings? Torn between being incredibly ready for that next big thing after graduation while simultaneously being sad that a part of life was coming to an end. That whole year in the back of your mind was...."It's the last time I will........., well, you can fill in the blank. And it all seemed to go so fast. High school was over in the blink of an eye. Everybody told you it was a 'best time of your life'. I always suspected older people who said that had high school safely viewed with rose colored glasses from the perspective of hindsight.



On the other hand, that senior year rolled by like molasses. Everybody still treated me like I was a kid or something. From my eighteen year old vantage point, didn't these people know that I was grown. I was ready to leave the nest, sprout my wings, get out into the world. I was done with all this kid stuff - let's get on with it. Graduation was never going to arrive.



The same thing is now happening to me at the age of almost 60 - well, OK, I'll be 60 in just under 12 months, but it sounds better to say 'I'm 60'. Back to the point. Forty eight years after high school, I'm now having all those same eighteen year old's feelings. The house is ready. We're poised, ready to drive out of town, get the show on the road, and take off. Let's get on with the plan! Simultaneously, every time I go somewhere, I'm thinking, "Is this the last visit to this place for who knows how long?"



I'm struck anew by the comfort of the quality of life in Hurst. I know where everything is. I know when anything changes. I'll see people I know well or know casually almost every place I go in the course of a normal day. (My favorite happened this week: I'm getting a massage from Scott. He mentions that he's got to get Ryan, his son, ready for a big weekend because Ryan is dating Gabby Navarro's daughter and it's her Quincinera. Well, I've been casually acquainted with Gabby for years since she's the owner of Michelito's where we eat Mexican food at least twice a month, and she's dating Chris who was our exercise instructor for about 6 months. I mention this, and Scott replies, oh, yeah, Chris gave Ryan his hockey equipment. Not too many degrees of separation in Hurst!) We're comfortable with our neighbors and have a 'neighborhood' that feels like it's ours. I suppose after 19 years, it should.



Now, I'm starting to wonder how it's going to feel for everything to be different. The simple things - like where's the grocery store, and oh, do they have tortillas? Will I be freaked out and ultimately depressed by constant 'difference', or will I be exhilarated by the experience? I'm hedging with an Iphone so I can take advantage of Google maps to lessen the 'oh, crap, lost again' feeling. Again the flip side of the coin arrives. I'm eager to try new churches. I want to see what other places do for mission. How will they receive a stranger in their midst? How will God call upon me. After watching Ken Burns' film on the National Parks, I can hardly wait to see some new ones. I'm ready for a different climate, and new vegetation. I want new theaters, ballet companies, and to meet new people. I'm ready to break out of the routine.



Just waiting. Patiently some days when I'm feeling nostalgic, and not so patiently other days when I can hardly wait to start this new life.



Know anybody that wants to buy a house? I have one for sale in a great town.

We're Officially On the Market

The time to change my mind has officially passed. Our house is listed for sale ($210,000). It's never looked better inside or out. Why is it that I FINALLY took off the dead wallpaper in the bathroom, and repainted the woodwork and baseboards that have looked really dinged up for at least five years just to sell it? I think it must be human nature. We settle in and feather up our nest - in my case with a zillion photographs of Sarah Lynn. Then we get so comfortable that we never even really see what we're living in or living with - you know, the handle that always falls off, or the dirt spot on the wall you keep meaning to wash/repaint. Then, one day, you decide, let's sell! Suddenly all those little dings, gotchas, and sometimes major ugliness comes to the forefront as if scales have fallen from our eyes. So now, I have a beautiful house ready for someone else.

At this point the question is how much stuff does it take to make a nest? Drake has cheerfully weighed and measured EVERYTHING we own. There's method to his madness (and frankly, at times it has seemed a bit looney tunes). The reason for all the precision is that we will have a limited amount of storage space, and a limited amount of weight we can pull. We've settled on a 5x10 cargo trailer, and we'll probably have one built especially for us in Waco.

Think about it.................5x10 - plus a car trunk. What would you take? What would you store with the expectation that you wouldn't see most of the stuff for five years. Interesting questions. So far, no big arm waving yelling matches over what we will/won't take. We're pretty much on the same page. We need 2 comfortable chairs, 2 end tables, 2 mattresses, 1 table, 2 folding chairs, 1 Tv, 2 micro stereo systems, 3 tubs of kitchen stuff, a couple of suitcases of seasonal clothes, our tent, some linens/towels/blankets, my sewing maching & a traincase of sewing and embroidery stuff. We're considering selling our PC and replacing it with a lap top (that's 40 lbs we can save, Jan). I'm scanning my pictures into the computer to load my electronic picture frame to take with me. That's about it.

It's getting pretty real, folks.

You're Going to do What?

Reactions to the "plan" were interesting. Basically, the reactions were polar opposites. At one end of the spectrum were the folks who said, WOW! That sounds terrific. I wish I could do that. The other end of the spectrum were more tactful. What they really wanted to say was No Way! Not for me. Are you crazy? What that end of the spectrum actually said was, "But what about your house?" "You mean you won't have a home base?" or "Oh, I couldn't give up my stuff."

Stuff. That is the crucial issue. Everyone (even the big time nesters) wanted to go see new places.........but, give up your "stuff" to do it? Even the most enthusiastic supporters of the vagabond idea began to waffle when I quizzed them about their furniture, their dishes, their china, crystal, pictures, and knickknacks and what they would discard. "Oh, I didn't think about that." "You're only taking 6 feet by 10 feet of stuff? That's not very much, is it?" No, it's not very much. I'm going to find out if it's adequate, or if I feel deprived or just uneasy without the visible signs of my life around me.

I have been continually amazed at the hidden stuff that's popped up when we got serious about the idea of vagabonding. Now, Drake and I aren't packrats by anyone's definition. I have always prided myself on cleaning out all the drawers and closets every 12 months. The St. Paul Garage Sale has been a big incentive in that direction, but truthfully, I was raised to keep things not only clean but orderly. You can't be orderly if you can't close the drawer or closet door or if you have to resort to stacking boxes in your garage instead of parking your car in it. (Sound familiar to anyone?) That lifestyle was totally unacceptable when I was growing up. If you couldn't neatly store it, then out it went.

Drake is even less of a packrat than I am. He moved roughly every 18 months throughout his childhood. The four years we spent at the University of Oklahoma was the longest he's ever lived in one place, and he got a new dorm room/apartment every year he lived there. When you have that childhood experience, you learn not to get too attached to things - especially heavy things. Another reason for Drake's lack of interest in possessions is that his childhood pattern was for his Dad to leave and go on to the new job in the new town leaving Drake and his mother to cope with the move. As he got older, Drake was the "muscle" doing the shifting and carrying required.

Basically, he and I have always been pretty much on the same page although I will admit to more of an attachment to sentimental possessions. Point in case: Drake sold his turntable and all his rock and roll albums - some of which he's had since the early 1970's. It didn't even phase him. There's the difference between us, when he finds his hidden stuff - he gets rid of it or sells it. Me, on the other hand....

I really thought that I was totally on top of the "possession thing". Then we went up to the attic, and we re-discovered the suitcases packed with toddler toys and Barbie detritus. I admit that I didn't throw them out - but I did cull them. (FYI: Dead, blond Barbies sell like hotcakes at garage sales.) I found Uncle Wiggly at the top of the game closet. I guess that's telling in itself - I have a "game" closet. A double top shelf filled with board games, puzzles, binoculars, dominoes, and playing cards. We drastically reduced those items realizing we don't need 10 decks of playing cards or 10 puzzles, most of which I had already worked. Hidden stuff.

I found boxes and boxes of greeting cards. Yep. That's where that sentimental attachment comes in. I have greeting cards that have been given/sent to me for the past 40 years. My first greeting cards are from 1969. What I'm really proudest of is that they are all dated on the back. What I'm not proud of is that they are totally useless. I organized them by year, and they covered by dining room table from top to bottom. It was interesting to see that we repeated some cards - liked them so well we bought them more than once. They are COMPLETELY WORTHLESS. I couldn't throw them away. Don't ask me. It's irrational. It must be the same knee jerk reaction packrats have about EVERYTHING. It makes no sense - and I can't even fall back on the old chestnut: "But I might need these someday."

Another group of my hidden, well, actually not so hidden stuff are my pictures. When you enter my house, the pictures in frames are everywhere. Now, obviously, I can't take them with me, and I really don't want to store them in the frames. Then I have the negatives and the hard copy photos. And, I not only have mine, but I have my mother's and Drake's Grandmother's pictures. It's a huge job. My next job, in fact. I'm going to have to take my hard hearted pills the day I begin to figure out what to do. Right now the plan is "scanner". I think if I can scan everything into a computer, then I can be ruthless with the hard copies - especially the 4x6 photos from my mother - she believed if one picture was good, then 5 more must be better. I've spent a great deal of time standing/sitting/posing for flash pictures while my mother said, "just one more."

And my rocks. Do I get to take them? (Probably not - too much weight.) Am I going to store them? Does anyone really need 50 pounds of pebbles? Yes........I do. They are momentoes of vacations. I have rocks from all over the United States. I even like to play with my rocks and create rock sculptures. Yes, you don't have to tell me - bizarro, but cherished.

When you take into account the greeting cards, the photos and the rocks, Drake starts to roll his eyes. He just doesn't know how lucky he is. I could save string and tin foil, oh, and cottage cheese cartons.