The light has changed. The air is different. As a child, this was my favorite time of year because it meant school would start again. As an adult, I planned my wedding for September because we wanted to honeymoon in Maine while the leaves were changing color. [Our anniversary was last week. We were sleeping in bunk beds at my mom's house, so we need to make plans for a suitable celebration of our 31 years of marriage.]
This autumn may hold change for me. I have an interview next Wednesday, the first interview I've had in many months. I am excited about the possibilities of this job, the one I was told I was qualified for when the part-time position I wanted was already filled. This week I found myself thinking about meal-planning, and I stocked up on pasta and sauce just in case I suddenly find myself employed.
Once I heard about the interview, I called the shop owner in Portland who expressed interest in carrying IntiMats®. Based on the two conversations I've had with this young woman, I like her. I told her when I would be in town, and she said she probably wouldn't remember that I was coming but to come on by. She said she didn't have a calendar in front of her, but she didn't have that much going on. I hope we can work out an arrangement because I'd like to get to know her better.
Hunkering down. Finishing up projects. It looks like I may get most of the outside painting finished before the snow flies. What was I thinking when I thought I could do that work in a matter of weeks? It's been months.
Today I'm taking the car my son drives into the shop because the headlights have taken to working intermittently. Next week I have an appointment for my car because the oil pan has sprung a leak.
Yeah, I really need to get all of this stuff taken care of in case I go back to work....
Friday, September 26, 2008
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
More Than Miles Travelled
One thousand eight hundred twenty-eight miles. Maine to West Virginia to Maryland to West Virginia to Maine. Five days and four nights.
Ken and I physically travelled many miles last week. For me, it amounted to more than a trip through nine states. It was a trip back through time to a house I haven't lived in for more than thirty-three years, a house I left when I was nineteen, a house where I left nothing behind. I have been back at various times to visit, seldom to stay and never for very long. It was the house where I lived as a child.
In the thirty-three years since I lived there I have learned a lot about who I thought I was, who I wanted to be, and who I really am. I had to figure out what I could hold onto and what I had to let go. I needed to learn to be myself, in spite of who I thought I should be and despite who my family wanted me to be. This was my puzzle to solve, not my family's. It has taken me three decades to get on the other side of the should's and shouldn'ts. With time, a lot of work, and the love of my own children and husband, I have been able to accept who I am. Finally, I can be myself with my mother and siblings.
I was able to be honest with my father for the ten years before he died. It wasn't easy for me to say what I needed to say, and it wasn't easy for him to hear it. When he died in December 1996, I felt like I had made my peace with him. Last week, when I left the house, I took with me 85 of my father's LP albums and a dozen CDs; he loved good music and quality stereo equipment. Right now I have his Linn turntable in my living room, with plans to use it.
Time with family. Letting go of expectations. Acceptance of what is.
A week before our trip, I took Roger Housden's book Ten Poems to Set You Free off my bookshelf and started reading a poem each night. The following poem by Stanley Kunitz describes beautifully my thoughts before, during, and after my visit to the house where I lived as a child.
The Layers
I have walked through many lives,
some of them my own,
and I am not who I was,
though some principle of being
abides, from which I struggle
not to stray.
When I look behind,
as I am compelled to look
before I can gather strength
to proceed on my journey,
I see the milestones dwindling
toward the horizon
and the slow fires trailing
from the abandoned camp-sites,
over which scavenger angels
wheel on heavy wings.
Oh, I have made myself a tribe
out of my true affections,
and my tribe is scattered!
How shall the heart be reconciled
to its feast of losses?
In a rising wind
the manic dust of my friends,
those who fell along the way,
bitterly stings my face.
Yet I turn, I turn,
exulting somewhat,
with my will intact to go
wherever I need to go,
and every stone on the road
precious to me.
In my darkest night,
when the moon was covered
and I roamed through wreckage,
a nimbus-clouded voice
directed me:
"Live in the layers,
not on the litter."
Though I lack the art
to decipher it,
no doubt the next chapter
in my book of transformations
is already written.
I am not done with my changes.
Ken and I physically travelled many miles last week. For me, it amounted to more than a trip through nine states. It was a trip back through time to a house I haven't lived in for more than thirty-three years, a house I left when I was nineteen, a house where I left nothing behind. I have been back at various times to visit, seldom to stay and never for very long. It was the house where I lived as a child.
In the thirty-three years since I lived there I have learned a lot about who I thought I was, who I wanted to be, and who I really am. I had to figure out what I could hold onto and what I had to let go. I needed to learn to be myself, in spite of who I thought I should be and despite who my family wanted me to be. This was my puzzle to solve, not my family's. It has taken me three decades to get on the other side of the should's and shouldn'ts. With time, a lot of work, and the love of my own children and husband, I have been able to accept who I am. Finally, I can be myself with my mother and siblings.
I was able to be honest with my father for the ten years before he died. It wasn't easy for me to say what I needed to say, and it wasn't easy for him to hear it. When he died in December 1996, I felt like I had made my peace with him. Last week, when I left the house, I took with me 85 of my father's LP albums and a dozen CDs; he loved good music and quality stereo equipment. Right now I have his Linn turntable in my living room, with plans to use it.
Time with family. Letting go of expectations. Acceptance of what is.
A week before our trip, I took Roger Housden's book Ten Poems to Set You Free off my bookshelf and started reading a poem each night. The following poem by Stanley Kunitz describes beautifully my thoughts before, during, and after my visit to the house where I lived as a child.
The Layers
I have walked through many lives,
some of them my own,
and I am not who I was,
though some principle of being
abides, from which I struggle
not to stray.
When I look behind,
as I am compelled to look
before I can gather strength
to proceed on my journey,
I see the milestones dwindling
toward the horizon
and the slow fires trailing
from the abandoned camp-sites,
over which scavenger angels
wheel on heavy wings.
Oh, I have made myself a tribe
out of my true affections,
and my tribe is scattered!
How shall the heart be reconciled
to its feast of losses?
In a rising wind
the manic dust of my friends,
those who fell along the way,
bitterly stings my face.
Yet I turn, I turn,
exulting somewhat,
with my will intact to go
wherever I need to go,
and every stone on the road
precious to me.
In my darkest night,
when the moon was covered
and I roamed through wreckage,
a nimbus-clouded voice
directed me:
"Live in the layers,
not on the litter."
Though I lack the art
to decipher it,
no doubt the next chapter
in my book of transformations
is already written.
I am not done with my changes.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Keep, Store, or Sell?
By the end of the first evening in Maryland, we knew that the refrigerator, washer, dryer, stove, and dishwasher were all in working order. This is good news in a house that has been mostly vacant for five years.
Tuesday evening my sister came to the rescue with her French press, fresh coffee beans, and grinder - we would have coffee the next morning. My sister was recently married and is preparing to move to Scotland as soon as she gets her townhouse on the market. She and my mom started to talk about the possibility of renting a truck to take the things they would most like to keep to a storage unit in West Virginia.
Wednesday was a busy day. By 9:00 a.m. the old boiler was on its way out and the yard was getting a once-over. By mid-day there were four men in the house installing the new boiler, and the man in the yard was cutting back overgrown bushes.
In the midst of all the activity, Mom and I started packing glassware and dishes - some for storage, some for family, and some for sale. At one point I was filling four different boxes. We had to start somewhere, so we started with one piece at a time. When we finished with the china hutch, we started with the contents of the kitchen cupboards. We didn't get it all packed up, but we made a dent.
As the day went on, we talked with my sister and my brothers. I was going to get to see everyone on this trip! My youngest brother and sister-in-law, as well as my sister, came for a visit Wednesday evening. My younger brother and sister-in-law were able to come by Thursday morning. We had a chance to talk about the state of the house and consider what might happen next. We were all relieved that nothing more serious that a leaking boiler had surfaced; I was especially grateful that we found the problem before the first cold snap.
During this short trip, my mother once again began to think about selling the house. The man who did the yardwork keeps tabs on the houses for sale in the community, and he had referred my mom to a realtor several months ago. She said she plans to contact him again....
When we closed up the house on Thursday, we felt good about all we had accomplished on this short trip. My mom is making plans to return, possibly with her brother-in-law who wants some of the furniture. Mom made arrangements to have the yard maintained through the fall. Then she'll see where things stand.
Thursday afternoon we drove the 155 miles back to West Virginia. Mom took with her a collection of depression glass, a few precious knickknacks, and a small knickknack cabinet.
Mom, Ken, and I went to a dinner at a local restaurant in her small town. We had a chance to talk about all that had happened since Tuesday. She thanked us for coming and for helping her out with the house. We talked briefly about the options she has. I shared that I think she and I and my siblings are in different places in this process of letting go of the house. In the end, the only thing that matters is what my mom wants. I told her again that I will do anything I can to help. She knows that.
For me, the process is ongoing. More thoughts to share later....
Tuesday evening my sister came to the rescue with her French press, fresh coffee beans, and grinder - we would have coffee the next morning. My sister was recently married and is preparing to move to Scotland as soon as she gets her townhouse on the market. She and my mom started to talk about the possibility of renting a truck to take the things they would most like to keep to a storage unit in West Virginia.
Wednesday was a busy day. By 9:00 a.m. the old boiler was on its way out and the yard was getting a once-over. By mid-day there were four men in the house installing the new boiler, and the man in the yard was cutting back overgrown bushes.
In the midst of all the activity, Mom and I started packing glassware and dishes - some for storage, some for family, and some for sale. At one point I was filling four different boxes. We had to start somewhere, so we started with one piece at a time. When we finished with the china hutch, we started with the contents of the kitchen cupboards. We didn't get it all packed up, but we made a dent.
As the day went on, we talked with my sister and my brothers. I was going to get to see everyone on this trip! My youngest brother and sister-in-law, as well as my sister, came for a visit Wednesday evening. My younger brother and sister-in-law were able to come by Thursday morning. We had a chance to talk about the state of the house and consider what might happen next. We were all relieved that nothing more serious that a leaking boiler had surfaced; I was especially grateful that we found the problem before the first cold snap.
During this short trip, my mother once again began to think about selling the house. The man who did the yardwork keeps tabs on the houses for sale in the community, and he had referred my mom to a realtor several months ago. She said she plans to contact him again....
When we closed up the house on Thursday, we felt good about all we had accomplished on this short trip. My mom is making plans to return, possibly with her brother-in-law who wants some of the furniture. Mom made arrangements to have the yard maintained through the fall. Then she'll see where things stand.
Thursday afternoon we drove the 155 miles back to West Virginia. Mom took with her a collection of depression glass, a few precious knickknacks, and a small knickknack cabinet.
Mom, Ken, and I went to a dinner at a local restaurant in her small town. We had a chance to talk about all that had happened since Tuesday. She thanked us for coming and for helping her out with the house. We talked briefly about the options she has. I shared that I think she and I and my siblings are in different places in this process of letting go of the house. In the end, the only thing that matters is what my mom wants. I told her again that I will do anything I can to help. She knows that.
For me, the process is ongoing. More thoughts to share later....
Sunday, September 21, 2008
The First Afternoon in Maryland
Thank you for your comments on my last post. The thought of making a trip south had been percolating for several weeks. I put it off when my family came north to visit for a couple days. When Ken suggested a trip in mid-September, and then agreed to drive south, I felt compelled to go to the house where I lived as a child. My mother said she was willing to go with us, and the plan was hatched.
My mother's house is in a neighborhood of several hundred homes that were built post-WWII. Most are small three-bedroom houses built on slabs and, while some people have added a porch or vinyl siding, they look pretty much the same. When we entered the neighborhood this trip, I noticed that yards were groomed and houses were being kept up. Cars parked on the streets were fairly new and in good shape. This is good news if my mom decides to put her house on the market.
We did not know what to expect when we rounded the curve in front of my mom's house. Power lines cross a field next to her property so she has a yard three times the size of most in the community. Other than looking like it needed to be mowed, the yard looked fine. The house looked like I remembered, and from the outside it looked like it was intact.
Once inside, we breathed a sigh of relief. The house looked like it did when I was last there four and a half years ago. The new back door was still closed and locked, and there was no sign of a fresh break-in. Mom turned the water on and we began to take stock of what we needed to do if we were going to stay there overnight. Ken went outside to take a walk around the house, and Mom and I looked for towels in the hall closet.
Then I heard what sounded like a trickle of water. The hall closet is just steps away from the bathroom so maybe a faucet had been left open. Just outside the bathroom is a cubby for the water heater and boiler; that's where we spotted the steady drip and growing puddle. Mom quickly found a string mop and turned the valve that fed water to the boiler, which heats the water to fill the pipes that run through the concrete slab to provide radiant heat for the house.
We called to Ken to come down the hall, and the three of us watched as the water continued to trickle and drench the towels we laid down. Mom found the number of the company that last serviced the 60 year-old heating system. Someone would be over in less than an hour. Again, sighs of relief.
The house was built for efficient use of space. The bathroom backs up to the kitchen and all the plumbing is in the common wall, so I wasn't surprised to see water on the kitchen floor. We started mopping and laying down towels in that room, too.
When the man arrived to assess the boiler, the verdict was that it needed to be replaced. No surprise there. It was original to the house. A garden hose was run from the boiler to the front yard to drain the twenty gallons of water still in the tank. It was time for a new boiler, and it could be installed the next day. Mom agreed without hesitation.
Then she called the man who mows the yard. My mother was ready to take care of business, and Ken and I were ready to help. After a trip to the grocery store, and four washloads of sheets and towels, we were ready for our stay. It was just the first afternoon and look at what had already been accomplished....
My mother's house is in a neighborhood of several hundred homes that were built post-WWII. Most are small three-bedroom houses built on slabs and, while some people have added a porch or vinyl siding, they look pretty much the same. When we entered the neighborhood this trip, I noticed that yards were groomed and houses were being kept up. Cars parked on the streets were fairly new and in good shape. This is good news if my mom decides to put her house on the market.
We did not know what to expect when we rounded the curve in front of my mom's house. Power lines cross a field next to her property so she has a yard three times the size of most in the community. Other than looking like it needed to be mowed, the yard looked fine. The house looked like I remembered, and from the outside it looked like it was intact.
Once inside, we breathed a sigh of relief. The house looked like it did when I was last there four and a half years ago. The new back door was still closed and locked, and there was no sign of a fresh break-in. Mom turned the water on and we began to take stock of what we needed to do if we were going to stay there overnight. Ken went outside to take a walk around the house, and Mom and I looked for towels in the hall closet.
Then I heard what sounded like a trickle of water. The hall closet is just steps away from the bathroom so maybe a faucet had been left open. Just outside the bathroom is a cubby for the water heater and boiler; that's where we spotted the steady drip and growing puddle. Mom quickly found a string mop and turned the valve that fed water to the boiler, which heats the water to fill the pipes that run through the concrete slab to provide radiant heat for the house.
We called to Ken to come down the hall, and the three of us watched as the water continued to trickle and drench the towels we laid down. Mom found the number of the company that last serviced the 60 year-old heating system. Someone would be over in less than an hour. Again, sighs of relief.
The house was built for efficient use of space. The bathroom backs up to the kitchen and all the plumbing is in the common wall, so I wasn't surprised to see water on the kitchen floor. We started mopping and laying down towels in that room, too.
When the man arrived to assess the boiler, the verdict was that it needed to be replaced. No surprise there. It was original to the house. A garden hose was run from the boiler to the front yard to drain the twenty gallons of water still in the tank. It was time for a new boiler, and it could be installed the next day. Mom agreed without hesitation.
Then she called the man who mows the yard. My mother was ready to take care of business, and Ken and I were ready to help. After a trip to the grocery store, and four washloads of sheets and towels, we were ready for our stay. It was just the first afternoon and look at what had already been accomplished....
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Going South
I am going to be off line for the next five days. Tomorrow, before the sun rises, Ken and I will head the car south to West Virginia. We will stay there one night and pick up my mom the next morning. We are going to a suburb of Washington, D.C. to the house where I lived as a child.
When my mom moved out of the house five years ago she took just the clothes and kitchen items she would need when she moved into a small one-bedroom trailer with her second husband. She returned periodically to the house in Maryland for a few days at a time, to keep a dentist's appointment or tend to the yard or catch up with old friends.
As the years passed the visits grew more infrequent. After her stroke in June 2007 my mom stopped driving that far alone, and she's been to the house just a handful of times in the last year. Earlier this year the house was broken into, and there was evidence that someone had been living there. So she gathered a few more items to take with her, closed and locked the door, and hasn't been back since.
Ken and I are making the trip because the time feels right to see how we can help. In the past, my suggestions to sell the house were met with resistance. It may be that things are different now, and maybe we can be of assistance.
I will have sporadic and brief periods of access to the internet, so I will be off line until I get home next week-end. Please keep an eye on the events of the world for me and hold down the fort until I get back.
When my mom moved out of the house five years ago she took just the clothes and kitchen items she would need when she moved into a small one-bedroom trailer with her second husband. She returned periodically to the house in Maryland for a few days at a time, to keep a dentist's appointment or tend to the yard or catch up with old friends.
As the years passed the visits grew more infrequent. After her stroke in June 2007 my mom stopped driving that far alone, and she's been to the house just a handful of times in the last year. Earlier this year the house was broken into, and there was evidence that someone had been living there. So she gathered a few more items to take with her, closed and locked the door, and hasn't been back since.
Ken and I are making the trip because the time feels right to see how we can help. In the past, my suggestions to sell the house were met with resistance. It may be that things are different now, and maybe we can be of assistance.
I will have sporadic and brief periods of access to the internet, so I will be off line until I get home next week-end. Please keep an eye on the events of the world for me and hold down the fort until I get back.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Today Was a Parade
Today, for the first time, I marched in a parade. It was important that I was there. The incumbent republican senator imported people, by bus, to march on her behalf - faces we did not recognize in a town that was not their own. This is my town. It was my parade. I chose to stand up for my candidates, with others who call this place their home. We didn't have helium-filled balloons or monogrammed T-shirts. We did have a reason to be there, a passion for a different way to govern. We said it all with our chant, "Change can't wait."
The parade had all the necessary elements.
An old-fashioned truck ~
and a milk wagon from days gone by ~
Every parade needs clowns and a flatbed filled with children ~
and bagpipers to play familiar tunes ~
Our rag-tag group more than made up for the lack of costumes with comradery and enthusiasm ~
and the ability to transform everyday motor vehicles into chariots for change ~
for the parade through the streets of our town ~
The parade had all the necessary elements.
An old-fashioned truck ~
and a milk wagon from days gone by ~
Every parade needs clowns and a flatbed filled with children ~
and bagpipers to play familiar tunes ~
Our rag-tag group more than made up for the lack of costumes with comradery and enthusiasm ~
and the ability to transform everyday motor vehicles into chariots for change ~
for the parade through the streets of our town ~
Friday, September 12, 2008
Life's a Bloom
The hibiscus plant that I cut back in February and repotted in May has decided it's time to bloom in a big way. The first bud opened this week, and there are 14 more in various stages of readiness to open and grace our presence. This plant has never looked so healthy.I think the hibiscus is confused because autumn has also graced our presence this week. Temperatures at night have dropped to the low 40's and there have been warnings of frost up north, which means the rest of the state isn't far behind. Leaves are changing color. The days are noticably cooler and shorter.
So why bloom now? I have watered and fed and encouraged this plant all summer. I moved it out of harm's way when torrential rains or blazing sunshine threatened. Single blooms were few and far between, and I thought maybe the hibiscus was tapped out, past its prime, and ready for retirement.
Then, enmasse, buds began to appear, sending me the message that the plant is not finished with living, has not given up, and will continue to grow and prosper. To drive home the point the leaves are bigger and shinier than they've ever been. I don't remember when the plant has had this many buds at one time.
Blooming takes care and feeding, time and encouragement. Putting your color out there means taking risks and making an occasional false start. Coming into full growth requires help from others and a willingness to hang in there even when it looks like not much is happening.
I am going to take this lesson from my hibiscus: The journey is not easy, but the rewards are worth the work.
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