It is no secret that March is my least favorite month. I've written poetry, blogs and opinion pieces about this miserable 1/12 of the year.
March is cruel. It teases and taunts you with longer days, brighter sunshine and hints of warmth. The sun is at about 41.5 degrees above the horizon during the day...its rays just strong enough to brush your cheeks with a kiss of warmth...but powerless against the bitter cold running through the streets of the city...a meteorological middle finger from the North.
I bundle up...pull on my boots...and leash up the dog for our afternoon recreational constitutional. She is as anxious as I to get out into the fresh air...to feel the imagined warm caress of the early spring sun. As we trot up Bowdoin, past the State House, a slight sea breeze blows, nipping at the tips of my ears. It is not enough to register a wind chill...but a chill registers nonetheless. Reilly, lowers her head and steels herself to move through the concrete and brick wind tunnel, heading toward Beacon Street.
The sidewalks to this point are clean and clear with some slight puddling from the run-off of melting snow upon the State House lawn... the sad, sad, grimy, gray-green turf is still too weary from this winter's beating to even try to absorb the gift of solar rejuvenation...it is tired...it too, is sick of March.
The illusion of Spring has brought more and more groups protesting or informing about their cause or ideology. They stand outside the wrought iron fence, huddling for warmth...their faces cover by scarves, muffling their words, their ideas. Passersby are more determined than ever to keep their heads down and move quickly by...to keep warm or to skirt the issues under the cool guise of being too cold?
As we broach the corner of Beacon and Park, our destination...our refuge, The Common, lays before us. We cross diagonally across the intersection and down the stairs into the park, the wind lessens significantly...not having tall buildings to channel the gusts into buffeting blows. The sun feels warmer and the walkways are wetter. Here we find more trash and dirt and yuck...the snow banks now barely a half a foot high are tinted with soot and grit. Park benches are still somewhat buried; they beckon for Bostonians to sit and lunch or read or chat...to raise one's countenance to the sun, eyes closed dreaming of warmer breezes and the sting of the sun...not the bite of the wind. Alas...they are unreachable and unappealing among the icy remainder of winter's historic spewing.
Beyond the snow mounds are what will someday soon be grassy islands...now they are plots of mud and gunk...littered with paw prints from the park's denizens and visitors seeking renewal. The squirrels are no worse for the wear...fat from gorging on tidbits found in the many trash bins. The rats did not seem to fair as well...I counted three corpses among the snow banks...chalk that one up for the winter. Boston pups romp in the designated doggie parks...leaving deep impressions in the snow and mud... taking dirty souvenirs of their excursion home on their paws, coats and underbellies...to be bathed away in a near daily ritual of the season.
As we meandered up and down the crisscrossing paths, I noticed that much like Parisians, Bostonians prefer to wear black in the winter...occasionally, a toddler might be sporting pink or blue...but many kids are wearing the darkness of winter as well. I, on the other hand, have a bright magenta pea coat. With my rose colored shawl, draped chic-ly over my shoulders, I stand out like the proverbial sore thumb. This is by design of course...people remember the lady with colorful coat and cute dog who promenades about Beacon Hill each day. The Park Rangers at the State House and the police on the Common notice and say hello, heads nodding, implying...yeah, I know her...she's a regular.
When we reached the center of the Common...I experienced what I reckoned to be a "Schindler"s List" moment...there we were...me in my bright, deep pink coat...among the black and white of the cold, cruel month of March...the paths were faded gray...the snow mounds gray with dirt, dust and detritus...the puddles were dark with mud and the people, in every direction looked like dark shadows...and there I was, like the little girl in the red coat...alone in the monochrome of the landscape.
But then, I looked up and saw the beauty of the bluest skies...nowhere else in my travels have the skies looked this blue...it is one of my favorite things about New England. My eyes wandered to the trees...gray-brown limbs outstretched against the bright blue...and there at the tips of the branches, was a hint of yellowish green...and over there, the buds were deep purple-red...mimicking the hue of my coat...and unlike the ill-fated red coated girl in Schindler's List, I felt hope, because, in a week and a day, March would be but a memory.
We took a last turn about the Common and headed back up the stairs to wander among the brownstones and trip over the cobbles...I strained to feel the heat radiating from the city's iconic bricks...but not yet...March still grips the city.
Tuesday, March 24, 2015
Tuesday, March 10, 2015
Moving Stuff
It is hard to believe that I've been living in Boston for over three months now! The time has gone by in the blink of and eye and in the heart of an historic winter! What a way to begin the next chapter of our lives..."It was a cold and snowy winter on Beacon Hill". But now, the state of being busy has calmed a bit and we've adjusted to a downsized life.
As I sit enjoying my morning coffee, I can reflect on what the heck has happened in the past year! Since returning from Paris in 2010, Bill and I have talkedseriously about living in Boston... and in 2014, our nest was truly empty...our 3200 sq. ft. house sitting on just about two acres was more than we needed and starting to be more than we could handle. I mean, really...dusting and vacuuming three bedrooms that remained empty most of the time...our family room in the basement had become a catch all for stuff...stuff we'd outgrown...stuff we'd inherited and were too sentimental to toss...stuff that spoke of a different stage in our lives...and was becoming the stuff of spider webs, dust and wasted potential.
The house too, which we had lovingly customized to our needs and wishes over the course of our first five years in residence, was starting to show signs of fatigue...I replaced the cooling unit in my Sub-Zero refrigerator drawers...the gaskets of the burners on my Wolf range needed annual replacing and tightening...granted I used my dear range to a fair the well...walls needed painting...carpets replacing... our gorgeous landscaping was maturing and in need of refreshing...and as these tasks mounted, we thought...heck...if we are going to do this, let's get everything up to snuff...clean up, clear out and downsize with the goal of getting out of Dodge (aka Groton!) and start living the next phase of our adult lives.
Last spring, we started researching what needed to be done to make our home sale-able and market ready...and all for the most bang for our buck! First on the list was...insert dramatic dun,dun, dun...the septic system...Title V... the bane of all my home-owning experience. Upon inquiry, we were told that with a system approaching 30 years old, it would be highly unlikely that our currently fully functional septic system would pass the regional Board of Health inspection...so we hired engineers, contractor and laborers who installed a brand spanking new system.
After tearing up the back yard, it was now time to refresh and restore our garden oasis...and open the pool...about 6 weeks later than expected! Walls deconstructed so heavy equipment could traverse our lovely sloped side yard had to be reassembled...the ten year old blue spruces were worse for wear, enduring the biting winds of winter's Polar Vortexes...out they came...replaced by rhododendrons. New grass seed...a bush here, a shrub there...when all was said and done....it was once again paradise.
Our faithful, 15 year old hot tub just didn't want to work for anyone one else...and two weeks before we listed the house, it died. It took some finagling and about $400 to have it carted away and discarded properly...you just don't plunk a 6 person spa on the curb for trash pick up! On the plus side, the brick patio upon which the hot tub sat made for a lovely sitting area and we brought our trusty fire pit up from the pool area to create a cozy spot for toasting marshmallows and telling ghost tales!
As all this work was going on from May to September, I was busy inside tackling closets, cubbies and cartons. My strategy was first, have a deadline. I knew that our town's Boy Scout Troops held an annual Labor Day Yard Sale and I was bound and determined to donate as much useful stuff as I could to the cause. I hated the thought of trashing perfectly useful things which no longer fit in our schemes and dreams. From kiddy board games to the old pots and pans I retired when I went all gourmet in my kitchen in 2004...these things still had purpose and my hope was they would make other families happy and offetr the stuff of new memories.
With my deadline set, I went about sorting things in each room...there were storage totes and packing boxes of things we would continue to keep or sell...bags and boxes of things to donate...and in what I considered a stroke of brilliance, a rented dumpster out next to the garage...if it was to be tossed...then let's toss it and take it away. We had the dumpster for 5 days...so another deadline to keep me motivated.
In addition to donating to the Scouts, I had to find outlets and resources for things they couldn't take...like mattresses, upholstered furniture, clothing....and for those things that I thought might bring a financial return. Welcome to the (unregulated) world of Estate Sales and Consignments...I researched a number of companies that specialize in clearing houses of goods...mostly from homes when folks passed away and grieving families couldn't or didn't want to cope with the disposal of their history, but empty-nesters, downsizing or moving were becoming a greater client base. I checked our companies through the Better Business Bureau...I got references...I did drive-bys of estate sales...and so on....but dealing with that level of cleaning out was a long way off...or was it?
The tricky part to downsizing and refreshing a place was juggling a schedule...which comes first, storage units or the estate sale? The sprucing in the house or waiting until setting the stage to sell...what if color trends change? what if the hot water heater goes..what if, if , if ? I favored having the sale first so I made the executive decision...sell what can be sold... Why move stuff multiple times to accommodate painters and the rug guys...alas. their schedules and my executive-ness did not align. It worked out in the end...and when the time came, the estate sale folks took great care to cover the new wall to wall carpets and freshly painted walls.
So in September, we had several rooms repainted then the new rugs went in...the landscaping was completed...the pool closed...and we had just started looking at rentals in the city. What an eye-opener!
Our plan is to rent for a year, maybe two, learning about city life...exploring the neighborhoods we thought would set the stage for our as yet unwritten future. Working with the best real estate agent, who "got us", we set upon finding a new roost...but back in Groton, I needed to find someone who'd honor our legacy...and find the family who would call High Oaks Path home.
I interviewed three real estate agencies and based on the first two interviews, my heart sank...my dream nearly shattered as the news about the market and comps failed to live up to our expectations.
The first agent, who in all honesty was the person I thought had the best reputation and success rate asked us, based upon her research which she had sent over earlier, what we thought the house should go for...and upon hearing our number told us that if we expected her to sell at that price, she'd have to walk away. !!!! When we asked where she'd price the house, it came in about $100,000 less than our figure. She said she'd try it at $40,000 higher than her price point, but we should be prepared for lots of underbids. I was not a happy camper.
Two days later, we met with the next broker and her firm assessed our house at $30,000 more than the first agent's price...but less than the number Agent 1 begrudgingly laid out as our high point. Agent 2 told us that is was foolish to "test" the market and that she was sure we could only get that price at which she'd listed the house.
At this point Bill and I were seriously questioning whether we could and or should move now...but darn it...we were ready...we had one more agent to interview. If she came in around the same price point, we were prepared to wait at least until spring to reassess...but man, with all the work we'd done and funds invested, we were so ready!!
Agent 3 arrived on a Thursday and yes because of the disappointment of the previous two meetings, I opted to celebrate Champagne Thursday...a toast to hope. The painter was putting the final touches in the bathrooms...but the house had been staged by me to show a home where life was lived and lives loved. She walked around, measuring...asking questions...seeing what we saw...seeing a home that would make somebodies very happy. We talked about strategies for marketing and selling the house...she explained the services her company offered and then...she recommended we sell the house for just what Bill and I expected...whew! She actually came in a little higher than we thought...but our valuation had taken a beating and when Karen Earnest came in higher...oh...what relief.
Our apartment hunting was not going easily...we have a dog and for some reason, dog loving Bostonians are reluctant to rent to dog owners...but our intrepid rental agent dogged it out. On October 11th, we found a cute place in the South End and filled out an application...which was promptly accepted! YIKES! We expressed our preferred move in date of Dec. 1, but the owner wanted a November 1 date...we countered Nov. 15th...our house wasn't even on the market yet...and although we could swing the mortgage and the rent...why should we?...we had time. So when the apartment's agent...who lobbied really hard for us because he thought we were the perfect tenants...came back that the owner was holding firm to the Nov. 1 move in date...so we let it go.
We talked it over with Betsey, our rental agent, and thought perhaps we should put our apartment hunting on hold until later in November or December...giving us a chance to get Groton on the market...and if there was no interest, we might have to revisit the whole process in the spring real estate season. Betsey understood and gave us encouragement that more rentals would be available with Spring's warm weather...so keep chins up!
In the mean time, Karen set about marketing our Groton home. On October 15th, the professional photographer came in and took amazing pictures for the RE/Max website and by Thursday afternoon, the interactive house tour of High Oaks Path was live! The page had nearly 50 views by noon on Friday. Karen scheduled appointments for Saturday 10/18...and five interested parties popped by to see the house. One couple asked if they could return with her mother and the kids on Sunday...and by 9 am on Monday, we had an offer for above our asking price! We were moving! But wait!..to where...oh crap...my stomach was flip flopping...things got turned over to agents and lawyers and we needed to find a place to live with an early December move-in...we were set to close on December 8...what once looked like a bleak situation now turned into a feeding frenzy of emotions, appointments and new scheduling which, if my hair weren't already gorgeously gray, would have turned it so!
A storage unit was rented...home inspections schedule...legalese abounded...and as we approached November 1...we needed to find a home. Much to the chagrin of my very patient real estate agent, I became a real estate app junkie...constantly filling in profiles and setting filters...but it paid off!
Very early in our apartment hunting experiment, on the last sunny Sunday in September, Betsey took us to see a Hancock Street apartment on Beacon Hill...it had just listed that morning and yes, it was $1000 above our budget and stated no pets...but it was open to see, so we popped in. It was lovely...had parking...was 2 floors....in unit laundry... a workable kitchen, and so on...but being way over budget and the first apartment we looked at, we said good-bye. We looked and looked until the South Boston find...that fell through and thus began my feverish obsession with Zillow, Trulia, and Redfin!
On October 31, as I was making a pass of updates on Zillow, a familiar address popped up...the first Hancock St. apartment was still not rented and the rent was $500 lower! Now, what I had come learn was, there is rental season in the city. Generally apartments are leased from September 1 to August 31...that window had come and gone for this unit...and in general, if rentals are not leased by 11/15...the owners or management companies let them go dormant until the spring...I called Betsey and asked her to inquire about Hancock Street...ask about the dog...she's small...seeing that it is late in the rental season...maybe they'd drop the rent another $500...can you imagine my teeth gritted grin!?!...What a ballsy risk! We were a month from being homeless...not in a tragic way...but no roof over our heads in sight...and glory be...they bit and took our offer...we immediately filled in the application and sent over a deposit...all based on the first impression of the first apartment I saw months before...I guess somethings are meant to be and lessons need learning...(foreshadowing for another blog).
With a future address in sight, I set about the final stages of leaving High Oaks Path. We contacted and contracted with a terrific moving company, one that is comfortable with the peculiarities of moving in Boston...one way streets...on street parking...permits...street sweeping.
The estate sale company came in mid-November , pricing and staging 30 years worth of belongings...the beds my kids slept in...the Beanie Babies they collected....36 place settings of Pfaltzgraff Yorktowne dishes and accessories (I owned the pattern and then inherited my mother's and mother's -in-law sets)...pictures and frames...arts and crafts crap...tools...a houseful of stuff...a grandfather clock...windchimes...jelly jar glasses...STUFF! And on a warm, sunny Saturday...strangers came and bought my things. Thank goodness I wasn't home...the manager of the estate sale highly recommended we leave...pets in tow...as seeing and hearing how others regarded your stuff could be sad, infuriating and weird.
The sale went well. We got a little more that was estimated and somethings we hoped and prayed would sell did...and we were surprised at what didn't...the bedroom suites, the dishes....not a bite...but those Flintstone jelly jars from the nineties, which had been boxed up when we moved from Billerica 15 years ago...(they sold for $1 each)...found a new home!
As I examined the aftermath of the sale...it was a bit of organized chaos...I wondered what I should do with the stuff that needed new families...and lo and behold, a message popped up on the Groton Google group...the PTA for one of our elementary schools was looking for books, DVDs, CDs, and games for their annual holiday Craft Fair and Book Sale...I contacted the organizer and told her we had a large assortment of all those items and would she like to come by and take what she wanted...she took it all...and she told us it was the largest donation (single or otherwise) the PTA ever had...and that the funds would go to help with library, playground and music programs...hallelujah!
I contacted the outreach services and food pantry at Devens... they took 6 bags of clothing, toiletries and some of the pantry items I wasn't sure I wanted to bring to the city...who needs a case of black beans when there are only two of you?
The remaining items found an outlet through an agency called HGRM, located in Acton. They gratefully took our donations of furniture, linens, curtains, all those Pfaltzgraff dishes ! The mission is to provide gently used...well loved items that will help homeless families transition from shelters into a new, private home. The clients can "shop" in their warehouses for items that they need and develop their vision of home...I am most satisfied with this decision for our stuff.
In the end just about everything found a new place to call home...and so did we!
We moved into the city on December 2...sold the house on December 8...never was homeless...thank goodness...and now with about 6 months left on our lease, we are exploring the awakening real estate market in the Hub...be still my heart...and here goes my stomach, flip-flopping again...will we rent again...renew our lease...or is the next dream home to own out there waiting for its new family with a new story and memories yet to share? I'll let you know.
Cheers!
As I sit enjoying my morning coffee, I can reflect on what the heck has happened in the past year! Since returning from Paris in 2010, Bill and I have talkedseriously about living in Boston... and in 2014, our nest was truly empty...our 3200 sq. ft. house sitting on just about two acres was more than we needed and starting to be more than we could handle. I mean, really...dusting and vacuuming three bedrooms that remained empty most of the time...our family room in the basement had become a catch all for stuff...stuff we'd outgrown...stuff we'd inherited and were too sentimental to toss...stuff that spoke of a different stage in our lives...and was becoming the stuff of spider webs, dust and wasted potential.
The house too, which we had lovingly customized to our needs and wishes over the course of our first five years in residence, was starting to show signs of fatigue...I replaced the cooling unit in my Sub-Zero refrigerator drawers...the gaskets of the burners on my Wolf range needed annual replacing and tightening...granted I used my dear range to a fair the well...walls needed painting...carpets replacing... our gorgeous landscaping was maturing and in need of refreshing...and as these tasks mounted, we thought...heck...if we are going to do this, let's get everything up to snuff...clean up, clear out and downsize with the goal of getting out of Dodge (aka Groton!) and start living the next phase of our adult lives.
Last spring, we started researching what needed to be done to make our home sale-able and market ready...and all for the most bang for our buck! First on the list was...insert dramatic dun,dun, dun...the septic system...Title V... the bane of all my home-owning experience. Upon inquiry, we were told that with a system approaching 30 years old, it would be highly unlikely that our currently fully functional septic system would pass the regional Board of Health inspection...so we hired engineers, contractor and laborers who installed a brand spanking new system.
After tearing up the back yard, it was now time to refresh and restore our garden oasis...and open the pool...about 6 weeks later than expected! Walls deconstructed so heavy equipment could traverse our lovely sloped side yard had to be reassembled...the ten year old blue spruces were worse for wear, enduring the biting winds of winter's Polar Vortexes...out they came...replaced by rhododendrons. New grass seed...a bush here, a shrub there...when all was said and done....it was once again paradise.
Our faithful, 15 year old hot tub just didn't want to work for anyone one else...and two weeks before we listed the house, it died. It took some finagling and about $400 to have it carted away and discarded properly...you just don't plunk a 6 person spa on the curb for trash pick up! On the plus side, the brick patio upon which the hot tub sat made for a lovely sitting area and we brought our trusty fire pit up from the pool area to create a cozy spot for toasting marshmallows and telling ghost tales!
As all this work was going on from May to September, I was busy inside tackling closets, cubbies and cartons. My strategy was first, have a deadline. I knew that our town's Boy Scout Troops held an annual Labor Day Yard Sale and I was bound and determined to donate as much useful stuff as I could to the cause. I hated the thought of trashing perfectly useful things which no longer fit in our schemes and dreams. From kiddy board games to the old pots and pans I retired when I went all gourmet in my kitchen in 2004...these things still had purpose and my hope was they would make other families happy and offetr the stuff of new memories.
With my deadline set, I went about sorting things in each room...there were storage totes and packing boxes of things we would continue to keep or sell...bags and boxes of things to donate...and in what I considered a stroke of brilliance, a rented dumpster out next to the garage...if it was to be tossed...then let's toss it and take it away. We had the dumpster for 5 days...so another deadline to keep me motivated.
In addition to donating to the Scouts, I had to find outlets and resources for things they couldn't take...like mattresses, upholstered furniture, clothing....and for those things that I thought might bring a financial return. Welcome to the (unregulated) world of Estate Sales and Consignments...I researched a number of companies that specialize in clearing houses of goods...mostly from homes when folks passed away and grieving families couldn't or didn't want to cope with the disposal of their history, but empty-nesters, downsizing or moving were becoming a greater client base. I checked our companies through the Better Business Bureau...I got references...I did drive-bys of estate sales...and so on....but dealing with that level of cleaning out was a long way off...or was it?
The tricky part to downsizing and refreshing a place was juggling a schedule...which comes first, storage units or the estate sale? The sprucing in the house or waiting until setting the stage to sell...what if color trends change? what if the hot water heater goes..what if, if , if ? I favored having the sale first so I made the executive decision...sell what can be sold... Why move stuff multiple times to accommodate painters and the rug guys...alas. their schedules and my executive-ness did not align. It worked out in the end...and when the time came, the estate sale folks took great care to cover the new wall to wall carpets and freshly painted walls.
So in September, we had several rooms repainted then the new rugs went in...the landscaping was completed...the pool closed...and we had just started looking at rentals in the city. What an eye-opener!
Our plan is to rent for a year, maybe two, learning about city life...exploring the neighborhoods we thought would set the stage for our as yet unwritten future. Working with the best real estate agent, who "got us", we set upon finding a new roost...but back in Groton, I needed to find someone who'd honor our legacy...and find the family who would call High Oaks Path home.
I interviewed three real estate agencies and based on the first two interviews, my heart sank...my dream nearly shattered as the news about the market and comps failed to live up to our expectations.
The first agent, who in all honesty was the person I thought had the best reputation and success rate asked us, based upon her research which she had sent over earlier, what we thought the house should go for...and upon hearing our number told us that if we expected her to sell at that price, she'd have to walk away. !!!! When we asked where she'd price the house, it came in about $100,000 less than our figure. She said she'd try it at $40,000 higher than her price point, but we should be prepared for lots of underbids. I was not a happy camper.
Two days later, we met with the next broker and her firm assessed our house at $30,000 more than the first agent's price...but less than the number Agent 1 begrudgingly laid out as our high point. Agent 2 told us that is was foolish to "test" the market and that she was sure we could only get that price at which she'd listed the house.
At this point Bill and I were seriously questioning whether we could and or should move now...but darn it...we were ready...we had one more agent to interview. If she came in around the same price point, we were prepared to wait at least until spring to reassess...but man, with all the work we'd done and funds invested, we were so ready!!
Agent 3 arrived on a Thursday and yes because of the disappointment of the previous two meetings, I opted to celebrate Champagne Thursday...a toast to hope. The painter was putting the final touches in the bathrooms...but the house had been staged by me to show a home where life was lived and lives loved. She walked around, measuring...asking questions...seeing what we saw...seeing a home that would make somebodies very happy. We talked about strategies for marketing and selling the house...she explained the services her company offered and then...she recommended we sell the house for just what Bill and I expected...whew! She actually came in a little higher than we thought...but our valuation had taken a beating and when Karen Earnest came in higher...oh...what relief.
Our apartment hunting was not going easily...we have a dog and for some reason, dog loving Bostonians are reluctant to rent to dog owners...but our intrepid rental agent dogged it out. On October 11th, we found a cute place in the South End and filled out an application...which was promptly accepted! YIKES! We expressed our preferred move in date of Dec. 1, but the owner wanted a November 1 date...we countered Nov. 15th...our house wasn't even on the market yet...and although we could swing the mortgage and the rent...why should we?...we had time. So when the apartment's agent...who lobbied really hard for us because he thought we were the perfect tenants...came back that the owner was holding firm to the Nov. 1 move in date...so we let it go.
We talked it over with Betsey, our rental agent, and thought perhaps we should put our apartment hunting on hold until later in November or December...giving us a chance to get Groton on the market...and if there was no interest, we might have to revisit the whole process in the spring real estate season. Betsey understood and gave us encouragement that more rentals would be available with Spring's warm weather...so keep chins up!
In the mean time, Karen set about marketing our Groton home. On October 15th, the professional photographer came in and took amazing pictures for the RE/Max website and by Thursday afternoon, the interactive house tour of High Oaks Path was live! The page had nearly 50 views by noon on Friday. Karen scheduled appointments for Saturday 10/18...and five interested parties popped by to see the house. One couple asked if they could return with her mother and the kids on Sunday...and by 9 am on Monday, we had an offer for above our asking price! We were moving! But wait!..to where...oh crap...my stomach was flip flopping...things got turned over to agents and lawyers and we needed to find a place to live with an early December move-in...we were set to close on December 8...what once looked like a bleak situation now turned into a feeding frenzy of emotions, appointments and new scheduling which, if my hair weren't already gorgeously gray, would have turned it so!
A storage unit was rented...home inspections schedule...legalese abounded...and as we approached November 1...we needed to find a home. Much to the chagrin of my very patient real estate agent, I became a real estate app junkie...constantly filling in profiles and setting filters...but it paid off!
Very early in our apartment hunting experiment, on the last sunny Sunday in September, Betsey took us to see a Hancock Street apartment on Beacon Hill...it had just listed that morning and yes, it was $1000 above our budget and stated no pets...but it was open to see, so we popped in. It was lovely...had parking...was 2 floors....in unit laundry... a workable kitchen, and so on...but being way over budget and the first apartment we looked at, we said good-bye. We looked and looked until the South Boston find...that fell through and thus began my feverish obsession with Zillow, Trulia, and Redfin!
On October 31, as I was making a pass of updates on Zillow, a familiar address popped up...the first Hancock St. apartment was still not rented and the rent was $500 lower! Now, what I had come learn was, there is rental season in the city. Generally apartments are leased from September 1 to August 31...that window had come and gone for this unit...and in general, if rentals are not leased by 11/15...the owners or management companies let them go dormant until the spring...I called Betsey and asked her to inquire about Hancock Street...ask about the dog...she's small...seeing that it is late in the rental season...maybe they'd drop the rent another $500...can you imagine my teeth gritted grin!?!...What a ballsy risk! We were a month from being homeless...not in a tragic way...but no roof over our heads in sight...and glory be...they bit and took our offer...we immediately filled in the application and sent over a deposit...all based on the first impression of the first apartment I saw months before...I guess somethings are meant to be and lessons need learning...(foreshadowing for another blog).
With a future address in sight, I set about the final stages of leaving High Oaks Path. We contacted and contracted with a terrific moving company, one that is comfortable with the peculiarities of moving in Boston...one way streets...on street parking...permits...street sweeping.
The estate sale company came in mid-November , pricing and staging 30 years worth of belongings...the beds my kids slept in...the Beanie Babies they collected....36 place settings of Pfaltzgraff Yorktowne dishes and accessories (I owned the pattern and then inherited my mother's and mother's -in-law sets)...pictures and frames...arts and crafts crap...tools...a houseful of stuff...a grandfather clock...windchimes...jelly jar glasses...STUFF! And on a warm, sunny Saturday...strangers came and bought my things. Thank goodness I wasn't home...the manager of the estate sale highly recommended we leave...pets in tow...as seeing and hearing how others regarded your stuff could be sad, infuriating and weird.
The sale went well. We got a little more that was estimated and somethings we hoped and prayed would sell did...and we were surprised at what didn't...the bedroom suites, the dishes....not a bite...but those Flintstone jelly jars from the nineties, which had been boxed up when we moved from Billerica 15 years ago...(they sold for $1 each)...found a new home!
As I examined the aftermath of the sale...it was a bit of organized chaos...I wondered what I should do with the stuff that needed new families...and lo and behold, a message popped up on the Groton Google group...the PTA for one of our elementary schools was looking for books, DVDs, CDs, and games for their annual holiday Craft Fair and Book Sale...I contacted the organizer and told her we had a large assortment of all those items and would she like to come by and take what she wanted...she took it all...and she told us it was the largest donation (single or otherwise) the PTA ever had...and that the funds would go to help with library, playground and music programs...hallelujah!
I contacted the outreach services and food pantry at Devens... they took 6 bags of clothing, toiletries and some of the pantry items I wasn't sure I wanted to bring to the city...who needs a case of black beans when there are only two of you?
The remaining items found an outlet through an agency called HGRM, located in Acton. They gratefully took our donations of furniture, linens, curtains, all those Pfaltzgraff dishes ! The mission is to provide gently used...well loved items that will help homeless families transition from shelters into a new, private home. The clients can "shop" in their warehouses for items that they need and develop their vision of home...I am most satisfied with this decision for our stuff.
In the end just about everything found a new place to call home...and so did we!
We moved into the city on December 2...sold the house on December 8...never was homeless...thank goodness...and now with about 6 months left on our lease, we are exploring the awakening real estate market in the Hub...be still my heart...and here goes my stomach, flip-flopping again...will we rent again...renew our lease...or is the next dream home to own out there waiting for its new family with a new story and memories yet to share? I'll let you know.
Cheers!
Monday, February 23, 2015
Living With the Things You Use
My goodness, it has been some time since I have put my thoughts in any order, never mind writing them down!
The last time I took a moment to write, I was strolling down memory lane amid piles and boxes, mementos and gee-gaws. I found a poem from my childhood...discovered long lost letters from my mom...sorted through the myriad of stuff accumulated over 30+ years as a homeowner.
It is funny how we surround ourselves with stuff...the stuff of legends (in our own minds)...the stuff others give us...and sometimes the right stuff...the stuff that puts the polish on one's character and nature.
As I began the process of organizing and plotting our downsizing, anticipating a move into Boston, a funny thing happened, I stopped needing so much stuff...not just emptying a nest...but a real sense of need versus want...my husband said it best recently, "Live with the the things you use."
For nearly three months now, we find ourselves in a very nice rental apartment on Beacon Hill...2 bedrooms, an office...a serviceable kitchen and a parking spot...yay! We still have a bit too much stuff, but as we live in a smaller space and look for a new property to purchase, we are learning about what we need...what we like. For example, being who we are, we each have our favorite coffee mug...mine is a roundish black and green mug from Duck Donuts that I picked up a couple of years ago from a happy little doughnut place in Duck, NC. It is just the right size and fits my hand well...I like the roundness of it...I can wrap my hands around it...take in a deep breath of fresh brewed aroma...warm my hands...it is just what I need for my morning coffee..I wash it out after each use so it is ready for the next cup later in the day...so why in heaven's name did we have roughly 100...yes you read that correctly...100 mugs packed away in boxes in the attic? I'd say that 95 of them were gifts from thoughtful folks...they didn't know that other people had given Bill and me each, a pithy mug...mugs that said thanks in multiple languages...holiday mugs...floral mugs...mugs with mice ...cartoons...sports logos...corporate logos...who doesn't need a mug, right? As a former teacher, PTA volunteer and CCD teacher, I got mugs...and candles...and tea towels...see where this is going!?! Now please don't get me wrong. I loved the thought behind each gift. I appreciated the validation that I somehow made an impact in someone's life...and I will always own that...the experience has shaped me...directed me to who I am and where I am today...and God willing, I will always know that...I don't need a trinket to remind me...that intersection of our lives has moved me down a path of a life well lived and loved...hopefully with many more miles to go...but now I hope the markers of that journey are not in things accumulated, but in the direction others go along their life's journey...that each encounter leaves someone happier, smarter, affirmed...a kind act, word or smile suffices to cement our connection in my being...but if you come over for coffee...fear not, I still have a lovely mug or china cup for you too!
I have had the same discussion with many people as of late...how do you downsize...how can you cleanse yourself of the things that you've owned for a lifetime? Won't you miss this or that? Won't you forget? For me, the answer is that although an item might bring to mind a memory...it doesn't own the memory...that has and always shall live in me. Bill and I have come to a point in our lives where we'd like to see our stuff build lives and memories for others.
As we sorted through our stuff, it became necessary to designate our piles...keep...donate...sell...recycle...and I did my research for each of these designations. One resource/outreach service that brought joy to our goal was HGRM in Acton. We were able to donate much of our furniture...all of which we offered to family first with no takers, wah, wah...to this organization that affords families transitioning from homeless shelters into new housing furniture and household goods. Clients of HGRM could "shop" for items that would make a new space their home...and I feel certain that the history and essence of a happy family that surrounds our stuff will fuel the memories of the new owners...and we find great comfort, happiness and purpose in that as we let go.
I'm looking around the dining room, where I've plunked down to write this post...and I see tulips in a vase I bought in Paris...my favorite vase...the only on I need. In my china cabinet, I see the Limoges dessert set that was my mother's and her mother's before her...I use it almost every day now...I have owned it for 26 years...but have only now started using it...living with it...some cute champagne flutes from Sayda...I use these to celebrate Champagne Thursday... a crystal bowl from my maid of honor...I use it as a side dish for dinner...every day! Many of the items I have around me, have been in my possession for a long time...but now, I use them...I live with them...they have new life as we embark on a new chapter of our lives...I guess what I am saying is...these are the things I need, and to some extent...they connect my history to my day to day life...spelling out more history I guess.
Now, just so you don't promote me to sainthood yet...with a few exceptions, most of the stuff that surrounds us now will not be moving to our next home! I'll keep the Limoges...and a few of the other fine things accumulated over the years...those things yearning to be unpacked to be used in our future lives...but after thirty two years, my husband and I are different creatures...we are older, wiser, snootier empty nesters...we do not need a serviceable couch ...I'd like something that says something about who we are NOW...I don't want the kitschy lamp set that we could just barely afford from JC Penney's 20 years ago...I want something that sets the stage for the next act...that details and reflects us...the new us...ok...what I am about to share is corny...but it seems appropriate...I guess this rental apartment on Beacon Hill is our chrysalis...and in a few months, we will transition into our new place surrounded by the things we want and need to live each day...but that highlight who we are, where we came from and most importantly...who we hope to be as we find new purpose and adventure in this stage of our lives!
Cheers!
The last time I took a moment to write, I was strolling down memory lane amid piles and boxes, mementos and gee-gaws. I found a poem from my childhood...discovered long lost letters from my mom...sorted through the myriad of stuff accumulated over 30+ years as a homeowner.
It is funny how we surround ourselves with stuff...the stuff of legends (in our own minds)...the stuff others give us...and sometimes the right stuff...the stuff that puts the polish on one's character and nature.
As I began the process of organizing and plotting our downsizing, anticipating a move into Boston, a funny thing happened, I stopped needing so much stuff...not just emptying a nest...but a real sense of need versus want...my husband said it best recently, "Live with the the things you use."
For nearly three months now, we find ourselves in a very nice rental apartment on Beacon Hill...2 bedrooms, an office...a serviceable kitchen and a parking spot...yay! We still have a bit too much stuff, but as we live in a smaller space and look for a new property to purchase, we are learning about what we need...what we like. For example, being who we are, we each have our favorite coffee mug...mine is a roundish black and green mug from Duck Donuts that I picked up a couple of years ago from a happy little doughnut place in Duck, NC. It is just the right size and fits my hand well...I like the roundness of it...I can wrap my hands around it...take in a deep breath of fresh brewed aroma...warm my hands...it is just what I need for my morning coffee..I wash it out after each use so it is ready for the next cup later in the day...so why in heaven's name did we have roughly 100...yes you read that correctly...100 mugs packed away in boxes in the attic? I'd say that 95 of them were gifts from thoughtful folks...they didn't know that other people had given Bill and me each, a pithy mug...mugs that said thanks in multiple languages...holiday mugs...floral mugs...mugs with mice ...cartoons...sports logos...corporate logos...who doesn't need a mug, right? As a former teacher, PTA volunteer and CCD teacher, I got mugs...and candles...and tea towels...see where this is going!?! Now please don't get me wrong. I loved the thought behind each gift. I appreciated the validation that I somehow made an impact in someone's life...and I will always own that...the experience has shaped me...directed me to who I am and where I am today...and God willing, I will always know that...I don't need a trinket to remind me...that intersection of our lives has moved me down a path of a life well lived and loved...hopefully with many more miles to go...but now I hope the markers of that journey are not in things accumulated, but in the direction others go along their life's journey...that each encounter leaves someone happier, smarter, affirmed...a kind act, word or smile suffices to cement our connection in my being...but if you come over for coffee...fear not, I still have a lovely mug or china cup for you too!
I have had the same discussion with many people as of late...how do you downsize...how can you cleanse yourself of the things that you've owned for a lifetime? Won't you miss this or that? Won't you forget? For me, the answer is that although an item might bring to mind a memory...it doesn't own the memory...that has and always shall live in me. Bill and I have come to a point in our lives where we'd like to see our stuff build lives and memories for others.
As we sorted through our stuff, it became necessary to designate our piles...keep...donate...sell...recycle...and I did my research for each of these designations. One resource/outreach service that brought joy to our goal was HGRM in Acton. We were able to donate much of our furniture...all of which we offered to family first with no takers, wah, wah...to this organization that affords families transitioning from homeless shelters into new housing furniture and household goods. Clients of HGRM could "shop" for items that would make a new space their home...and I feel certain that the history and essence of a happy family that surrounds our stuff will fuel the memories of the new owners...and we find great comfort, happiness and purpose in that as we let go.
I'm looking around the dining room, where I've plunked down to write this post...and I see tulips in a vase I bought in Paris...my favorite vase...the only on I need. In my china cabinet, I see the Limoges dessert set that was my mother's and her mother's before her...I use it almost every day now...I have owned it for 26 years...but have only now started using it...living with it...some cute champagne flutes from Sayda...I use these to celebrate Champagne Thursday... a crystal bowl from my maid of honor...I use it as a side dish for dinner...every day! Many of the items I have around me, have been in my possession for a long time...but now, I use them...I live with them...they have new life as we embark on a new chapter of our lives...I guess what I am saying is...these are the things I need, and to some extent...they connect my history to my day to day life...spelling out more history I guess.
Now, just so you don't promote me to sainthood yet...with a few exceptions, most of the stuff that surrounds us now will not be moving to our next home! I'll keep the Limoges...and a few of the other fine things accumulated over the years...those things yearning to be unpacked to be used in our future lives...but after thirty two years, my husband and I are different creatures...we are older, wiser, snootier empty nesters...we do not need a serviceable couch ...I'd like something that says something about who we are NOW...I don't want the kitschy lamp set that we could just barely afford from JC Penney's 20 years ago...I want something that sets the stage for the next act...that details and reflects us...the new us...ok...what I am about to share is corny...but it seems appropriate...I guess this rental apartment on Beacon Hill is our chrysalis...and in a few months, we will transition into our new place surrounded by the things we want and need to live each day...but that highlight who we are, where we came from and most importantly...who we hope to be as we find new purpose and adventure in this stage of our lives!
Cheers!
Thursday, September 11, 2014
My Mine
As I was going through things that
had been long since packed away, I came across this poem, on mimeographed
paper, in a simple wooden frame. I think it is in Dad's handwriting, but my mom composed it...I cannot be sure.
It used to sit on the bookshelf in my room at 20 Kenneth Terrace in Stoneham,
Massachusetts…My parents gave it to me on the night before I went into first grade, when I turned over the last little
square of my favorite white blanket with the satin edging and satin dots
embroidered throughout its fleecy soft cloth....a trade or rite of passage perhaps...
I cannot tell you the last time I laid eyes on this poem or the tattered rag, but when I did find this poem among the many bits and pieces from my youth, I smiled, cried and felt my mother’s hug…
I cannot tell you the last time I laid eyes on this poem or the tattered rag, but when I did find this poem among the many bits and pieces from my youth, I smiled, cried and felt my mother’s hug…
“My Mine”
This tattered rag, all faded white,
Use to be my child’s delight.
She held it close around her head,
Thumb in mouth when she went to bed.
She called this bit of comfort “Mine”.
When it was near, all was fine.
But let the darn thing go astray,
We’d hunt and search for it all day.
The first we knew of her love divine,
Was her first word, and that was “Mine!”
She’d reach for it and held it near;
Next to Mama’s arms, ‘twas the thing most dear.
She kept that mine for six long years.
It saw her through all kinds of fears.
And year, by year, it wore away,
‘Til at last ‘twas just this rag of gray.
Now she’s a big girl, at least most of the time,
She’s given up much, most of all her dear “Mine”.
But sometimes when she’s sleeping, I still hear her
cry
And find her hand searching, a tear in her eye.
And when she gets married, I’ll give her that day,
A gift she’ll remember, all wrapped bright and gay.
And hope she’ll remember with babes of her own,
That a “Mine” is such comfort, if it’s a “Mine” of
your own.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
I am from Boston
I am from Boston. The tragedy yesterday hurts my heart…but I am from Boston and that means a lot.
I am from Boston. I live in Groton, but I am from Boston. I have noticed that many Massachusetts folks like me, when we travel and are asked where we are from…we say, “From Boston.” If the conversation continues, then there is clarification…a little town northwest of Boston. But in my heart, I am from Boston…not Massachusetts...not New England, Boston! We are on the brink of downsizing and guess where we hope to move…I am from Boston!
I grew up in a small town, 12 miles from the city. As early as 13 years old, my friends and I would get on the “T” at Oak Grove Station and head to the NE Aquarium or Quincy Hall Market Place…after all, I was from Boston…I love this accessible little city. My favorite place…Boston. I love that it is a renaissance city…a city with a continental flair. It is walkable…it oozes pride, history and a hometown feel. Boston isn’t pretentious or uppity…Boston is just very sure of who were are and where we’ve come from…we got good roots.
Boston Marathon…Project Bread Walk For Hunger…AIDS Walk…March of Dimes Walk for Babies…Boston Avon Walk For Breast Cancer…Boston Walk for Brain Cancer…MSPCA Angell Walk For Animals…Jimmy Fund Marathon Walk…
A couple of months ago, I was vacationing in Key West, enjoying some fried chicken at Sarabeth’s Restaurant. Out on the patio where seating was at a premium, enjoying the warm Florida wind, we people watched. Shortly after we sat down, a couple of Russian ex-pats seated rather close to us started talking about where they would next like to visit in the US. The woman stated she wanted to go to Boston. Her companion tried to talk her into NYC. I couldn’t help myself, I leaned over and said “I am from Boston…you should visit…it is such a lovely city.” When asked when I would recommend they visit, without hesitation I said April or October…April because of Patriots’ Day, the marathon, the swan boats, the Red Sox…October because it is Autumn and the city has a special energy after the dog days of summer…” The woman smiled and nodded and I realized all our meals were getting cold. So, I raised my glass of rose’ and asked them to join us in a toast to Boston. I am from Boston, I thought, and I smiled.
Freedom Trail…Bunker Hill…Paul Revere’s house…Old North Church…Faneuil Hall…the Custom’s House…Beacon Hill…Granary Burying Ground…Old South Meeting House…
“We are more thoroughly an enlightened people, with respect to our political interests, than perhaps any other under heaven. Every man among us reads, and is so easy in his circumstances as to have leisure for conversations of improvement and for acquiring information” Benjamin Franklin, Boston’s own, spells out a real truth about our city. We are a city of history, education, politics, philanthropy, and, we have our warts. Nowhere else I have admired and been inspired by the noble efforts, as outlined, than in Boston. Boston is one of those places where we own our history…sometimes we are embarrassed by our history and politics, but we never deny it. More importantly, we learn from it and we teach others the lessons we’ve learned. Tip O”Neill, Boston’s elder statesman and former Speaker of the House, once said, “All politics is local.” This is so true in Boston. It is local…it is personal…because Bostonians, and by our regional default, other New Englanders…we care a lot about who we are and where we come from. We are a world class city…with a unique small town feel. I’m from Boston.
Boston Red Sox… Boston Celtics… Boston Bruins… New England Patriots… Boston Garden...Fenway Park…NE Sports Hall of Fame…The Head of the Charles…
I am a Boston sports fan. I am a hom-ah! I have jerseys, caps and sweat shirts for each team. I love to go to games. I cheer and boo and yell at the ref. I sing the National Anthem. I love Boston’s pride…I cried when the curse was lifted…I was pumped when #17 went to the rafters at the Garden. I love Opening Day. The number 4 is my favorite number thanks to Bobby Orr. Boston fans are the greatest fans. We are knowledgeable, passionate and driven to love/hate relationships with our teams. Some followers can be real jerks though. A few years back, I was sitting in some awesome seats along the third base line at Fenway. It was raining, but the ballpark was filled. A few seats to my right, were some Tampa Bay Fans…enjoying the game. As the end of the eighth approached, and Sweet Caroline wasn’t so sweet, it was clear the Sox were gonna lose. You could feel it. The Rays fans were enjoying their team’s skill and nearby boo-birds and drunks decided to take the impending loss out on our visitors. A couple of loud mouthed broads started cursing at the Rays’ fans and their companions were posturing and threatening a beatin’. Stupid. I leaned over and said to the visitors, “This is Friendly Fenway…America’s most beloved ballpark…ignore them. They are not Boston. Boston is better than that! ” Something cool happened next. Other Red Sox fans started to chime in and tell the drunks to shut up…to get out of the park…and lo and behold, the peer pressure worked…that and security popped in on the scene and the offenders were escorted to applause and nah, nah, nah, nah, hey, hey, hey good bye! As the game ended, people reached out to congratulate the visiting fans…and we walked out humbled and peaceable. I am from Boston.
NE Aquarium…MFA…Boston Children’s Museum…Boston’s Museum of Science…Public Gardens…Boston Common…Symphony Hall…The Esplanade…
Boston is a cradle of life, passion, education, innovation, history and liberty. Her citizens live well, play hard and have passion for things that are good, important and meaningful. We are stoic and cool…but once the ice is broken you have a friend for life. No one lives and laughs with more zeal than those of us from Boston. One of my favorite symbols of the city are McCloskey’s Make Way For Ducklings. As a baby gift, I give that book to welcome the newborns. I love the statue…and I love the story of our little ducks in Boston…Mrs. Mallard leads the ducklings ashore and straight to the road in hopes of crossing to reach the Public Garden, but she has trouble crossing as the cars will not yield to her. Michael, the policeman who fed peanuts to the Mallards, stops traffic for the family to cross. Michael calls police headquarters and instructs them to send a police car to stop traffic along the route for the ducks. The ducks cross Storrow Drive, proceeding down Mount Vernon Street to Charles, where they waddle on toward the Garden. The people on the streets admire the family of ducks. When the family must cross Beacon to enter the Public Gardens, there are four policemen standing in the intersection stopping traffic to make way for the ducklings. Mr. Mallard meets up with his troop at the Public Garden. The Mallards decide to stay in the Garden and live happily ever after. I thought of that story yesterday as our first responders and those amazing volunteers rushed to help the wounded and frightened. We do what must be done. We are brave. We are giving…Boston is a city of purpose. I’m from Boston…and I love that dirty water…Boston you’re my home.
Thursday, March 7, 2013
Power of Prayer = Joy
For a few years now, I have had a crisis of religion. My Church has been experiencing growing pains...not wanting to move into the modern era as quickly as I would hope...not accepting responsibility for the institutional frailties of being a human construct while endeavoring to be omniscient…The Church hasn’t felt like MY Church for a while…but I still have hope. That being said, rest assured, I do not have a crisis in faith.
I believe in a higher power. I believe I am a creation and a part of creation. I also believe that I am invested in that creation…I am to care, engage and act to the best of my abilities for the good of creation.
A long time ago, my mother taught me to pray. She assured me God, Mary, Jesus and all the angels and Saints listen. She taught me that my prayers matter and that I shouldn’t feel disillusioned if my will and God’s will didn’t quite mesh. I needed to trust that the answers I seek and the answers I need might be different…and that is okay.
She also taught me that I am never alone…that God is with me, but if I felt too small or unworthy of His attention, He blessed me with a Guardian Angel. I thought this was great and I named my Guardian Angel, Fred.
I haven’t told many people about Fred; mostly because he is my angel. But, also because people who talk to angels can be viewed as a bit…um…weird. So, if you think me weird, that is on you. Fred helps me with that “serving creation objective”.
As a mother, I taught my daughters to pray. We pray in the moment at lot of times. For example, whenever we hear the sirens of emergency vehicles, we pray for the safety of all concerned…that the rescuers find strength and courage and the victims find hope and peace. When we see something beautiful in nature…we thank our Maker for the gift of that beauty. And when we find ourselves weak or at fault, we pray for humility, the grace to ask for forgiveness and the gift of patience.
I pray every day for people who have touched my life in some way, shape or form. I pray for strangers when I hear news of a challenge that faces them. I pray that God’s will be done and that all who are touched by this can find comfort, even if the answer isn’t what we expect. I also pray for the strength to keep praying.
Lately, I have been busy praying…some people know I am praying for them but many do not. I believe in the power of prayer and acts of faith. I prayed for us all that tragic day in Newtown, CT. I pray for my friend’s daughter who is battling cancer…and I pray for him…that he continue to have faith and strength during this battle. I pray for my friend and her family who are struggling with addiction. I pray for my children, that they find joy in each day and that each decision they make brings them happiness. I pray they find companions worthy of their goodness and love. I prayed for a neighbor who went overseas to do God’s work…that she discovers she is the answer to some young girls’ prayers. I pray for a mother who is struggling with depression and the estrangement with daughter and grandchild. I pray for our President. I pray for world peace. I pray for a long distant friend who had to make a very difficult decision about letting a beloved pet go to another home… I have a long list of prayers…I trust that God will answer these prayers for the good of His creation.
Over the weekend, a young man from Medford got lost skiing. I heard the story on the news and I said a silent prayer…God be with this boy…give him strength to return to his family. Bless those who are searching for him.
I also asked Fred to go and be with him. I prayed that my Guardian Angel keep him safe and stave off his fears. I believe in angels…and I hoped mine would take my prayers to this boy and his family. I send Fred on rescue missions all the time…
When I woke up on Tuesday, I tuned into the TV morning news and saw the distraught aunt of the missing boy, talking about her nephew…I prayed again…and a short time later…prayers were answered. I offered a prayer of thanksgiving…and I felt buoyed…I guess it was Fred. I immediately realized my prayer had been answered and I felt joy. I am glad God and I saw eye to eye on this one.
You may think I am off my nut, but this ritual…this practice of prayer…it makes me feel connected to you. I believe my prayers made a difference for this kid…his name is Nicholas Joy…I like to think that this is more than coincidence. Joy…it is my prayer for you.
I believe in a higher power. I believe I am a creation and a part of creation. I also believe that I am invested in that creation…I am to care, engage and act to the best of my abilities for the good of creation.
A long time ago, my mother taught me to pray. She assured me God, Mary, Jesus and all the angels and Saints listen. She taught me that my prayers matter and that I shouldn’t feel disillusioned if my will and God’s will didn’t quite mesh. I needed to trust that the answers I seek and the answers I need might be different…and that is okay.
She also taught me that I am never alone…that God is with me, but if I felt too small or unworthy of His attention, He blessed me with a Guardian Angel. I thought this was great and I named my Guardian Angel, Fred.
I haven’t told many people about Fred; mostly because he is my angel. But, also because people who talk to angels can be viewed as a bit…um…weird. So, if you think me weird, that is on you. Fred helps me with that “serving creation objective”.
As a mother, I taught my daughters to pray. We pray in the moment at lot of times. For example, whenever we hear the sirens of emergency vehicles, we pray for the safety of all concerned…that the rescuers find strength and courage and the victims find hope and peace. When we see something beautiful in nature…we thank our Maker for the gift of that beauty. And when we find ourselves weak or at fault, we pray for humility, the grace to ask for forgiveness and the gift of patience.
I pray every day for people who have touched my life in some way, shape or form. I pray for strangers when I hear news of a challenge that faces them. I pray that God’s will be done and that all who are touched by this can find comfort, even if the answer isn’t what we expect. I also pray for the strength to keep praying.
Lately, I have been busy praying…some people know I am praying for them but many do not. I believe in the power of prayer and acts of faith. I prayed for us all that tragic day in Newtown, CT. I pray for my friend’s daughter who is battling cancer…and I pray for him…that he continue to have faith and strength during this battle. I pray for my friend and her family who are struggling with addiction. I pray for my children, that they find joy in each day and that each decision they make brings them happiness. I pray they find companions worthy of their goodness and love. I prayed for a neighbor who went overseas to do God’s work…that she discovers she is the answer to some young girls’ prayers. I pray for a mother who is struggling with depression and the estrangement with daughter and grandchild. I pray for our President. I pray for world peace. I pray for a long distant friend who had to make a very difficult decision about letting a beloved pet go to another home… I have a long list of prayers…I trust that God will answer these prayers for the good of His creation.
Over the weekend, a young man from Medford got lost skiing. I heard the story on the news and I said a silent prayer…God be with this boy…give him strength to return to his family. Bless those who are searching for him.
I also asked Fred to go and be with him. I prayed that my Guardian Angel keep him safe and stave off his fears. I believe in angels…and I hoped mine would take my prayers to this boy and his family. I send Fred on rescue missions all the time…
When I woke up on Tuesday, I tuned into the TV morning news and saw the distraught aunt of the missing boy, talking about her nephew…I prayed again…and a short time later…prayers were answered. I offered a prayer of thanksgiving…and I felt buoyed…I guess it was Fred. I immediately realized my prayer had been answered and I felt joy. I am glad God and I saw eye to eye on this one.
You may think I am off my nut, but this ritual…this practice of prayer…it makes me feel connected to you. I believe my prayers made a difference for this kid…his name is Nicholas Joy…I like to think that this is more than coincidence. Joy…it is my prayer for you.
Thursday, January 10, 2013
Creatures of Habit
Happy New Year!
We are well into the New Year and slowly, I am getting my s#!+ together again. For the holidays, our nest filled up and as of today, one kid has departed, one remains and my daughter’s new boyfriend has roosted here for a while before they make the trek back to Baltimore for her final semester at college…yippee!
But, since December 16th, my life has been such a whirlwind; I just don’t feel quite right. I must admit with great guilt and anticipation…I want my empty nest back…just so I can get back to my routines. I cannot tell you how many times I have been late for stuff…or worse completely blanked about an appointment or two…because my routines have been rerouted for other people’s priorities, schedules and needs.
Someone once told me it takes 10 days to break a habit and 21 days to form a new one. So knowing this, perhaps you can understand my personal crazy at having my kids at home for the extended holiday vacation. Between holiday traditions, winter cravings and individual dietary desires, my diet has been assaulted but despite the barrage of processed foods, I have been pretty faithful to my healthy eating habits…as much as the holiday calendar has allowed, I have stuck to my workouts…but all other routines, habits and strategies seemed to have been usurped by ghosts of Christmas past.
Once a momma, always a momma…something happens to our (adult) children when they return to the nest…they yearn to be cared for and as Momma Bird, initially it is a great pleasure to comply…but after a few days and several mounds of stinky laundry parked before the dryer…something creeps in…For months out of the year, my children can feed and clothe themselves. They do laundry, wash dishes, make beds and put stuff away…but coming home to the place they have known for 13 years and parents they’ve known a lifetime…somehow they forget all this stuff. One child reverts to 12 years old and clamors for every family tradition to be crammed into every available moment she is here…hence her desire to have Mommy do it. The other strives for quality time with everyone…she’ll do any chore you ask…as long as she has company doing it… and of course you have to ask her to do something…Heck! I had children so I wouldn’t have to do chores!
I am a bit exhausted with all this juggling of needs, desires and probably the most difficult, expectations. Somewhere, somehow, my family has created the “Hallmark” expectation…every moment together filled with joy and happiness…birds chirping, cookies baking…and most times, we miss the mark…I am just happy we are together, healthy and comfortable in our own skin…but this artifice of home, sweet, perfect home, is very stressful. There have been days when, because my routines are interrupted or something else, like a hot flash or I am human…I get a wee bit grouchy…due to holiday scheduling, I missed a number of workouts and paid more than one price for having done so…I am back to three times a week …thank goodness….oops, digressed with too many phrases! Ok… But there were some moments when I thought my eyes would get stuck in the back of my head from rolling them so much…it is a defense mechanism so I won’t overreact to the dumbest things…be honest, you know what I mean. How many times can one go to the cupboard for a coffee cup to find it empty, turn around and see every mug, tea cup, travel mug and yes even lidded paper cups perched precariously in and around the sink…awaiting Mommy to deal with them? Let me tell you…three! After that, I started hiding clean mugs and let the rest of them contemplate just how much they wanted hot beverages! The one situation that really piqued my ire was, once the family realized that I stopped maid service when I turned 50, they pitched in to “clean” the kitchen but, they would leave serving spoons, baking dishes and various other sundries of common culinary usage on the kitchen table…because they didn’t know where that stuff belonged… as a mature, reasonable woman, I dealt with this the best way I knew how… I opened the bar cabinet, poured myself a little vodka and politely turned to them asking if they considered opening any one of the doors, drawers or containers about the kitchen and see what was contained therein…um, hello…those serving spoons we have been using for nearly 30 years and I have always kept in the silver ware drawer…yup, those…can go back there…the baking dish, which is a part of a “nesting” set…yup…it goes in the same drawer as the rest of them…the coffee mugs…go in the gall-dern cabinet over the coffee maker at the coffee bar…you know the one I custom designed 8 years ago when we redid the kitchen…and from whence you took that cup!! Grrrr…I am ok.
In the midst of the homecoming and holidays, we did hit a bit of a turning point. I was putting the finishing touches on a little book I have been working on for a while now. And there were times when I would ask for help or attempt to squirrel away time to attend to it and you’d think I’d run away…I did stake my claim to this as it is important to me…more important than watching NCIS re-runs….and once the family noted its importance to me, and the invitation to be a part of the process…we had some fun with final taste testing, photo shoots and the communal clapping when Mom sent off the draft to the printers.
It became clearer to me that sometimes, routines are situational…my adult children function quite capably in their adult lives…so much so that my husband and I beam with pride when they share their exploits and successes and buck up their confidence up when they hit an occasional snag…but coming “home”…it is all about returning to that routine which gives you comfort, strength and that “aaah” feeling.
So as January 2013 progresses and the nest becomes emptier, for a time…I will get back into my swing of things. Exercising regularly…dedicating time each day to writing and recipe development…moisturizing...you know, the little “me” things. And I will tackle my projects and those pesky chores…but down-sized chores….I can get back to laundry DAY as opposed to days…stuff like that…and I will lapse into my waiting routine…waiting for the kids to come visit again… however, after this nearly month long invasion, I will remind my girls of our favorite Ben Franklin quote…”Guests, like fish, start to stink after three days.” I had this understanding with my dad and never wore out a welcome by always prefacing my visit request by quoting old Ben… this lowered expectations and often left us wanting more…never wishing we had left sooner!
Please don’t get me wrong…I love my daughters fiercely…and am so blessed to have them in our lives…it is just time for us to enjoy new phases in our lives…making new routines which can be challenging for us all but despite the challenges, are necessary. Rest assured the one constant is our love…this will never change.
Thanks for reading…feel free to share your routines and empty nest stories…I’d love to know I am not alone in this crazy phase!!
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