And Now It's Here

So even though I’ve been talking about it for years, I think I was in total denial that I would really have to sell the house and move.

But, at last, the time has come.

If all goes well, by tomorrow I will have a firm offer…and there will be no turning back.

I suppose that when the only way you have to go is forward, there’s at least a certainty of direction.

And scariness.
 
And moments when you feel you are hyperventilating. 

And racing thoughts, and very little calmness, and hours of laying in bed, looking up at the ceiling, and wondering if the decisions you are making are the right ones. (And in my case, needing to feel as though the decisions are right not only for me, but to ensure that Dad will continue to be cared for and that I will have been a wise steward with his assets.)

Big decisions. Grown up decision. (You see, I was never a Wendy Darling…I was always a Peter Pan. Never, ever wanted to grow up. Unfortunately, you rarely have a say in that. It just happens.)

So now pictures of my living room and bathrooms and bedrooms are on display on the internet for all and sundry to peruse.

I should be grateful. The house had only been listed for about 24 hours and already there was an offer. But before I found out about this, I had gone home knowing that there had been people in the house, looking it over. It was a very unsettling feeling…I didn’t like to think of people wandering through the rooms - poking through closets, openings drawers and cupboards - JUDGING me (the house, yes – but ME, too). So I decided to walk through, as though I were looking at it as a prospective buyer.

It actually depressed me. There are so many things that I would change (improve), if only I had the money. Cosmetic things like replacing vinyl flooring, or all new blinds in the windows, or repainting the kitchen cabinets, or pouring a new (uncracked) driveway. 

For years I’ve wanted to turn the concrete slab to the west (that had once been the parking spot for Dad’s pickup) into a covered patio, with a lovely trellised gate and stepping stones and a picnic table…but again, if only there had been money.

I go around now, looking into rooms, stepping outside into the backyard to look up at the stars and the moon…and realizing that very soon I will be gone and those rooms will be empty – and then quickly filled with someone else’s furniture, someone else’s STUFF and someone else will be looking at the mountains shining in the moonlight from under the apple tree, or curled up with a book in front of the fireplace on a snowy afternoon. And my throat tightens and my vision blurs…because despite the worry about maintenance problems, and the fact that it IS a very large house for a single lady…and there are SO many stairs (and invariably wherever you are in the house, the thing you want is as far away from you as is physically possible) this is home. And has been for almost twenty years. It’s the longest I’ve ever lived anywhere. It was the last home my mother lived in…and my father, come to think of it. 

So many things happened here. 

And leaving will close a chapter of my life forever.

I'm Dreaming of a Priceless Christmas

I’ve been watching a lot of television lately – must be the winter “veggies” settling in already. And so I’m also (unfortunately) watching a lot of advertisements. Now because of my situation I’m making a concerted effort not to let the avalanche of holiday commercials turn me into an emotional wreck (like they usually do). And because of this effort I’m not “feeling” the commercials, I’m just viewing them.

And I have to admit, once you remove the sentimental business, the ads are disturbing.

Now I know the economy has been just plain awful, and I’m certainly not against stimulating it…but I watched those news videos from Black Friday and I’m pretty sure that the woman who slugged her fellow shoppers in the face to get at the two dollar waffle iron wasn’t really doing much for the gross national product.

Shoppers were mashed, squished, stomped, elbowed, stampeded, shoved, pummeled and pepper-sprayed. People camped out in sub-zero temperatures to be the very first shopper in the door at 5:00 a.m. or 2:00 a.m. or midnight. Some people even abandoned Thanksgiving altogether to spend their family holiday on a quest for the best bargains available.

I know it’s a cliché to remind everyone about the real “reason for the season,” but I can’t help considering that phrase and what it really, really means…and comparing it to the event that started all of this.

Mary and Joseph were poor. I mean poor. And because of Mary’s pregnancy their trip from Nazareth to Bethlehem took longer than they had anticipated. When they got there they discovered every available space in every available lodging was already taken. They found room in a stable...with livestock.

(Imagine you’re headed for your alma mater’s homecoming weekend and you have car trouble…when you get to town the only place available is a garage. Nice, eh?)

I just have trouble envisioning Joseph sneaking out to Zales, while Mary was in labor, to get her the latest celebrity-designed diamond pendant. And I’m fairly certain that Mary, in between contractions, wasn’t frantically surfing the ‘net to find the best deal on Black & Decker’s latest super-saw for her hubby. (Although I’m sure Joseph could have put that present to good use.)

And the very first bed that the Savior and Redeemer of the world slept in was not an Ethan Allen cherry-wood crib with coordinating linens by Martha Stewart, with a Fisher-Price mobile hanging over it from Toys “R” Us and a hand-painted tree mural dotted with twinkle lights on the wall behind it. It was a feed box. Full of straw.

Even thinking along those lines seems ludicrous, doesn’t it? And yet all you hear about is finding “the perfect present for her,” or “the ideal gift for Dad,” or making sure your kids have the latest X-box game. As if the not finding of these things will make Christmas somehow less meaningful.

What is meaningful about Christmas is love. Plain and simple. Pure and unadorned. We celebrate at all because a Child was born to bring salvation to a world enslaved by sin. It was the supreme gift of love. And it changed the world forever.

Perhaps if we really thought about that…stopped to remember the why and wherefore of Christmas, there would be less pushing and shoving, less crass commercialism…more comfort and joy.

More love.

I’m not suggesting that anyone slap a “Boycott Retail” bumper sticker on their car or avoid the mall as if there really were zombies hiding in the food court. But I’m suggesting we remember that it’s not what’s in the box, all wrapped up in foil and ribbon and tinsel, that matters…it’s what is in the heart of the giver. And when we remember that, then the smallest gifts of love can have the most meaning…and Christmas will become again what it once was…what it was meant to be... 

Distractable Me

I’ve told this to people for years, but apparently I really do have the attention span of a walnut. Maybe it’s an age thing…I don’t know. I am, after all, turning the BIG SIX-OH in two months. (Good grief, when the heck did that happen??? Last time I checked I was fifteen…)

In my last post I mentioned that I’d gotten hooked on Facebook and happily accepted it as a second home after the pirate messageboard thing died. I can chalk my recent declining interest up to the changes that the FB Geeks (with obviously nothing else to do) have made to the site. I don’t like it…I’ve tried to get used to it…but I’m not having as much fun there anymore.

Then I mentioned that I’d become enamored with a site called Pinterest. (Notice the Pinterest “blinkies” on the blog?? Okay, so pin me...or follow me, or something! D'you think those blinkies are there for decoration??)

Wow…I just couldn’t get enough of that site. But I’ve noticed the last couple of days that my interest in Pinterest (don’t you like the way that rolls off the tongue?) is also waning. (Maybe it’s just that I see the same old stuff all the time. I suppose that I should feel validated that the stuff I like is also the stuff that a lot of other people like…but truth be told, I'm finding myself kind of bored at seeing nothing but recycled pallet furniture, burlap wreaths and table runners, mason jar-whatevers and dozens of breathtaking, beautifully designed bedrooms and dining rooms and living rooms…well, maybe not bored but sated might be a better term.) And while I did get some really cool ideas for the house, I’m not on Pinterest as much as I was.

(I’m sure my boss would see that as a good thing.)

Hmm…I wonder if I’ve got Early-Onset Alzheimers.

That…or maybe I just need a vacation. (One of my co-workers recently (and pointedly) mentioned something called “emotional burnout” to me...whatever that is…)

However I am, indeed, planning on taking some time off this month. There are several urgent reasons to do this: 1) I will lose about sixty hours of vacation if I don’t take it before the end of the year; and 2) there are “house things” that need done. The flower beds need to be winterized. Ditto the house. The furnace/swamp cooler man is coming in a couple of weeks. And I’m seriously thinking of hiring a pest control company to do a “black widow sweep,” because I do not want to spend the winter cocooned with a colony of husband-devouring arachnids with chips on their shoulders because I’ve already dispatched several of their number.

I also need to figure out something to do with the panel of wallpaper that the cat has used as a scratching post. Do I just plaster more wallpaper over it? Will it look funny because it's newer? Do I remove all the wallpaper and paint the lower wall a darker blue? (These are the burning questions that keep me up at night.) Additionally, one full bathroom needs repainting, and the ceiling of another does, as well. Mini-blinds need cleaned (badly, I might add), and I’m thinking about (finally!) relocating my computer from the basement to the office on the top floor.

It makes me tired just thinking about it...

I would love to spend that week and a half of vacation lazing on a beach in Exuma with my girlfriends, waiting for Raul the pool boy to bring me my virgin colada…but the reality is I’ll be spending my vacation with people like Ms. Swiffer, Murphy and his Wood Soap, Mrs. Libman and Mr. Clean.