Living in the cottage

My work crew

I have the most cozy, comfortable new home you can imagine, small yet with the feeling of space. The movers came about 12:30 yesterday, and it took them less than two hours.  Then my family went to work, forbidding me to come out here. When they allowed me, about six, I walked into a fully decorated space—furniture right where I had envisioned it, bookcase full of books, pictures hung---that part was really neat because pictures in new spaces looked like new art. Some people said they’d never seen this or that piece before, and I had to tell them where they’d hung in the house. I'm disappointed because I looked forward to showing them off.
     I would show you pictures but my computer is not cooperating, and I'm frustrated. Maybe tomorrow, if the gods are aligned.
     Almost as soon as I was in the new space, people began to arrive. Actually, my brother and sister-in-law were already here, sitting in my new living area. We had a full house for a while, laughing, talking exclaiming about how wonderful everything looked.

My brother and sister-in-law, waiting for the party

in the living area

For my first night in the cottage I had a guard troop—an eleven-year-old, ten-year-old, and nine-year old. I went to sleep to the blessed sound of children’s chatter and woke to it this morning. In the middle of the night, I woke to silence.

Today Jordan and Christian spent the day coping—or trying to—with the mess inside the house, much of it stuff I’d left behind. People kept bringing me boxes from the kitchen—cookware, glasses, canned goods, etc. I sent a few items back, and my sons put the others in place. Decisions: like, I don’t need a full set of china—so most of it went to a high shelf I can’t reach and four plates, etc. down where I can reach them. Jamiie organized the kitchen while Colin shimmed the bookcase which tilted forward alarmingly, put up hooks in my closet, and such.

I have fancy stuff too—efficiency HVAC unit that I can’t remember how it works but I know it takes as much energy as a light bulb and keeps the cottage at a really comfortable temperature. And then there’s the bidet, which everyone, particularly the kids, have discovered with delight. Thanks to my brother, who said some time ago, “I am determined you will have a bidet, and I am determined you will like it.” He was right.

It will take time to settle in and fit everything in, but it will shake down. The basic work is done. Neighbor Jay came in for happy hour tonight and said it looked like I’d been here forever. Great compliment.

Moving is getting exciting

A friend once took me through the house she was thinking of buying. It was a wreck, with fast food containers thrown in a corner, an awkward arrangement of rooms, you name it. The next time she took me through it, after she’d bought it and remodeled it, it was an absolutely charming cottage with Saltillo tiles, built-in bookcases, French doors, and a functional kitchen. Of course, it was spotless-trash long since gone.

I don’t have that vision, that ability to look at a space and see what it could be. I’ve been arranging the cottage in my mind for weeks but I won’t know what works and what doesn’t until I actually see furniture in it. Jordan, bless her, measured all the furniture and then took me out there to measure the space. I took in everything she said—mostly that my bed is really too big for the space—but I couldn’t envision it. I’ll have to wait till Saturday, which is moving day.

Black Tie Movers are coming at one o’clock. Google them, and you’ll see two rows of young men in white shirts and black ties. Great marketing ploy. I had envisioned sitting in the cottage and regally directing them to put this here and that there. No such luck. I am to nap, while Jordan directs them, and I am not allowed out there until happy hour. I guess in a way it’s a relief—I’ll be surprised by the (semi-) finished product, and we’ll move on from there to see what fits and what doesn’t. I will have one thing that is a great luxury for me—a California-style closet. The closet is spacious, and the built-ins went in today-a marvel of convenience.  I can’t wait to get things in there.

Meantime there’s a lot of work to be done. Profound thanks to Sue Lyon Boggs and Teddy Springfield, who have fed us several meals and helped pack. The other day Teddy packed boxes and boxes of books—and brought the boxes—and today they both arrived with boxes, wrapping paper for pictures, and tape. When they got through, my dressers were empty and my office and bedroom walls bare. Great friends.

And to others who have brought meals. Last night three of my close friends brought supper—a super spinach dip, chicken tetrazzini, and brownies with whipped cream and fresh raspberries. We had a jolly dinner party in the midst of chaos.

I am, as I’m always aware, so blessed by family and friends. And looking forward to having my family, or most of them, here this weekend. Moving is traumatic, now way around that, but we’re making this as smooth as possible.

Blogging and other matters

I haven’t blogged much this week because as I warned earlier I didn’t have that much to say and because brush fires connected to remodeling kept demanding my attention. For instance, we played musical refrigerators—everything inside went either to the apt. refrigerator that Jordan moved into the kitchen or to the new one in the cottage. Jordan and Christian had picked out a huge, fancy fridge, and it was delivered. My granddaughter transferred all the stuff from the small unit to the new one, but I didn’t get things from outside until last night—mayonnaise for example, which is to me a staple of existence.

Another morning, before ten, I greeted the dog groomer, the cleaning lady, an AT&T tech who was keeping an appointment that was cancelled, and the contractors who wanted to talk about window treatments—I am still out to lunch on that but have done some investigating. Pleated shades are expensive, especially since no two windows outside are standard size or even the same size—I need custom made.

I did write a lengthy blog last night, hit a button, and it disappeared. Too tired to reconstruct it. You really didn’t miss much--it was trivia. Part of it though was about the second night Jamie and Edie were here--we picked up Betty, my Wed. night dinner companion, and went to Bravo—a contemporary Italian food chain. Had a jolly time, including my recounting sitting in the car while Jamie and Eden loaded the wheelchair into the trunk. Jamie said, far too loudly, “I know. But she’s your grandmother and you’ll just have to put up with it.” Eden blushed furiously and I told her I knew she hadn’t said anything—her father’s idea of a joke. He kept us laughing through dinner. Jamie is forever my prankster.

Today I’m home working, while Jordan and Christian have enlisted friends, a Pod, and a U-Haul to empty their house. For Fort Worth in August, it’s a lovely day—in the 80s and off-and-on gentle showers. However, if you’re moving furniture, the rain is not so lovely.

We expect next weekend to be when we do the bulk of moving my stuff to the cottage. All my kids will be here—great reason for a family get-together. And they all sound anxious to help. The cottage is painted, although it may need a second coat, and according to all reports, looks lovely.

On a non-moving note, I’ve had the Olympics on but muted most of the time. Interesting to see how many of the athletes, men and women, sport large tattoo. Good for them. I am far less enthusiastic about the language on Facebook from Clinton and Obama haters—makes me realize that the level of civility in this country has dropped into a great abyss. I’ve taken to scolding. And when someone directly challenges me, I respond.

Busy this morning explaining to knuckleheads why Trump is in Baton Rouge and President Obama is not. The president went along with the governor’s request to stay away until next week, when more security personnel could be pulled from helping citizens to protect visiting dignitaries. Trump ignored it and went for a 49-second photo op; Obama agreed to abide by the request and will go next week. Probably won’t bring any Play-doh with him either.

Alter household trivia

I cannot fathom where August has gone, but I am much aware that summer is winding down. One sign: Jacob came home from camp today. Tired but ecstatically happy. He wants to keep going back until he can be a counselor—which I figure is at least eight years away.

I have seven grandchildren, and I love and adore them all equally, but Jacob is the one who has practically grown up in my house, with three adults focused on him Of course we felt a hole in our lives when he was at camp. Jordan looked positively radiant when she brought him home this afternoon—she and Christian had gone to get him and witness the end of camp ceremonies, which meant an early start—she got up at 5:45—and a long day. But she was so glad to have him home and so glad to show him his room, which she had worked long and hard on. It was once my guest room; then we put his bunk beds in, but it was still the room where she dumped everything that she wasn’t ready to deal with from the two houses. The room was her project this week.

Jacob loved his room, complete with golf clubs, hoverboard and all his goodies, and vowed he’s going to keep it that way. I don’t know about that, but I’m glad to have him home.

I’ve wondered about how Sophie would adjust to the change in our living circumstances. She’s five years old now, and over those years I’ve gone back and forth on whether she needed a companion dog or not. I’d about decided she was so ensconced in her position as queen bee that introducing a new dog would not go well. Color me wrong. When the Burton’s two dogs came to live with us, she accepted them as long as they recognized her superior position. They, being passive Cavalier King Charles Spaniels, acquiesced to that, and Sophie loves leading the pack to go potty, eat, whatever. She still sleeps on my bed most of the night, but morning finds her barking at Jordan to go out.

She also wants to make sure the Cavaliers don’t get more attention than she does, so she barges her way in to laps, beds, whatever. I wonder if she’ll be lonely when we move to the cottage, which looks like it’s about two weeks away.

You have to look hard to distinguish three dogs, but Sophie is in the forefront of course,

as befits her station in life

So exciting to anticipate the move. I’ve made a list of heavy pieces that movers need to take. One small step forward.

A big right turn in my life

I turned a big corner today. My nine-year-old grandson came in early for school, and his mom said he had something to tell me.

“I’m looking at my new house,” he said with a huge grin.

When I asked if he was pleased, he said, “Yes, ma’am.”

So I guess that makes it official: I’m moving to the guest apartment, once we get it remodeled and a kitchenette added, and Jacob and his parents are moving into the main house—probably it will take us a year to get it all done, but we have great plans.

If you follow this blog, you will know I’ve had increased mobility problems, now walk with a cane all the time, and have made an arrangement with a neighbor to go with me on errands. All this has occupied a lot of my time, particularly my “worry” time. In addition, I have known this big move was coming for a while. Last Friday I woke up with the clear thought that I should move into the apartment, not Jordan and Christian who planned to use it as a master bedroom suite. All this has and will continue to keep me distracted. Probably the turmoil in my life is why I sometimes feel I should play pin the tail on the donkey to see which of several projects I complete. So far, the result has been that I done precious little except to start two new projects, about 500 words each—a long, long way from a completed book.

My children are anxious to be reassured that I don’t feel like the little old lady being shoved out to the back house—I guess we’re going to call it the cottage. In truth, I’m kind of excited about it. I mostly live in my office (which I’ll keep at least at first), the kitchen and my bedroom. The living room is mostly used for happy hour, and the dining room for small dinner parties, to which the Burtons are included. So not much will change—we will entertain together, though I have told some friends they’ll have to learn to open the electronic gate and come down the driveway to me. I expect I’ll eat supper in the main house and maybe lunch.

Today I announced I want the sheets that are on the double bunk beds out there—blue and yellow plaid and pattern, mixed. That’s going to be my color scheme. The bunk beds will come inside for Jacob, who said, “I can start bringing stuff over here.” We assured him it was a little early.

In many ways—the move, the mobility problems, the uncertainty about writing—seem signs of aging. Believe me, I’ve thought of that often. But I prefer not to see them that way. I heard the architect mention ramps, and I whirled and said, “I’m not in a wheelchair. And I intend to get better, not worse.” I think that’s how I feel about turning this corner in my life—it’s going to make a lot of things better.

A writing friend chooses a word for her life each year. I forget what 2015 was, but for 2016 she chose “fruition.” I asked if I could borrow it, because I think a lot of good things will come to fruition in the coming year.

Thanks for hanging in there with me.

Sanity...or close toit

My sanity has returned to a degree--I am not going to move. Fascinating as the structure is that grabbed my imagination, it's not for me. I crunched the numbers today and it would take most of my nest egg, even if I sold this house. At my age I'm not willing to live without a financial safety net, and I'm lucky to have it. Plus it would need work to adapt it to my needs...and those of Sophie. It is not completely fenced, has no covered parking,etc. And I really don't need a two-story house when I reach my dotage. Plus I'm not sure I wouldn't feel rather alone and rattling around in 3500 square feet--twice the footage I have now. And friends and neighbors might not drop by as they do now. Seven of us had dinner on the deck the other night--something that wouldn't work in the grocery store-turned-house. I do find that a picturesque idea though--converting an early-twentieth-century store..
On the plus side, I have a perfect situations where I am now and a house that I really do love. It's suited to my needs--garage, perfect back yard for Sophie, good neighbors, across the street from Jacob's school for three more years. I may use a fraction of the money I'd spend to do some sprucing up to my house. But I've been sprucing up all along. Not sure what I'll do next.
I am grateful that my children did not scoff but encouraged this fantasy of mine. They seemed to think if I wanted to do t, I could. But the idea of cleaning out my house, especially within thirty days, does intimidate me. I'm sort of pleased that I even had the energy and imagination to think seriously about moving.

So calm, rational thinking prevails. But it sure was fun to think of entertaining in that great room. I think that's something I've always wanted--a house with a great room. Perhaps it's because I love having company.
This house will be open Sunday, and I'll go see it. But I'm comfortable in my soul with my decision.
If I have the energy to move, I'd be better served using it to write!

Help keep me sane!

I love my house. I've lived in it 21 years and spent most of those years doing small updating things. I've about got it like I want it now, though son-in-law Christian says it needs updating before I consider selling it. It's just the right size for me, with a guest house for the kids. I've got wonderful neighbors nearby to whom I'm close. It takes me one minute to get to Jacob's school. I've sworn I will never move out of this house--couldn't bear to clean it out. My kids will have to deal with an attic full that I've moved from house to house plus what I've accumulated here. I am, in short, a happy camper.
So why am I even thinking about moving? Because I fell in love with a house I saw on the internet. It's terribly impractical, out of my price range (though I could do it), twice as big as this house, about half a mile way from my neighbors and the school. I'd have to do some things to it--like fence a safe place for Sophie, install an electric gate. But it's gorgeous inside, very open floor plan, updated kitchen with gas stove, xeriscaping all around, secluded garden with no grass, nice patio.
When Christian looked at it, he said, "It looks like an office building." Jamie said, "If it was in Dallas, I'd buy it and move my office there." Truth is that it was built in 1912 as a grocery store. You'd never know from the outside, but it's a beautiful home inside.
I sent the website to Jamie, expecting him to say, "Mom, you can't be serious." Instead he said, "I love it. I'll come to Fort Worth this week, and we'll look at it." Big help he is.
There are so many reasons I will not move: money, age (do I really have the energy--I've spent this week thinking how tired I am but it was a bad week), things I'd miss, people I'd miss--would they still stop in for happy house? Come for Sunday supper? Oh, and it's two-story with no ground-floor bedroom--let's be realistic. I'm seventy-five years old. Many of my friends are talking about assisted living, and I'm talking about moving to a huge, two-story house?.
On the other hand, maybe moving would energize me, set me off in a new direction, give me a new life. I've long said I didn't want to sit still and grow old. This might give me a real boost--do I need one? I'm sort of pleased that I even have the energy to contemplate it.

Supper and suspended animation

The movers came today and packed up Elizabeth's apartment. She is out there with one bed, two straight chairs, a refrigerator and a microwave. I urged her to come in to read, work on her computer, anything but to be in such a bare, depressing space. She hasn't yet, though she spent some of the afternoon inside, and together we helped Jacob think of rhyming words for his spelling list. He is so enamored of her that he looked to her for every word, and when I ventured something he'd ask her to confirm it. I finally demanded, "Why are you looking at her? I'm the one with a Ph.D." and we all collapsed in giggles. Come now, what can you think of that rhymes with whiskers?
I'm not sure the impact of her leaving has hit him and he will be bereft. The first thing every day when he comes home from school, he rushes out to see Elizabeth. Sophie knows. She sits by Elizabeth's side and stares at her. Funny how dogs can sense these things. Sophie had a high old morning watching the movers at work and one of her favorite people, Greg the lawn guy/neighborfriend, came to say goodbye to Elizabeth.
Tonight we had dinner together and both realized it was our "last meal"--tomorrow night I have class and she has a happy hour with our neighbors, to which of course I'm invited. I said it would probably be going when I get home at 8:30 and she agreed. But tonight we had our favorite meal--salmon cakes. Elizabeth makes them with egg, almond flour (gluten free), salt and pepper--and that's it. I usually add onion, Worcestershire, and dry mustard--but these are so good I think the seasonings are superfluous. My mom taught me to make croquettes with cracker crumbs and then press crumbs into them for a coating. She also taught me to shape them like logs. I think I'll continue to use cracker crumbs but not coat the cakes--the crumbs don't stay on and they tend to burn. And I'll make patties, not logs. Much easier. A cooking lesson from Elizabeth.
We rounded out our meal with asparagus, a bit of leftover cantaloupe, and raspberries, which I ordinarily hide in the back of the fridge and don't share with anyone. Elizabeth knew it was a special occasion. The plates were so pretty we couldn't resist a picture.
I told Elizabeth she'd have to leave something behind to insure that she'd return. So far, she's left a hula hoop (forgot to ask the movers to take it) and a rickety laundry rack which she didn't think would survive the trip. I told her that wasn't exactly what I had in mind, but she's also leaving a cute little metal pink chair. If I put a plant on it. I'll keep it in front of the apartment, with a plant on it.
We live in suspended animation. I finally told her last night that I would be glad when she's gone (she'll spend Friday night with her family and fly out Saturday) simply because the anticipation will be over and her leaving will be a fait accompli. She is anxious for Saturday and her new life because, as she says, "Let's get this show on the road." It's all a funny learning experience.
Tomorrow she and neighbor Jay (the good-looking one) will move my furniture from storage back into the apartment, so it will be less bare. Dilemma: do I want to keep those double bunk beds? They proved to be most unwieldy and they take up a lot of space. As Elizabeth kept repeating, I could do all kinds of things out there if I didn't have the bunk beds. Guess I'll poll my children and see what they think.
Life moves on, and changes are good though they may seem hard at the time. As my mom always said, all things work to some good end. But, then, Mom had a lot of sayings, like "The mills of the gods grind extremely slowly but they grind extremely fine." Go figure!