I spent most of the day in the garage. And most of yesterday. I hate the garage. It smells like oil and cat pee and everything is covered with the residue of something I don't want to touch (don't get me wrong, I've touched a lot of disgusting things, sometimes willingly, and not complained too much- so it isn't a wussiness issue).
Jeremy and I spent quality time in the garage today. He, whistling and sorting through 25 pounds of accumulated screw drivers, and me trying not to complain about the screwdriver collection or the whistling. I am spiteful regarding the screw drivers because we can never find one when we need it. Apparently they are only visible to the naked eye when no one needs them, so we go to the store and buy more screw drivers to intermingle with the lost screwdrivers and then the kids throw them all over the garage and the cats pee on them and I get angry. Or maybe bitter? As for the whistling, I'm pretty sure he only does it when he knows I'm on the edge of a hormonal abyss (otherwise known as middle aged motherhood) and trying not to throw things covered in cat pee at him. Sigh. Deep breath.
Today, we managed to clean out most of the garage in preparation to have a garage sale. I've stated for the last 5 years that I never want to have a garage sale again, and in the last 5 years have managed to have about 5 sales. It is the only way I ever get the garage cleaned out, and I use it as an opportunity to count the screwdrivers which disappear in between garage cleanings. The kids use it as an opportunity to count cash and argue about who should get the money for the family gifts I bought last year at Christmas.
After we almost finished cleaning out the garage, we drove to Jeremy's dad's house to help him clean up his garage. We had a lot of practice at that point and his garage didn't smell like cat pee, so it went quickly and we loaded up the couple of things (van full) he wanted to get rid of. Tomorrow my mom is coming to help price things and get them set out in some sort of friendly marketing display so that the dozen or so people that show up bright and early Thursday morning can peruse items and make low ball offers.
I won't get a chance to go to the new old house until Saturday, and I'm already feeling the tug of missing it. I think that is a good sign. I feel like I belong there instead of here. I can think of nothing I'd rather be doing then listening to the 1920's playlist I made for the house and painting the slightly tilted walls a second coat of happy colored paint. Well, nothing I'd rather do except maybe throw things in the garage. There is always tomorrow....
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
The Middle Place
The rain against my window confirms my decision that I would take a break from the new house today. I need to focus a little energy on my existing home and the laundry, dishes, and clutter that have taken a foothold in the chaos that seems to grip this living in-between place.
I think I have lived much of my adult life in a state of in-between, counting days not in hash marks on the calendar or in memories created, but checking off hours according to some internal clock that is only focused on the next step. Due dates, move in days, birthdays, paydays, there always seems to be something tugging at that place of calm and dragging me into a sense of frenzied anticipation. I've know it for a long time, and attempted to live in the moment, savor the laughter and the simplicity of just being, but deep down inside I feel the constant tug of just finishing the latest project, or packing for the trip, or arriving at that much anticipated event. The let down never ends, because in this way of living, you are never finished. I don't want to live like this anymore.
I planted a garden after I moved here, and over the course of many years it has become a huge masterful statement of how the beauty of nature and the love of a human can combine into something magnificent. I will be leaving it behind, but plan to haul up cuttings and bucket-full's of perennials to the new house where the ground is just waiting to be violated by my itchy green thumbs. The garden is my place of zen. I visually reap in the bounty of my efforts, watching the plants struggle to take hold and then burst from the earth. I can sit in the garden for hours, blissfully weeding the bad from the good, knowing exactly how much I have completed and how much I have left to do. It cycles with me, soaking up the cavern of gray rainwater on days of rest, then using that store of exuberance when the sun blinds as you open your eyes to the miracle of light and life.
It is in those garden minutes that I am not hurried, I am not haunted by the frantic pace that I have set for myself and the never ending to-do list that ticks away the moments that should be spent living. I am hoping to find more of the garden zen place in my day to day life. It isn't just about stopping to smell the roses, because I do that. It is about living in the moment and being grateful for the time that I have to stop and appreciate the world around me. I need to let the internal clock go. I need to quit judging my days by what tasks I have completed, and assess them instead by how much laughter I've shared and how many memories I will be a part of. No one would want their epitaph to read "She got a lot done." Today, I am going to live in the middle place rather then focus on the goal, because the middle place is where we spend most of our lives, and if we can be content there- I think the joy will follow. More then anything, I want to the new house to be a place of calm, of laughter, and a guardian of joy for our family and all who visit there. I guess that is what will make it our home.
I think I have lived much of my adult life in a state of in-between, counting days not in hash marks on the calendar or in memories created, but checking off hours according to some internal clock that is only focused on the next step. Due dates, move in days, birthdays, paydays, there always seems to be something tugging at that place of calm and dragging me into a sense of frenzied anticipation. I've know it for a long time, and attempted to live in the moment, savor the laughter and the simplicity of just being, but deep down inside I feel the constant tug of just finishing the latest project, or packing for the trip, or arriving at that much anticipated event. The let down never ends, because in this way of living, you are never finished. I don't want to live like this anymore.
I planted a garden after I moved here, and over the course of many years it has become a huge masterful statement of how the beauty of nature and the love of a human can combine into something magnificent. I will be leaving it behind, but plan to haul up cuttings and bucket-full's of perennials to the new house where the ground is just waiting to be violated by my itchy green thumbs. The garden is my place of zen. I visually reap in the bounty of my efforts, watching the plants struggle to take hold and then burst from the earth. I can sit in the garden for hours, blissfully weeding the bad from the good, knowing exactly how much I have completed and how much I have left to do. It cycles with me, soaking up the cavern of gray rainwater on days of rest, then using that store of exuberance when the sun blinds as you open your eyes to the miracle of light and life.
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| My garden, Summer 2011 |
It is in those garden minutes that I am not hurried, I am not haunted by the frantic pace that I have set for myself and the never ending to-do list that ticks away the moments that should be spent living. I am hoping to find more of the garden zen place in my day to day life. It isn't just about stopping to smell the roses, because I do that. It is about living in the moment and being grateful for the time that I have to stop and appreciate the world around me. I need to let the internal clock go. I need to quit judging my days by what tasks I have completed, and assess them instead by how much laughter I've shared and how many memories I will be a part of. No one would want their epitaph to read "She got a lot done." Today, I am going to live in the middle place rather then focus on the goal, because the middle place is where we spend most of our lives, and if we can be content there- I think the joy will follow. More then anything, I want to the new house to be a place of calm, of laughter, and a guardian of joy for our family and all who visit there. I guess that is what will make it our home.
Monday, May 7, 2012
Week-end Catch Up
Once again I'm covered in paint. I'm not sure if that is a sign of my lack of painting skills, or my die hard dedication to the task at hand. We've managed to rip everything out of the kitchen, down to the (newly discovered) tri-colored wood floor. We've Spackled the walls and primed them, and now are just waiting for the tell all bid from the contractor so we know if we will be installing the window- or he will. Once the window is in (easy peasy-righto?), we can install the cabinets that are nicely lined up in my current homes garage- sucking up much needed space. Sigh. Seems as though every task from here on out involves a multitude of other tasks that are somehow attached to it. So, tonight, I will focus on all of the wonderful things we've already managed to do- while taking a bubble bath and scrubbing off my paint covered body. I may even push the limits and have a glass of wine.
The entire front room of the house is primed, ceiling looks perfect, crown molding is amazing. Love it. I started in with the lovely spicy color I'd decided would make it feel warm and cozy on a cold winters night. It looked like baby poo mixed with clay. I promptly re-primed it, and am now at a loss. White is nice?
Zoe finished priming her room. She then started to paint her walk in closet with the ultimate pinkest paint I've ever seen. The guy at Sherwin Williams knew it was super pink but still gasped in surprise when he popped open the lid. I tried and tried to talk her out of it, and was terrified by how hard it was going to be to cover over the hideous pink of it. Of course, in the end, I love it. It is amazing happy pink and looks pretty gorgeous in the walk in- I can't wait to get better lighting and a couple of mirrors in there!
My mom is still busy painting in the boys room. It's such a huge space. I had to stop Ty ("mom- why are you so grumpy?") from dragging his BMX bike up the stairs to his room last night. My dad has a hard time with the paint fumes, or with any odd smells for that matter, since his cancer treatment. I think the paint fumes get to him really quickly....or maybe it's the kids? *grin*
I'm heading off for some rubber ducky time, and will be painting again on Tuesday. (and I'm excited to get up there and see how the dining room is looking, once the paint has dried.)
The entire front room of the house is primed, ceiling looks perfect, crown molding is amazing. Love it. I started in with the lovely spicy color I'd decided would make it feel warm and cozy on a cold winters night. It looked like baby poo mixed with clay. I promptly re-primed it, and am now at a loss. White is nice?
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| Front Room Ceiling |
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| Zoe's Walk in Closet Pink (with Spackle down the middle) |
My mom is still busy painting in the boys room. It's such a huge space. I had to stop Ty ("mom- why are you so grumpy?") from dragging his BMX bike up the stairs to his room last night. My dad has a hard time with the paint fumes, or with any odd smells for that matter, since his cancer treatment. I think the paint fumes get to him really quickly....or maybe it's the kids? *grin*
I'm heading off for some rubber ducky time, and will be painting again on Tuesday. (and I'm excited to get up there and see how the dining room is looking, once the paint has dried.)
Friday, May 4, 2012
Seriously?! Why do these things happen to me.
I found a couch on Craigslist the other day, and yesterday saw that they had dropped the price from $300 to $100, so I was forced to email asking where it was located and if it was still available. I got a quick response from a nice woman who said that her home was being foreclosed on Friday (today) and the Sheriff would be there to put a lock on the doors first thing Friday morning, but if I wanted to meet her at the house Thursday between 3:30 and 5:00pm, the couch was mine. Of course she lived all the way down in St. Paul, but I figured the 45 mile trip was worth it for a really nice couch I could put in the kids tv room at the new house.
Ty was kind enough to offer to help me, so we hopped in the van with a little time to spare and heading down to the "big city" to pick up our treasure. The power steering line in the van has been leaking, and apparently an executive decision (which did involve me) was made that since it was on it's last leg at 267,865 miles, we would not put the $700 dollars into it to get it fixed. That decision made the drive slightly more interesting since we had to pull off the highway twice to put power steering fluid in. It was nice having Ty along, he was happy to hop out and pop open the hood, and even knew where to put the fluid in. I also realized he is a tad bit of a worry wart, cautiously telling me to shut off the engine before popping the hood, and mentioning that we should pull off the highway at the earliest sign of any steering noise. Traffic was heavy already at that point in the afternoon, but we managed to pull into the house around 4pm.
I was surprised, and saddened, to find an adorable little brick cottage up on a cliff surrounded by flower beds and old growth trees. It was a heavenly little piece of real estate and my heart went out to the couch woman who was losing this place to foreclosure. She walked out the door, wiping sweat from her brow and said "Hi, I'm Rochelle." Her long dark hair was perfectly coiffed, and she looked to be a perfect size 2. I didn't feel quite as much pity as I had before. Woman are really bitchy that way sometimes. She let us into the house, which was about 80% emptied, with random large furniture items and framed wedding portraits laying around. She said that she had gotten a divorce and was now losing the house. I offered my condolences about losing such an adorable little place, she shrugged and said she had found a nice new place. She seemed to be looking forward to making some new memories somewhere else, without the silver framed fairy tale wedding portraits that were scattered throughout the house.
She pointed to the couch, which looked even better then I'd imagined. "You might have to take the bottom off, I think we did when we brought it into the house, but I just haven't had time to mess with it. I was thinking if you twisted it around, it would probably fit through the slider though." There was a 3 inch carved wooden piece that went around the bottom of the couch, and had each of the wooden legs attached. She also mentioned that if I was interested, I could have the little table next to it, and the rug. How could I pass that up? I gave her the cash I had in a wad in my pocket. She took it, grabbed her purse, looked at her watch, seeming a little frenzied. "I am really sorry, but I can't help you. My son who is twelve" she then gestured to a height just above her own petite head, "has a school concert tonight and he has outgrown his shoes and I need to pick him up and take him shopping." She was walking towards the door, and I was finding the whole situation a little odd. "Feel free to take as long as you like, just shut the door when you leave."
She knew. She had to know. Ah, but I get ahead of myself. Ty and I stood looking at each other after the door closed. "We could do anything we wanted right now. We could take anything. Why would she just leave us here?" he looked around uncomfortably. I shrugged my response, "I guess she has lost enough that losing more doesn't really matter anymore." I hoped it would make him feel more empathetic then opportunistic. I started to flip the couch, pushing to towards the sliding glass door she had indicated we should use. He grabbed it on the other side, and we pushed it to the door frame, rotating it left, then right, up then down. Nothing. There was no way in hell that this couch was gonna fit out that door. I walked to a different door in the next room, it looked about the same width, but maybe? I turned the handle and the dead bolt was locked, with a key. By that point Ty had flipped the couch upside down and was wandering through the house, looking for a screw driver. I helped him search, pulling open kitchen drawers, looking in the cabinet above the fridge, finding only twist ties and legos. He ran out to the van and came in with a little socket set I had just purchased for myself.
Duh, I can't belive I'd forgotten it was in there. It was locked shut with zip ties and there wasn't a knife in the house. We managed MacGyver it open with a bit of wire that we twisted until the plastic snapped. We quickly got to work on the 4 inch long screws under the couch, and I was quite proud of how inventive we were. I yanked on the wooden bottom, and it didn't budge, Ty walked over and yanked with me. Nothing. I'd removed the wrong screws. We looked a little closer, and realized the screws we needed to take out were down deep dark holes that I didn't have a long enough socket to reach. So I sent Rochelle a text message that said we had to leave to find a store and a screw driver, but would be returning, just in case she returned home while we were gone. We hopped into the van, and drove down the residential street, having no idea of where some sort of hardware store was. I stopped and asked someone walking their dog, and 4 miles later we had 2 screwdrivers and a van that needed more power steering fluid. We got busy and spent the next 10 minutes unscrewing another 12 long screws and finally pulled the frame free.
The couch was a beast to squeeze through the door, but we managed it, then got to the van and realized that the only ones who knew the secret to opening the broken hatch door were my hubby and Zoe. We leaned the couch against the van so it wouldn't have to sit on the ground, then took turns trying to get the back to open. Finally, after a frantically frustrated call to Jeremy, we managed to do it, and precariously jam the couch in. The hatch wouldn't shut, so we rigged it up with a couple of tie downs (which I later realized Ty pulled all the way through to the front of the van and attached to my seat adjuster bar??!!?).
The trip home was in hot, muggy traffic. It took almost and hour and a half to make the 45 mile jaunt. We were both dripping in sweat and Ty's only comment other then mentioning dire thirst was "You're paying me for this, right?"
Ty was kind enough to offer to help me, so we hopped in the van with a little time to spare and heading down to the "big city" to pick up our treasure. The power steering line in the van has been leaking, and apparently an executive decision (which did involve me) was made that since it was on it's last leg at 267,865 miles, we would not put the $700 dollars into it to get it fixed. That decision made the drive slightly more interesting since we had to pull off the highway twice to put power steering fluid in. It was nice having Ty along, he was happy to hop out and pop open the hood, and even knew where to put the fluid in. I also realized he is a tad bit of a worry wart, cautiously telling me to shut off the engine before popping the hood, and mentioning that we should pull off the highway at the earliest sign of any steering noise. Traffic was heavy already at that point in the afternoon, but we managed to pull into the house around 4pm.
I was surprised, and saddened, to find an adorable little brick cottage up on a cliff surrounded by flower beds and old growth trees. It was a heavenly little piece of real estate and my heart went out to the couch woman who was losing this place to foreclosure. She walked out the door, wiping sweat from her brow and said "Hi, I'm Rochelle." Her long dark hair was perfectly coiffed, and she looked to be a perfect size 2. I didn't feel quite as much pity as I had before. Woman are really bitchy that way sometimes. She let us into the house, which was about 80% emptied, with random large furniture items and framed wedding portraits laying around. She said that she had gotten a divorce and was now losing the house. I offered my condolences about losing such an adorable little place, she shrugged and said she had found a nice new place. She seemed to be looking forward to making some new memories somewhere else, without the silver framed fairy tale wedding portraits that were scattered throughout the house.
She pointed to the couch, which looked even better then I'd imagined. "You might have to take the bottom off, I think we did when we brought it into the house, but I just haven't had time to mess with it. I was thinking if you twisted it around, it would probably fit through the slider though." There was a 3 inch carved wooden piece that went around the bottom of the couch, and had each of the wooden legs attached. She also mentioned that if I was interested, I could have the little table next to it, and the rug. How could I pass that up? I gave her the cash I had in a wad in my pocket. She took it, grabbed her purse, looked at her watch, seeming a little frenzied. "I am really sorry, but I can't help you. My son who is twelve" she then gestured to a height just above her own petite head, "has a school concert tonight and he has outgrown his shoes and I need to pick him up and take him shopping." She was walking towards the door, and I was finding the whole situation a little odd. "Feel free to take as long as you like, just shut the door when you leave."
She knew. She had to know. Ah, but I get ahead of myself. Ty and I stood looking at each other after the door closed. "We could do anything we wanted right now. We could take anything. Why would she just leave us here?" he looked around uncomfortably. I shrugged my response, "I guess she has lost enough that losing more doesn't really matter anymore." I hoped it would make him feel more empathetic then opportunistic. I started to flip the couch, pushing to towards the sliding glass door she had indicated we should use. He grabbed it on the other side, and we pushed it to the door frame, rotating it left, then right, up then down. Nothing. There was no way in hell that this couch was gonna fit out that door. I walked to a different door in the next room, it looked about the same width, but maybe? I turned the handle and the dead bolt was locked, with a key. By that point Ty had flipped the couch upside down and was wandering through the house, looking for a screw driver. I helped him search, pulling open kitchen drawers, looking in the cabinet above the fridge, finding only twist ties and legos. He ran out to the van and came in with a little socket set I had just purchased for myself.
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| Ty, busy unscrewing the frame |
 |
| Over an hour later, finally! |
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| View from the drivers seat though the van. |
The trip home was in hot, muggy traffic. It took almost and hour and a half to make the 45 mile jaunt. We were both dripping in sweat and Ty's only comment other then mentioning dire thirst was "You're paying me for this, right?"
Painting and Waiting
Things are progressing pretty quickly. The things I can do, that is. There is the whole dark beyond, which involves gas lines and water heaters, that are not progressing. Those are the things I cannot do. I'm hoping to keep that list short, and overcome whatever silly fears I might have of floor sanders or Sawzalls. We still haven't heard word back from the Contractor we talked to. I think the bid may end up being one of those great documents that we point at in the future and say "Look how much money we saved" by living in chaos and doing it all ourselves.
The funny thing is, I am loving it. There is something so amazingly satisfying about rolling paint on and seeing a room completed in front of your eyes. The best part is that when it is done, it is DONE. Not like laundry, or the dishes that have been piling up in the sink since we've started this project. For real done!
I've spent a lot of zen painting time contemplating the hands that have painted these walls before me. We estimate the house is about 110 years old, and there are many layers of paint between me and the plaster. Did they, too, feel happy to be working on this house? I wonder whose voices are reflected in the decor choices. How many children have laughed here? How many newlyweds called this house a home? I'm looking forward to getting a chance to learn more about it's history.
The funny thing is, I am loving it. There is something so amazingly satisfying about rolling paint on and seeing a room completed in front of your eyes. The best part is that when it is done, it is DONE. Not like laundry, or the dishes that have been piling up in the sink since we've started this project. For real done!
I've spent a lot of zen painting time contemplating the hands that have painted these walls before me. We estimate the house is about 110 years old, and there are many layers of paint between me and the plaster. Did they, too, feel happy to be working on this house? I wonder whose voices are reflected in the decor choices. How many children have laughed here? How many newlyweds called this house a home? I'm looking forward to getting a chance to learn more about it's history.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
The (other) Red Room
I'm patiently (not so) waiting for a call that the place I bought my new-to-me kitchen cabinets from is on their way to deliver them. I noticed as I stumbled out of bed this morning and stiffly walked down the hall that I'd gotten a pretty good work out painting yesterday. I'm not sure if there is a muscle group that isn't aching today! Real life work outs are the best- I can't count how many squats I did while painting around the floor boards, and the stretches were like primal yoga as I painted the ceiling. Today, I wait, and if time allows, make the hour and a quarter trek to the new house and paint some more. Update- cabinet man just called and said they won't be delivered until after 1pm. Now I can pinterest all morning while my achy joints relax into one solid mass of "ow". Yay! :)
Trail of Trials- The Beginning!
There is never a really good place to start a journey when you aren't sure when it began. I'm starting with today. My hands are covered in kilz primer. My shoulders ache from painting a ceiling, after painting wall after wall after wall after, well, you get the point. Lots of painting. Today, I feel in love with a house. Better yet, today, I feel in love with MY house. It doesn't really feel like it is mine yet, we've only owned it since last Friday, but I'm working on knowing it well enough to call my home soon.
We started looking at old, run down, abandoned, foreclosed and oft falling down houses last summer. It was sort of a hobby fueled on dreams with just a touch of reality to keep it interesting. We knew we wanted out of our typical 1970's rambler: boxy house, boxy rooms, boxy neighborhood. We knew we wanted out of the town of Zimmerman- the back yard of towns in which my husband and I were both raised in and had hoped to get a little further away from. We knew we wanted something to call our very own, since we'd meshed our prior lives-children, homes, pets, exes, furnishings, hopes and dreams- into a jumbled array of whatever worked but nothing that we actually chose. Most of all, we knew we wanted an adventure, together. I think it's become a pilgrimage of sorts, and I've decided to share our trail of trials.
So this is our house, the basic little box that we somehow managed to raise 7 kids, a multitude of dogs, cats, a handful of gerbils and hamsters, a couple of bunnies, and 1 ferret in. I've lived in this house for almost 10 years, and Jeremy has been here for 15. We will be leaving behind a house that was filled with love and laughter, occasional tears and has a few dents to prove that it was well lived in. I'm not sure how it will feel to close the door one final time and know we will never call it our home again, but I like to think that we take the most important part with us.
Knowing that we wanted to move away from this house, and this neighborhood, and set out for parts unknown but still within easy commuting distance, we started our search last year. We had a lot of fun looking at homes. We wandered around caution tape that pointed to giant holes in the floor boards, saw evidence of Realtors that had fallen through stairways, and plugged our noses through vacant homes filled with cats (or squirrels or worse). We drove from one end of Minnesota to the other, discovering cute little hamlets along the rivers and forgotten farming communities just one or two families shy of becoming a ghost town. We looked more earnestly this spring, and finally, after a few dud offers on other houses, we bought a medium sized two story home in Grantsburg,Wisconsin, and this blog will be the story of our new home and our new life. Welcome to our new home!
We started looking at old, run down, abandoned, foreclosed and oft falling down houses last summer. It was sort of a hobby fueled on dreams with just a touch of reality to keep it interesting. We knew we wanted out of our typical 1970's rambler: boxy house, boxy rooms, boxy neighborhood. We knew we wanted out of the town of Zimmerman- the back yard of towns in which my husband and I were both raised in and had hoped to get a little further away from. We knew we wanted something to call our very own, since we'd meshed our prior lives-children, homes, pets, exes, furnishings, hopes and dreams- into a jumbled array of whatever worked but nothing that we actually chose. Most of all, we knew we wanted an adventure, together. I think it's become a pilgrimage of sorts, and I've decided to share our trail of trials.
Knowing that we wanted to move away from this house, and this neighborhood, and set out for parts unknown but still within easy commuting distance, we started our search last year. We had a lot of fun looking at homes. We wandered around caution tape that pointed to giant holes in the floor boards, saw evidence of Realtors that had fallen through stairways, and plugged our noses through vacant homes filled with cats (or squirrels or worse). We drove from one end of Minnesota to the other, discovering cute little hamlets along the rivers and forgotten farming communities just one or two families shy of becoming a ghost town. We looked more earnestly this spring, and finally, after a few dud offers on other houses, we bought a medium sized two story home in Grantsburg,Wisconsin, and this blog will be the story of our new home and our new life. Welcome to our new home!
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