Saturday, August 12, 2017

Just goodbyes

"Offer me solutions, offer me alternatives, and I decline."

By now, I'm sure you are as ready for me to move as I am. Then we can get on to the discussion of more important matters, like the threat of nuclear war with North Korea.

Or maybe just on to decorating the new house and setting up my studio and eventually back to the making and selling of lampwork beads again. And the foibles of Facebook of course.

But there are still almost 20 days until closing, days full of packing and loading another pod and having our furniture picked up. Almost 20 days, including our trip to see the solar eclipse and buy mirrors and mattresses and a myriad of other things for the house.

In the meantime we have landscaping. And a driveway. And a ski slope.

The landscaping arrives.
Back yard sod, with ski hill drop-off from driveway.
Neil's veggie garden plot left rear.
Be proud of your driveway.
Front sod and beds.
Right side of house, no sod yet.

Huge kidney bean bed designed by Neil.

The rest of the kidney bean bed story.

A few more random house photos.

Kitchen backsplash.
Backsplash closeup.
Shutter painted Slate Tile.

So things are moving along. Me, I have good days and bad days, numb days and weepy days.

The torch is dismantled. The tools and glass all packed. My frit shop is in vacation mode and my frit supplies boxed up. I'm still selling beads, but every day I think, this is the last day, and then someone buys something and I think, a few more days. No real reason to stop yet. It won't take long to pack the rest of my inventory. And I have to do something with my time, besides binge watch telly and go out to eat with friends, our main activities lately.

This is funny, we went out to dinner with some of Neil's oldest friends and afterwards, in the parking lot, Neil commented that all these last meals were destroying him. His friends just stared, but I understood. You mean, destroying you because of all the food you've been consuming, not destroying you emotionally, I said. Because that's the Neil we know and love.

Nothing feels real to me. Goodbyes are just goodbyes, nothing more. We say, come visit us, we have lots of guest rooms and bathrooms. And we believe it could happen, but then again, we've been in this house for ten years and other than relatives we have hardly had a soul over. The friends we ate dinner with came by for a drink before dinner when we first moved in. One of my friends came down once when Neil was away. I've had customers over to look at beads, bead friends over a few times to torch, one meeting of the bead makers group here. Once some kids of an overseas work mate of Neil's stayed a couple of nights.

My parents saw the house the year we moved in. My mom kept saying, why do you need such a big house? What would she say about the new house that is 50 percent bigger? It's an easy guess she would have disapproved. My dad's comment was that we needed a shower bar so that he could wash his ankles. Neil offered to install one, but my parents stopped traveling much soon after and didn't visit again. Their visit was in 2008, my dad died in 2010, my mom in 2013. Sometimes I miss them terribly.

And it all gets rolled up in my sadness about moving. I'm not sentimental, so I don't think, oh, my mom and dad slept in this room, the one that I am typing this in right now. Soon this room, this house will belong to someone else. No, it's just that thing I do whenever I grieve a loss. Every other loss in my life somehow gets rolled up in that grief.

Our friends asked us who would be the first to visit us in our new house and Neil and I looked at each other and drew a blank. It might be his dad, who is 88 and has been feeling his age lately. None of our kids jumped out as a likely candidate. I want to budget to send each of my kids, their partners and my grandson a round trip ticket at a time that works for them. It will have to be something that works around school schedules and visitation schedules and holidays with other sets of parents to consider. It may be at the same time or at different times.

I have another dream goal, to take everyone on a cruise to Alaska next summer. I have to come up with some money for the house, I want a new car next year, and I want to outfit my new studio and buy a new treadmill and buy new bedding for the new beds we'll be getting. I've discarded many things as we packed, things that have seen a lot of use and while still functional, I want new things for my new life. Not everything or even most things of course, we'll keep our dishes, flatware, and cookware, much of our clothing and towels, all the bric-à-brac we'll ever need, though I suspect that won't indefinitely stop me from adding more.

I am going to curb my stockpiling tendencies, I am, I am. It's pointless really, or counterproductive. I have four unopened face powder foundation compacts that I bought years ago when they were discontinued, but I no longer use that brand of foundation. I packed them anyway. I have shoes that I bought before I retired from my day job in 2011, shoes that came apart on one wearing after sitting in a shoebox in a dark closet for at least six years. My taste in lingerie styles has changed so all those undergarment bargains turned out to be less than economical since I'm old enough now to insist on age-appropriate underwear, even if I have to buy more.

Packing house, if nothing else, is good for one thing - a reality check on how much more stuff you have than you really need, and how much stuff you have that you don't even especially like. Perhaps from now on I'll truly weigh how much I want to undertake the care and maintenance of each and every non-comestible new purchase.

But it's as Mr. Bennet says to Elizabeth in Pride and Prejudice (discussing the fact of having accepted money to pay Wickham - "one of the most worthless young men in Britain" - to marry Lydia and thereby save her reputation).
I am heartily ashamed of myself, Lizzy. But don't despair, it'll pass; and no doubt more quickly than it should.

That's great, it starts with an earthquake
Birds and snakes, and aeroplanes
And Lenny Bruce is not afraid

Eye of a hurricane, listen to yourself churn
World serves its own needs,
Don't mis-serve your own needs
Speed it up a notch, speed, grunt, no, strength,
The ladder starts to clatter
With a fear of height, down, height
Wire in a fire, represent the seven games
And a government for hire and a combat site
Left her, wasn't coming in a hurry
With the Furies breathing down your neck

Team by team, reporters baffled, trumped, tethered, cropped
Look at that low plane, fine, then
Uh oh, overflow, population, common group
But it'll do, save yourself, serve yourself
World serves its own needs, listen to your heart bleed
Tell me with the Rapture and the reverent in the right, right
You vitriolic, patriotic, slam fight, bright light
Feeling pretty psyched

It's the end of the world as we know it
It's the end of the world as we know it
It's the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine

Six o'clock, T.V. hour, don't get caught in foreign tower
Slash and burn, return, listen to yourself churn
Lock him in uniform, book burning, bloodletting
Every motive escalate, automotive incinerate
Light a candle, light a motive, step down, step down
Watch your heel crush, crush, uh oh
This means no fear, cavalier, renegade and steering clear
A tournament, a tournament, a tournament of lies
Offer me solutions, offer me alternatives and I decline

The other night I drifted nice continental drift divide
Mountains sit in a line, Leonard Bernstein
Leonid Brezhnev, Lenny Bruce and Lester Bangs
Birthday party, cheesecake, jellybean, boom
You symbiotic, patriotic, slam but neck, right, right

It's the end of the world as we know it (It's time I had some time alone)
It's the end of the world as we know it (It's time I had some time alone)
It's the end of the world as we know it (It's time I had some time alone)
And I feel fine

I feel fine.


(Bill Berry, Peter Buck, Mike Mills, Michael Stipe)

1 comment:

Cathie said...

Can we come visit?

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Thanks for your comment! I will post it as soon as I receive it. Liz