Archive for March 9th, 2010

Flapdoodled, Frizzled and Fragmented: Buy my House, Please.


2010
03.09


I have a house for sale.  Please come buy my house.  It’s been on the market for three days and no one has bought it yet!  I don’t know how long I can stand to keep this house so clean.  This is what selling a house means:

  • no dishes left in the sink
  • no dishes put in the dishwasher unless they already look clean
  • nothing on the drainboard – doh!
  • no trash in the wastebaskets, which are purchased for the sole purpose of holding trash
  • hang the towels just right in the bathroom
  • keep your dirty laundry covered up
  • don’t leave sweaters and shoes laying around
  • don’t cook anything with strong odors
  • make it look like you don’t have two cats and a dog
  • don’t walk on the rugs and smash the pile
  • don’t let the plants die
  • teach the dog not to poop
  • make sure the house smells good at all times
  • put stuff in the cupboards so the counters don’t look cluttered, but keep the cupboards clean
  • keep your desks organized and tidy – in other words, don’t use them
  • don’t just throw sections of the newspaper on the floor when you finish them, to pick it all up every few days

You know which one is the hardest?  The shoes!  I try but at any time I may have five pairs of shoes scattered around the house.  I seem to be incapable of putting shoes away.  And I don’t do dishes after every meal.  My dirty laundry just sits in the laundry basket so now I keep it covered with a little rug.  And it doesn’t bug me that the newspapers stack up in front of the couch.

I drew the line at the cupboards.  I did sort the linen closet, but I stopped there.  The kitchen cupboard where the bowls and refrigerator containers are?  I can clean it and the next day gremlins have wreaked havoc.  It has nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that I throw refrigerator containers in the cupboard instead of placing them in neat stacks.  The closet in the office?  Where all my newly-organized photos are?  Potential buyers are just going to have to use a little imagination to see how spacious it could be when organized.  Same for the closet in my studio.  And the coat closet.  And the entire laundry room.

The garage is in a class of its own.  Bad at any time, it’s now a total disaster because Mark is restoring his Model A.  At least people looking in can see that there is a real project going on.

It’s not that I’m messy or disorganized.  It’s just that I have no interest in doing these things.  I’d rather write, or draw, or read, or ride my bike, or drink wine. Heck, I’d rather just sit and look out the window.  And my housekeeper has missed two weeks because she got rear-ended and is in physical therapy.

I must admit, though, the floors are pretty darn clean.  Cat hair in this house during shedding season?  No way.

So although I am flapdoodled, frizzled and fragmented, I feel like I’m in stasis.  Can’t start a painting or collage because the entire studio would be in disorder (I’m not a neat worker). Can’t start packing for the move because there is no where to put anything – our storage unit is full as is the garden shed.  We just have to close on the house we bought so we can start packing and moving stuff over.  Having a wedding shower Saturday so I have all the stuff for that sitting all over the laundry room.

So would someone please come buy my house so I can start living again?  This is what it looks like.

This is the front.  I had to take these pictures for the MLS.  Did you know you can put your house on the multiple listing service even if you’re selling it yourself?

Notice how clean the stairs are. And the nice stained glass window by the front door.

Living room with fireplace and a cut-through to the family room.  It’s a nice open floor plan.

Dining area leading to the patio and the kitchen.  Aren’t the floors clean?

Family room.  It is so uncluttered!

Library.  Talk about status! Who wouldn’t like to say they have a library?  Of course, it’s also the grandkid’s playroom since I appropriated their playroom for my studio.

For that matter, who wouldn’t like to say they have a studio?  Especially one that looks like a kid’s playroom?

Wonderful concrete counter tops in the kitchen with a fabulous sink.

Great back patio where you can do lots of entertaining.  Like the shower I’m giving on Saturday.

And of course, the view.

The MLS only allows ten photos so you have to take my word that there is an upstairs with three bedrooms, two baths, etc.

NOW – those of you who saw the post with photos of our new house must be saying this woman is insane, why does she want to move?  But I promise that the new house will be fabulous as soon as we get our happy paint on the walls and cover up all the ridiculous olive drab that the whole thing is painted.

And you know what? Speaking of paint?  I hope the couple who looked at this house today buys it and for one particular reason.  She said the paint colors were happy!  She got it!  Our walls are orange and ochre and lime green and bright blue because those colors were all over Costa Rica and we were happy there.  So we painted our house in happy colors.  The woman who looked today is the first person EVER except for us that has called them happy colors out loud.

But if she doesn’t buy it – will someone please buy this house before it’s been on the market a week?  So I can relax?  So I can quit being flapdoodled, frizzled and fractured? So my days will be frabjous days?  I want to wake up and say “O frabjous day! Callooh!  Callay!”


Moments – A Magic Moment, a Moment of Transcendence at Fort Bowie, Arizona


2010
03.09

How many special moments do we get in a lifetime?  I mean the truly magic moments that stop us in our tracks to marvel, that imbue a sense of awe that we remember forever after.  On Friday the 13th, a year ago March, it seemed like a good idea to recall those moments if for no other reason than to remember.

Fort Bowie

Our daughter Jennifer and her husband Matt spent a summer in Tucson, Arizona  back in 1993 while Matt interned with the Indian Health Service.  We like to go wherever our kids are to see new places and be able to better share their experiences.  So off my husband and I went to southeastern Arizona in late June.  The heat was blistering, but where we were was so interesting that it didn’t matter, and anyway, Mark and I love the desert, which comes with heat, conveniently or not.

We took a camping trip in Cochise County – territory we could have covered in a day, but there was so much to see we took almost a week.  We absorbed as much history as we could as we explored an area saturated with Indian lore.  Geronimo, Cochise, and the history of the Apaches gave this little corner of Arizona a spiritual feel.  We spent a couple of nights at Chiricahua National Monument, where we took a morning trip to Fort Bowie.

The trail to the fort was incredible – there were tracks from stage coaches

Foundations of the Butterfield Stage Stop from the 1860s

and wagon trains that told the story of fortitude, duress, and the quest for a new future;

Wagon from the 1860s on the trail to Ft. Bowie. This was the site of the Bascom Affair - a massacre.

Pony Express stops and a small cemetery that housed the remains of Geronimo’s young son spoke to the nature of one person’s quest creating another’s tragedy.

Geronimo's son Little Robe was shot in the forehead by soldiers at Ft. Bowie. They also killed Geronimo's wife.

Then there was the fort itself.  Fort Bowie was a Civil War fort and there were remnants of many of the walls and buildings.

Sutler's quarters at Ft. Bowie, a Civil War fort

I imagined myself in the time period, felt the tension between soldiers and Indians, the sweat and discomfort of uniforms and closed, small quarters in the heat.

View of Ft. Bowie from the ridge trail

I picked up a nail and a piece of adobe and began the trek back on a high ridge so desolate, so alone, so quiet, that as I stood and surveyed the territory with a small breeze at my back, it was as if “the whole” blew through me.  I felt connected to the earth and to history, to the spirits of the Apaches and the entirety of the world.

Words don’t convey the expansiveness of this feeling, this moment, as well as its intimacy.  For just that brief instant and for the second time in my life, I felt that no questions needed answers, that soul was connected to soul.  It was illuminating, it was magic, and then it was lost as we continued the trek to our car.

Trail leading up the ridge. On the back of the photo, I wrote "Indians walked here."

We almost lost ourselves on that trek as we had failed to bring enough water, not understanding how the 115-degree heat could suck all the moisture out of our bodies.  We drank the water we brought, we poured it over our heads and down our shirts and barely made it to the car where we bowed to the vending machine gods.  Yet that one transcendent moment lives within me still.