Home is...

A friend of mine is saying goodbye to her childhood home.
Another friend still mourns hers over a year after it was gone.

I have a life-long friend who grew up in a neighborhood surrounded by grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. She built her house in the lot behind her parents’ house, the only home she ever lived in. Her sister built her house across the street from their parents.

I can’t imagine living that way. Or, rather, I can only imagine.

I’ve moved over 30 times in my life. When I was growing up we never lived anywhere longer than two or three years. We moved. A lot. As an adult, I’ve also moved a lot. We’ve been in our current house for six years, almost as long as the previous one. We were there seven. That’s longer than anywhere else. Ever.

Sometimes I think that there must be some gypsy blood mixed in with that of my rabble-rouser, non-Pilgrim Mayflower ancestor. My father moved a lot while growing up, so did his mother, and her father, and so on back and back through the generations. For the most part they settled in one place sometime after one or more of their children moved out. And then the children move. And move. And move. Our youngest will soon be done college. I wonder when and where I will settle down...if...

When you say goodbye to a home, you can take your memories with you, but their shadows remain with the house, whispering silently between the walls, under the floors, and above the ceilings. The window panes hold tight to the pains they witnessed, the years of tears splashed like so many raindrops. They also remember the joys, the toys, and the girls and boys.

And the pets. Many are buried under bushes and trees, or under rocks and flowers. My no-longer-living pets are widely scattered. My turtles Tom & Jerry are in Mars. My dogs Cinamon (sic) and Bridget are at the top of the hill near Eastbrook. Two orange kittens, three lorikeets, and a hamster are in two places in Venezuela. Two guinea pigs are in New Wilmington. The multitudes of fish were mostly flushed, but not all at once.

My grandmother’s house was one of the few consistent places I knew while growing up. She lived in the same house from the time I was born until I was in my 40s. Another was a certain pine tree that my great-grandfather had planted when my grandma was a little girl. I lived only a few miles from it when I lived in the last place I lived before where I am now. My aunts moved my grandma out west when she was in her mid 90s. When she died, she was just six months shy of her 100th birthday. Very shortly after, the tree went down in a storm. I miss her house almost as much as I miss her.

Saying goodbye to a home doesn’t have to be the end. You keep pieces of the home in your heart for as long as you live. It keeps pieces of you, too.

(for Laura, Hana, and Shelly)

Getting Lost

I get lost.

I can find my way around a map as well as follow directions. That’s not the problem.

Yesterday I knew I needed to turn left, but since my autopilot isn’t fond of left turns onto busy streets, it took over and we turned right. Luckily I realized and was able to get where I was going anyway, since I am quite familiar with the roads. No problem. Besides, it was a nice day for a drive.

When I drove with my youngest daughter to my uncle’s funeral in New Jersey in 2013, I found my way from my house on the outskirts of Pittsburgh, to the funeral home in Toms River. We used maps and printed directions and arrived just in time. After the service I couldn’t find my way to my aunt’s house even by following my cousins. They disappeared in traffic. I had the address so my daughter entered it into the GPS (aka bitch in a box) and I turned where GPS voice said to turn until she wanted me to drive into a solid cinder brick wall. There was a school parking lot near by so I parked there while figuring out what to do. I called one of my cousins (the only one I had a phone number for) but she didn’t answer because she hadn’t taken her phone off “silent mode” after the funeral. It was dark and I had no idea where we were other than in some school parking lot in Toms River, New Jersey. Then I remembered that other contact information was on Facebook. Luckily, I had a good signal and I sent a group message to all the cousins who were at the wake asking them to call me. It wasn’t long before the phone rang and I was guided to join the rest of the family. It turns out that the GPS was right. The house was fairly close to that wall. The problem was it was about five miles away through the labyrinth road of the gated community. My car doesn’t hover or go through walls, and I’m fine with that. I seldom listen to the GPS voice. I do not trust that bitch.

(We won't discuss the part about getting lost while following those same cousins to a restaurant, but that wasn't entirely my fault. The lights were out on the sign and I drove right past it and the traffic patterns there make you go miles out of your way to turn around. It was an "adventure" that I am glad is over.)

Twenty years ago, before GPS, before we had cell phones, I drove from Pennsylvania all the way to Charleston, South Carolina with my three kids, ages 13, 8, and 1.5. I had a map. We got there without any trouble at all. I won’t say it was the perfect trip. It was summer hot and our minivan’s air conditioner didn’t work, but we had fun. And, we didn’t get lost.

This morning I went out to run a couple of local errands. As I was getting in the car to come home I realized with horror that I left my cell phone at home. At least, I hoped I left it at home and hadn’t lost it. I felt a twinge of panic. I felt lost. I was less than a mile from home on a road that takes me to my house. I realized how ridiculous the situation was. What if something happened? What would I do without my cell phone?

The same thing I would have done if I had to twenty years ago. Ask a person for help. I didn’t worry. I wasn’t going to get lost.

Forty Years Later...

Recently I found myself lost in the makeup section of the local *whatever*Mart. I've been in that aisle before, usually with one of my daughters. This time, it was <deep breath> for me.

I have always been very anti-makeup. Always.

Oh, don't get me wrong. I have makeup. I even use is occasionally. Very occasionally. As in, special occasionally. For example, I used it for my son's wedding. I also used it for my older daughter's wedding. I wore some when I graduated from college with that same daughter seven years ago. 

But, in general, I avoid it, and my skin has thanked me for it. No. Really. It has. I hit fifty with fewer wrinkles than most 30-somethings have. I believe that resisting social "rule" that *no female should appear in public without hiding her face behind a palette of paint* has helped me maintain a more youthful skin.

However, recent glances in the mirror are showing some old person who I don't recognize. It seems that the past few years have taken their toll. Due to injuries and surgeries and aging joints, I've spent most of the last five or six years in pain. It shows. I need to take an important photo and the face in the mirror is not the one I'd want to capture in a picture.

So, I inhaled deeply and ventured out to see what I could buy to fix that.

Plaster seemed too stiff, papier-mache too sticky, and a paper bag over my head seemed like an invitation to another injury. There's some pretty duct tape out there, but that would really hurt if removed. 

Ok. Makeup it is. 

Except...what kind? There are a million, mostly wrong, answers on the internet. That is how I ended up lost in cosmetic aisle, staring blankly at hundreds of products promising to prevent aging, reverse aging, enhance this, eliminate that. 

Lipstick and eyeshadow. That is what I know. The rest? Well, I put a bunch of this and that in the shopping cart, and I will have to experiment a bit to figure out the right percentage of this applied to the proper amount of that, and finish up with lipstick and eyeshadow. 

Which reminds me. I heard that you are only supposed to keep makeup for six months. I laughed. I have makeup that is older than my kids...all of them...and the oldest is 34. I guess that's a bit older than six months. Next project: toss the old cosmetics. (The new ones may also get tossed if I don't like how they look.)

Any makeup experts out there? Advice? If you don't find me, ask the ostrich.

New Beginnings: Grass, Robins, and Work

Spring is springing, or trying to. We've seen temperatures touching 70 followed by teens the very next day. It is a typical mucky world outside. A few blades of green daring to pop up among the dead leftover straw. Snow one day, followed by rain, then cloudy days.

But the robins are back. The birds are singing, the planes are contrailing, and the air is wet and less cold.

This year I have time to "spring clean" like never before. I'm still unemployed, so I've had time to go through boxes and bins full of "somedays" and others filled with a blend of memories and what-is-this-supposed-to-be. I've found many treasures. I've sent boxes of books to people who were thrilled to get them. I've donated bags of clothing and other items. I have boxes of things to sell. But a large portion of the "giving" has been to the garbage man.

Keeping things is part of who I am. No, not like hoarding, not at all. It is hard to give away things that mean something special, that bring a smile, or that you know you will use again someday. Do I still have more than I need? Probably. However, I have the things that I want. I kept the things that make me happy when I see them. Some day they may no longer warm my heart. On that day they will go.

It has been a lot of work, and I still have more to do. I'm taking my time and being careful and thorough. I won't have as much time as I thought, though. I'll be visiting family soon, and when I get back I will once again have a part-time job. Part time is good. I can continue to sort through things as I sort through my life. Time management will matter a little more than it currently does.

Time for hibernating is over. Time to living is renewed.
Open a window. Go outside. Breathe.
Spring is here. No matter how cold it will be tonight.

Do you have a special tradition to help transition between seasons?
What are your secret tricks to make "spring cleaning" easier and more enjoyable?

How's your weather today? It's a rainy 43 as I type.

May 2013 to February 2015: Where Did the Time Go?

A lot can happen in twenty-one months.
A lot did happen in the past twenty-one months. 

There were daydreams.
There were disasters.
There were other distractions. 

My most recent post was when my daughter had to return from maternity leave after the birth of her first child, a very cute little boy. Last week, she went back to work again. This time following the arrival of her second child, an adorable daughter. During the in-between time, they bought their first house, and tragically lost their beloved Irish Setter. They now have a new puppy that is only days younger than the three month old baby. Big brother will be two years old on Monday. 

My youngest is studying in Spain this semester. She's missing things at home, but is gaining so many fantastic experiences. Then again, she's only missing them by not being physically present. Thanks to the wonderful times we live in, we can all talk any time we want to on social media like Facebook, by text, video chats, and good old-fashioned phone calls. She gets to see the little ones through frequent photos from her sister...and she doesn't have to deal with diaper duty. 

We also use these newer forms of communication to be closer to my son and his family. They live several states away, but we "attend" all the birthday parties, even when we aren't there. Time to cut the cake? Good. We have one, too. 

One big DISASTER that hit me pretty hard recently was the closing of the library where I was working. I was in charge of many aspects of running the place, especially all of the writing programs. My writers' group still meets, but we don't have a set place or time. It is more sporadic. It is also less attended than it used to be. Of course, that could be partly due to the horrible winter we've been having. We have a Facebook group, though, and we "talk" almost every day, offering encouragement and sharing ideas.

Since I no longer have a job, one would think that I could use all my extra time to do all the things I've been DAYDREAMING about for all these years. 

I could. 

I haven't. 

I do keep thinking about writing more, and in the past couple of weeks have been pushing myself to do better. After all, the "I don't have time because I have to work" excuse is no longer valid. Other DISTRACTIONS keep putting me off-track. There has been serious illness in our extended family. I've had the chance to spend some time with friends I hadn't seen in a while. However, one of the worst distractions is one that is also one of those wonderful things I mentioned up there.

Easy communication. It can be an addiction. 
So can the mindless games that so readily suck you in. 

The good thing is that I thrive on multi-tasking and deadlines. 

Just this morning I tackled all of the below...at the same time:

Look for and apply to freelance work
Keep up with social media
Chat with friends and loved ones
Listening to audio book
Play a few games
Work on a play script
Write this (long overdue) post
Three loads of laundry
Clean the kitchen
Prepare a meal

I know some people who need quiet and calm to get anything done. Not me. I think things may have been too calm around here.

What about you? Are you more productive when you are calm, or when there is chaos?

I know that when my kids were younger and I was working two jobs, running them to soccer, softball, baton, track, Brownies, Girl Scouts, other after school activities, keeping the house in liveable conditions, AND going to college full time...I seemed to be more productive. 

I won't be doing much this week, and what I have to do won't let much else happen, but starting next week...I will need some deadlines, some "too much to do," or at least some chaos. Then I will make progress.

What's the worst thing that could happen? Oh...I know. I could actually GET all nineteen freelance job application that I am currently waiting to hear about.

Time Took the Kids

My daughter Melissa is sad. Her maternity leave is over and she has to rejoin the workforce next week. My newest grandson is almost three months old, but has outgrown size “3 M” clothing, especially the footed kind. Melissa said that she had him dressed in tiny little jeans and a onsie and it made her cry.

She said “He looked like a little boy.”

I reminded her that he is, in fact, a little boy.

“But he’s growing so fast, he doesn’t look like a little baby anymore.”

And that… well, that reminded me that my babies are all grown up now. After we hung up the phone, it was my turn to cry.

I miss the wonderful times I had with my “kids” when they were little, so many memories. I don’t miss a lot of it, though. Really. I will admit it here and now, I’m not a huge fan of babies. Don’t get me wrong. I adored my own babies, and my grandbabies too. But…there are a lot of things about babies that I am happy to leave in the past. Diapers. Spit up. Crying. Colic. Lack of sleep. Wait…I still have that one.

Alex, my oldest, has passed the age that people growing up in my era would consider trustworthy. Anyone else remember that saying? “Don’t trust anyone over…” He’s married now, and has a daughter and son of his own. His kids are growing up faster than mine did, or at least it seems like that to me. They live far away, so we don’t get to see them as often as we would like. I can’t say much about the distance. After all, when my “big kids” were born, I was living in Venezuela. At least we can drive 15 or 16 hours and visit. My granddaughter will be starting first grade in the fall, her little brother will be in Kindergarten. Where does the time go?

It seems like just the other day that Melissa was my beautiful rambunctious little…well, to be honest, she was more than a handful. She was so cute, and she knew it, she was also sneaky and was very good at getting into mischief. She grew into an extremely responsible and remarkably wonderful woman. She is a good wife and a fantastically conscientious mommy. I am so very proud of her. (And for the record, I want to officially take back all the times I said “When you are a mother I hope your child gives you the same…” well, we all know how that saying goes. The person she is today does not deserve that kind of mischief from her offspring, so I hope she has only the best of motherhood. THAT is what she deserves.)

My youngest, Karina, was sick. Often. She has a couple of chronic things that she will deal with for the rest of her life and we spent much more time dealing with illnesses with her than the older two put together. I have a plethora of medical knowledge that I never wanted to have. We never allowed her to play the “oh poor me, I am sickly” game. We allowed, no, we encouraged her to take part in any activity she wanted to try. There were times that she physically was unable to do things that she wanted to, so she had to quit. Extreme anemia stopped her softball days, repeatedly sprained ankles stopped dance lessons, and severe mono pulled her out of school for much of her freshman year of high school. But she is now a confident independent young woman. She just finished her first year of college with a very high GPA, and is about to go on a great adventure…chasing her dreams.

Next week that cute little baby, who looks like a little boy, will be baptized. He is starting to play more, grasping at toys, kicking a foot-activated baby music toy. Melissa told me that he loves it when she reads to him and tries to play with the books. I am glad that he likes books. It is fitting…and genetic.

But time really is going by too fast. Babies grow up too soon. I love who my “kids” are today, but I miss them as little kids.

Writing Circles

Earlier this year, I started a new writing group at one of the libraries where I work. I called it Writers’ Circle, but that was only going to be the name until the group decided on a new, original name. We came up with several really good names, but somehow, Writers’ Circle stuck.

It works. We sit in a circle…well, square really. We start with generalized life-sharing, read whatever piece/s of writing we will discuss, discuss it, and we come back around to generalized life-sharing as we prepare to head our separate ways.

Writing is a circular activity. You get an idea. It spins around in your head. You capture it on paper – or in a computer or other device. You read it. You re-write it. You re-write it again, as many times as it takes, until you are satisfied with it. You get an idea…

It is important for writers to have a safe place to spend time with other writers. It doesn’t matter if the writers in your group don’t write exactly the same kind of thing that you do. What matters is that they have a writer’s mind and soul. Writers are a special breed. If they are surrounded by non-writers, they can become frustrated and without the moral support that can only come from other writers, they could give up.

I have belonged to a variety of writing groups over the years. The first one was back in ninth grade. Two of my friends and I named our group “Pen, Paper, Pencil” or some variation of those three words. I don’t remember the exact order; it’s been a while since I was in ninth grade. Not too long ago, I found ALL of the stories we wrote. I don’t remember why I was chosen to keep them, and it is a miracle that they are still with me after almost four decades, especially considering that I lived overseas for all of the 1980s. I still have frequent contact with one of those friends. I need to reconnect to the other one, too.

The next writing group I was a part of met once a month in my neighbor’s house. I attended when I could, but when I got a full time job I had to miss many meetings. It has been a few years since I was able to go, but I will always feel that I am a member of the “Word Weavers” group. I had the chance to catch up with two other members a few weekends ago at a writing conference.

For a short time I attended another writing group that met at a library. It met at a time that was convenient for my work schedule, and occasionally I was able to go on a lunch break. I don’t remember if it had an official name, but after I moved away I had to stop going.

In my new hometown, I found a wonderful writing group at my local library. I am still a member and attend meetings when I don’t have to work during their scheduled sessions. (I have to work many evenings with my new job.) I will forever be thankful for this group. They are the first friends I made in my new town, and they truly made me feel welcome.

My newest group is the one I first mentioned. We meet every Tuesday evening. There are some people who are able to attend all of the meetings, some every other week, and others who can only be there once in a while. I am truly fortunate to have this group. The group provides solid support for its members. More experienced writers are able to offer constructive critique to newer writers, and the newer writers offer fresh energy and inspiration to us all.

It is wonderful to have so many writer friends, some I connect with online. The internet, email, and social media make it easier to maintain long distance friendships.

I will need to use old fashioned communication to reconnect to that one member of my first writing group. I haven’t seen her in a few years, but I have her address. I need to write to her. I think we should get the old group back together, probably not for the sake of writing…but for the sake of our friendship. 

After all, friendship is also a circle.