Downsized Space, Upsized Attitude

New year, new home. We've moved into our new condo, which is 1/1000 of the space (indoor and out) that we had in North Carolina. That is downsizing!

We have furniture we have to sell or donate. And I'm ready for my third run to Goodwill with  leftover household goods.

We've had to downsize our outside space too. The garages are one large building with a row of doors into narrow parking spots. I've scraped the white paint off of the door frame onto our car trying to get into it. Our personal outdoor space is a concrete slab large enough for my potting bench and a small table and chairs. But the HOA won't let me me install my wonderful washing machine-converted-to-sink outside.

We face a green area between buildings that is smaller than our former front yard. While I will enjoy the trees leafing out and the roses blooming, I will miss my former view. My eye had an unimpeded view across the flower beds to the pine trees at the road 300 feet away. From my desk I watched the flowering spring trees go through their cycles.

canine traffic jam

The desk got left behind (it never would have fit!) and I've taken a space near our big bedroom window for my morning reading and writing. The first morning I sat down with my cup of mocha, watched the geese v-ing to ponds that lie beyond. Movement in my peripheral vision interrupted my reverie. Who was walking in "my" yard?   A bundled up senior citizen strolled behind a little dog. And there were more, and more. My thinking time and space were invaded by strangers left, right and center.

I've gone from living in my personal park to being on the doggie commute route. After the first flash of irritation I turned the parade into a list of owner-pet entities.  Shrouded in down jackets and hats, the people are difficult to differentiate. So I identify them by their dogs. There's the pug lady, the woman with a pair of big black canines, a mutt overdressed in a jacket with a faux fur collar, the red coat dog, the pajama guy ambling by with his cup of coffee in one hand, leash in the other, the scruffy hound whose owner needs a shave, and a fuzzball waddling as slowly as its aged owner.

I feel like I've been dropped into a reality show, maybe "Life Swap." I'd like my old life back, but that won't happen even if I win the million dollars.

So I doggedly plug away at accepting what is.

This quote helps me refocus.  "...gather up the fragments of your life and give them to Jesus, and He will make sure that nothing is wasted. Refuse to think about what you have lost; instead inventory what you have left and use it with a thankful heart." Joyce Mayer.

The process of shrinking my domain may expand my capacity for gratitude and flexibility. Perhaps there are unexpected blessings waiting for me in this new life. Downsizing space may result in an upsized attitude.

Homeless a little longer

We joke that we've been homeless for for five months. Actually we've been guests.  While we're immensely grateful,  it is hard work. 

We conform to the toddler's early rising, the big kids' Friday night sleep overs, sharing the kitchen and not grumbling about the menu choices. 

Being part of a larger, busier family empties my reserves of flexibility. It's like living in a dorm. But now I'm way too old for the free-flow. 

My perspective is decidedly selfish. I want to brew tea in my teapot. The family's Pandora radio station sounds like Muzak. I sigh to myself when all of the muffins I made yesterday are gone this morning. I'm no longer amused when somebody "borrows" the bathroom space heater. 

For months life has felt like jumping from ice floe to ice floe. We need an anchor. We long for our old routines and leisurely quiet mornings. We miss taking care of just ourselves.

The need for the structure independent living affords is great:  my chores, my way of doing them, maintaining our sanctuary.

Looming cancer treatment and whatever toll it will take on my husband make us feel it's imperative to find "home." It's urgent we create a new normal. 

Most of the future is unsure, beyond our control, rendering us helpless to make long term plans. When we move into our condo next week we hope it will be a fortress where we regain energy for the tough times ahead.

Craving routine is normal. Blogger Brianna Wiest said "The point is not what the routine consists of, but how steady and safe your subconscious mind is made through repetitive motion and expected outcomes." 

Having a few expected outcomes--finding the muffin is still there, that there's hot water for my shower, sounds good. I can't wait. 

Sky Scrooge

Holiday travel is gearing up. The airports look pretty, but you're bound to encounter some unmerry travelers.

I'm one of them. I turn into a sky Scrooge when I am crowded.  I cope by maximizing my personal space. (Proxemics is the study of human use of space and the effects that population density has on behavior, communication, and social interaction. Wikipedia)

1)    In long lines, hang back just a smidgen from the person in front of you. I think the extra breathing room makes the line feel less frantic.Scrooge

2)    Walk instead of taking the moving sidewalks. The exercise clears your mind and speeders swerve around you.

3)    Wait at a gate without a flight, but within sight of your boarding area.

4)    Don't board when your "zone" is called. I don't understand why all fifty people in zone two jump up to be stalled in a jetway traffic jam. And more people put more germs within reach.

5)    Make sure the arm rests are in place. It sends a subtle message - this is my space, stay out.

service dog at DIA relaxes travelers

6)    Pull out anti-bacterial wipes and clean said armrests, folding tray, buttons for lights, etc. Your seat mates will silently inch away because they think you're a fanatic.

7)    I don't make unnecessary eye contact or smile at anybody. This discourages conversation.

8)    Plant your feet wide underneath the seat ahead of you. Otherwise some big guy will think his size thirteens deserve some of your size eight foot space.

9)    Wear your ear buds, even if the cord dangles unconnected.

10) Pack light. If your carry on fits under the seat, you don't have to compete in the scramble for bin space. Plus, schlepping a bulging bag is bad for your back.

It's my theory that introverts probably dislike the close quarters created during holiday travel more than extroverts. Do you get irritated by the masses when you travel? Do you jump in and make new friends? Tell me what helps you travel smoothly at high peak times.

(December 9th Wall Street Journal has an article about how shrinking airplane head space causes anxiety. It corroborates my ideas about proxemics.)

Thankfulness eases adversity

It's been a tough year for us. While thankfulness doesn't erase the ache of adversity,  it can ease it. I'm choosing to focus on the year's blessings this week.

January: I am grateful for tutoring three razor smart first grade boys from Africa. They didn't speak a word of English but used the universal law of learning: mimic what you see. One morning Mohammed grabbed my sticky notes and a marker and made a name tag for himself.  He passed the tools so the others could make their own. When I looked puzzled he pointed at the name tag on my chest. It was my privilege to help them get a good start in their new lives, and a weekly source of fun.

February: Cold nights and starry skies.  Living in a city now, the stars are masked. I close my eyes and thank God for many nights I stepped outside our North Carolina home to  marvel at the studded vault above me. 

March: What can be more glorious than the month's progression from tight red leaf buds to  Bradford pears dressed like brides, electrifying redbud blossoms, and yellow daffodils carpeting the landscape?

April: Sorrowfully we decided to sell our beloved home and move close to our family. An unexpected hospital stay confirmed the timing.

May: Off-season harvest from seven years teaching middle school. Two of my students, now married to one another, invited us to celebrate their daughter's birthday. One of the other guests was also a former student.  She enthusiastically reported that she was teaching in a preschool, and thanked me for my inspiriting example. Wonder of wonders!

June: Beach week! Even though it was cut short by my husband's medical emergency, my friends poured love out and arranged a pony express to get me home. Everyone rallied for Bill's surgery and recovery.

July: Despite reduced mobility, I  savored summer: a cool bath with the breeze blowing the curtains, fresh peas from the garden. The bright blue balls hanging from the hydrangea surprised me every time I walked by them since it had been badly damaged by frost.

August and September: Unable to do much,  the 3 year old and I squeezed into the red recliner and tilted back. There we spent many happy hours reading and laughing, reenacting Humpty Dumpty at least fifty times.

October: I can drive! I can walk!

November: Struggling with revised, negative diagnosis for my dear husband. Oh, my God, thank you for his friendship, gentleness and love during the forty three years of our marriage.

Whatever your troubles this year, pause. Recall instances of beauty, acts of kindness received, relationships enjoyed, meaningful work. Then read your list to somebody.

Gratitude shared is gratitude multiplied. 

Let me hear an amen!

Disturbing the Autumn Peace

The last two weeks of October were as warm as any in September. The trees clenched their green and yellow hands waiting for the cold shock to signal it was time to let go until they just gave up. The breezes finally shook the leaves free and covered the lawn.

truck full of leaves

Out here in suburbia homeowners don't want to see leaves in their yards. Crews of grounds men with powerful blowers invade daily. They blast the leaves off of lawns like water cannons vanquish protestors.

The neighborhood wakes up to a sound like a hundred souped-up hair dryers at a beauty pageant. I compared the current cacaphony to last year's rural fall -- a whisper of leaves dropping, and the scritch, scratch of the rake. Today's beauty is marred by a barrage of noise, peace disturbed.

We wanted to help our host family clear their yard and bought a light weight plastic rake with wide, wide red tines. We danced  a two step around the yard. Bill scooped, I bagged. (Burning is not allowed here.)  We enjoyed the distinct autumn ritual, crunching through ankle high dry leaves. It took two of us about an hour to fill three bags, with time out for the three year old to be buried under a pile, lie on top of a pile, and bury his dinosaur then find it again. We enjoyed the sun on our backs, the rhythmic movement, the unique smell of disintegrating leaves--the quiet.

Of course the next day, there were many more on the ground. Our oldest grandson grabbed the rake to make a dive pile. Later I was confounded to see our three trophy bags limp and empty. He'd "needed" them to augment the mound they wanted to jump into.














Well, I'd had my fun, and they had theirs.

Voter Registration Breathing Down my Neck

This election has been breathing down my neck. Here I am in a new state and I had to register soon!Voter registration laws have been in the news in various states and I was guilty of disinterest--until we moved to Colorado.

I couldn't register online without a Colorado driver's license so we dropped our procrastination and went to get new driver's licenses.

I took our passports, two proofs of my address, our NC driver's license, and other miscellany.  Seemed like I had everything except my birth certificate. I hoped the fact that we'd previously had a Co DL would facilitate the process.

At the entrance we took our tickets, like an old meat market. We drew numbers 96 and 97. The waiting area was quieter than a funeral home. Five rows of pews were jammed front to back like a big foot in small shoe. The room was four pews wide. It was standing room only. The mounted TV monitors flashed customer numbers instead of hymn numbers. They were on number 40.

An hour and a half later our number was called. I handed over my stack of qualifying documents. She spread them out, entered numbers into her computer system, and  tracked down the old CO DL on their system. Then we hit a snag. The numbers of my social security number in their system were transposed. My medicare card, issued by the Social Security Administration, mind you, was not a "valid" proof of my SS number. I'd have to bring back a 1099 tax form.

Bill didn't fare any better. Even though he had a letter from the Social Security Administration with his SS# on it, they wouldn't accept it.

At least I knew where to find the 1099s. The clerk  ignored all of my hyperbole, said she'd squeeze us up to the front of the line if we could get back the same day.

I grumbled the groused the whole way home.  It didn't help that Saint Bill was chuckling and telling me to learn patience. At home we chowed down and I dug up tax forms. Too bad it was too early for a drink; it might have improved my mood.

On the second trip I shut up and let my sweet husband do all of the talking. He put on his best Hilary imitation and announced to the clerk "We're baa-ck." We were out of there half an hour later. And she said we were funny. That was generous of her.

One final stroke on the keyboard and she registered me to vote, too.

But what if you're disabled and have to get a ride to go back and forth for additional documentation?  Or you don't keep good records and have to request duplicate copies of documents? Or you don't have a passport or state ID with a photo?

I would have given up if I hadn't needed the driver's license. (And I wasn't so vehement about voting in this election.)

Maybe there are frauds out there who vote for cash, Tammany Hall style, but I doubt it. And maybe a few undocumented immigrants have tried to vote. But I'm a citizen, and I had a terrible time proving it. I'm glad the Democrats oppose many of the laws proposed to cut down on voter fraud. Colorado's requirements to get a DL are ridiculously stringent.

Ordinary is reason enough to celebrate

Today's an ordinary October day. Normal weather. Routine tasks. Nothing exciting, except--ordinary is reason enough to celebrate.

During the months since my last post, illness and stress moved in like a termite invasion swarming over our lives.

Since my medical issue turned around I revel in the unremarkable.

The portable wheelchair is stashed in the garage. I don't need a stool in the shower. I can get on the floor to play with my grandson. My calendar has spaces without doctor appointments. I dare to make modest plans again.

Today I'll dance and empty the dishwasher,  hum as I load the washer,  sip coffee in the sunshine.

If you are healthy, it's a great day.

And I celebrate you, the many folks who tried their best to brighten the dark days:

The Read-a-Lattes, my book club, who brought our weekly lunch date to the house so I could join. The church friends who sent me cards, prayed, called, brought dinner, chauffeured.
The many who literally packed up our house and put the boxes in the moving van.

You showed us a hundred kindnesses. You are irreplaceable.