Tag Archives: home

Dare Me…

Dare Me…

FullSizeRender

Don’t ever tell me that I cannot do something.  It makes my resolve bubble up like saliva around a sweet tart.  I love a good dare.  It gives me a focus and a purpose and a drive.  Dares might just be the only way that I move forward in my life.

But no one dared me to sell my house and move into a townhouse a couple short blocks away.  I can practically see the out- of- control 50 foot curly willow tree from my front porch!  They haven’t cut it down yet even though I disclosed the snapping branches in the escrow papers.   But they did remove the beautiful buttercup blooming Magnolia that Dale planted for me in the front yard three years ago.  And the potted flowers on the front porch that I left behind because they were oh so pretty and I wanted the new owners to enjoy them…  gone now and nothing to replace them.

“It’s not your house anymore” says my wise middle son.

I know, wise middle son.

I found this “Dare” card as I was decorating my new place and I put it in my downstairs bathroom.  The red matches the lovely framed print of the Virgin Mary and Jesus that I purchased at the Uffizi Gallery Museum in Florence, Italy way back in 2000. The picture hung proudly over the toilet of my red powder room in the house that I no longer own.  I’m quite sure they have repainted THAT room. Who paints a bathroom red??  Right?

As I read this card I see that it has taken on a meaning that is utterly circumstantial and profound in my current state of mind.  Dare to believe in yourself. Dare to trust that you have what it takes to make it happen.  Dare to savor all that life has to offer.

Dare to grasp that your Kansas is within you.   OK.. ouch!

Some people are nomads.  Wherever they can lay their head and set up camp is sufficient.

But some of us are always looking for our Kansas.  Our home.  We click away at our red sparkly designer flats and tell ourselves that there’s no place like it.  There’s no place like home.  And then we find ourselves constantly looking.

For that idyllic home. The one we dream about.  The one that makes us feel secure and safe.

I ask myself.. where is my home?  My parents are deceased.  My children are college educated and gainfully employed.  I’ve given away the sweatshirts, the camping gear, the tents, whiffle bats and balls, beach umbrellas, boogie boards, shelves of required reading for high school students and the magical closet full of suits that my three sons wore with permutations of ties, socks, shirts and shoes.  The paraphernalia of parenthood has been dissolved and distributed.  I am no longer the keeper of things.

Where the hell is my Kansas?

Someone, quick, dare me to find it!

 

 

 

You want how much for that refrigerator??

You want how much for that refrigerator??

French-Door-RefrigeratorsYup.. she’s a beauty.

And everyone knows that food is love and the bigger the frig the more food and the more love!  It would be a huge splurge.  It’s what I love to do.  Entertain.   Make food. Food Is Love.

The stainless steel doesn’t turn me on.  But I’ve been told that it’s time to join the real world and stop being a hippy.  I’m still not sure this refrigerator fits my lifestyle. I really loved my magnetic door white frig with the 100 pictures plastered on it and magnets broadcasting everything from what wine to drink with dinner all the way to the phone number of my favorite appliance guy, Kenny.

I guess those days are over… sigh.

“So, can I have your address?” says the nice man at Lowe’s.”  He’s about the age of my sons and tall and skinny and I’m thinking maybe I’ll invite him over sometime and try to fatten him up.

“Oh..  I don’t have it with me.”  I’m embarrassed that I haven’t memorized my new address yet.

“OK.  You can just call it in with your credit card and we’ll do the transaction over the phone.”  He didn’t seem the least bit suspicious.  “Now when would you like this delivered?”

“Um…  I don’t know.”   Now I’m sounding like a crazy lady.

“I bought a new townhouse (friggin’ 10 months ago) and it’s not done yet.”

“Oh.”  he said with a raised eyebrow.

Yes, OH!  That’s what I say!

Now, I don’t know my address.  I don’t know when I’ll be in my new place.  I don’t know how I’ve survived this transition without going a bit nuts.  But I do know that I’m going to need that big ass frig so that I can have a lot of food and do a bunch of cooking and have people over and show them how much I love them and make my new house into a home so stop asking me all these silly questions and let’s get on with our business, shall we?

I thought to myself…

It’s been said that if you build it they will come.

Maybe if I buy the frig the townhouse will be done.

One can only hope…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Street of Dreams

Street of Dreams

 

 

My neighbor around the corner used to walk her little boys by my house with their big wheels.  We would chat sometimes and she mostly complained about the people who lived behind her who were constantly annoyed by the noise wafting from her back yard when her family and friends were in the pool or just out BBQing.   And she always punctuate the conversation with “But I will never move!  This is my dream house!”

Imagine my surprise when a couple months ago, her sons now graduated from high school, I spotted a big fat For Sale sign on her property.  Now they are gone- to where I have no idea.  Since her sons were old enough to travel the neighborhood independently, our only communication was a wave as I drove by her house.  She was usually outside meticulously manicuring her yard and garden and/or washing down the entire street in front of her house in her bathrobe.

When doing therapy with children, a very common assessment tool is called “House, Tree, Person”.  The child is asked to draw all three on a blank piece of paper and the idea behind this is that they will “project” into the drawing aspects of their inner world.  I’ve always loved doing this with my little clients, allowing both of us to relax and get to know each other.  (And of course, I love any opportunity to color with my set of 64 Crayola Crayons-Burnt Umber and Brick Red being my favorites..)

In my quest to “let go” in 2015, I threw away all my notes and paraphenalia from graduate school, including my very first House, Tree, Person drawing.  But it doesn’t really matter.  Every one I’ve ever drawn looks just like this one.  I did this the other day sitting at my kitchen table.  You might ask if this is my “dream house”.   Not really.   I think I’m the only woman on earth who has never longed for her “dream house”.

Rather, I have many houses that I dream about.

Shortly after we moved from sunny California to Portland Oregon, my son Patrick, then 9 years old,  had a vivid dream about our family home we had sadly left behind.  He was outside playing with his brothers and the neighborhood kids with squirt guns.  Out of water, he attempted to charge into the kitchen for a refill but found the front door locked.  A stranger opened it and promptly announced “you don’t live here any more”.

Pausing here for a brief meltdown.

I grew up on Halo Drive in Compton, California.  I had my babies on Tedemory Drive in Whittier.  I sent my first son to high school from SE 31st Street in Portland, Oregon.  And I launched all three of them into adulthood from my current home on Del Monte Avenue.   Each house was a “dream house” to me because the people I loved the most made it just that.  And in each house, a part of me was projected on to the walls and floors and empty spaces as my own personality and inner being grew and developed, magically displayed like a crayon drawing on a clean white piece of linen paper.

I’m moving, downsizing, cleaning, sorting and putting up for sale once again a house I will someday dream about.  I’m feeling both excited and sad and several other emotions in between. But I am holding the tension of the opposites deep within as I go through this process.   It’s time to make a change, to grow in a new direction, to take a chance, to redirect the energy in my life.   It will be a bittersweet journey.

I will take this home with me.  Every house I’ve ever lived in has taken up permanent residence in my heart and soul, carefully placed on my own personal Street of Dreams.

And I can revisit them any time I like.

 

Christmas Gifts.. Hang on to Hope!

Christmas Gifts.. Hang on to Hope!

Hope is the feeling that what you want can be had or that things will turn out the way you’d like them to.

Hoping is a daily activity.  I hope therefore I am.

I hope he’ll call.  I hope they are safe.  I hope the chemotherapy works.  I hope the turkey comes out juicy.  I hope today is better than yesterday.  I hope there is not a run in my tights.  I hope I find my keys.  I hope they can can come for Christmas. I hope I find a job soon.

I hope my car starts.  I hope he gets home on time.  I hope she feels better.  I hope it doesn’t rain.  I hope she has a good trip.  I hope I have enough time.  I hope it’s not too late.  I hope we can make it.  I hope you will forgive me.   I hope I get a raise.  I hope I can find the perfect gift.  I hope she feels better.

I hope I get an A.  I hope he likes my dinner.  I hope I can go to yoga.  I hope gramma comes for Christmas.  I hope we can all be together.  I hope this skirt is not too short.  I hope she likes me.  I hope I’m not being a pest.  I hope we can still be friends.  I hope it snows. I hope she didn’t suffer too much.  I hope he fed the dog.  I hope she has a good time.  I hope to get away this weekend.  I hope I can be home for Christmas.

I hope I don’t miss my plane.  I hope I don’t miss my opportunity.  I hope my prayers are answered.  I hope you dance.  I hope they serve beer in hell.  I hope you’ll join me.  I hope he’ll pop the question.  I hope she’ll say yes.  I hope I can keep up.  I hope it’s not too late.

I hope to lose 10 lbs.  I hope we win.  I hope I have time to wash my hair.  I hope I get the promotion.  I hope we can still be friends.  I hope you will hear me out.  I hope I can return the favor sometime.  I hope you can come.  I hope you’re feeling better soon.  I hope it’s not an imposition.

I hope you’ll stay for dinner.  I hope you like it.  I hope you will consider all the options.  I hope I find a parking space.  I hope I make the cut for the soccer team.  I hope you’ll meet me half way.  I hope I get to see you.  I hope the results are positive.  I hope he let the puppy out.

Who are we when we lose hope?  What drives us forward, gets us out of bed in the morning, tickles our funny bone and makes life worth while?

What is your heart’s desire?  What would you like to be when you grow up?  Is there an old friend that you hope to reconnect with some day?  What is stopping you?

People who are hopeless are emotionally bankrupt.

Fill your coffers with HOPE.