In the Moment

That’s where I have to be right now...in the moment.  I’m a bit unsettled right now.  I just ordered mailing labels with three addresses...no mistake...three!  Yes, I’m living with Buff Honey in Maryland aka BH but all my stuff is at my Columbia address.  And, yet, Florida is my official residence.  Go figure.

I just reread a few of my readings with my revered medium.  Two years ago, she predicted I would be moving out of my house albeit with reluctance.  Why?  Because I like my house and my twig furniture and my golden oak antiques and my Thai silk curtains.  It’s been my community for over 25 years where I raised my children, taught with my closest friends and, sadly, lost my beloved husband.

Even more intriguing was the fact that she predicted that the move would be for a relationship.  Two years ago I was seeing the polyamorous hoarder so moving into that filthy nest was not an option for me.  Instead, I pooh-poohed that prediction but, in subsequent readings, she insisted that he was coming, I was moving and, in one reading, she stated we would be living together in two states.

My reaction?  “Yeah, sure, whatever.”

Of course, what she did NOT say is that moving out of my place and into his would be utterly all-consuming and exhausting!  Hence, the “live in the moment” philosophy.  I cannot fathom having everything done.

Every piece of furniture moved, every box packed, all clothes in their rightful places.  Every closet cleaned out to practically nothing, agreements on whose dishes and pots will be used.  The 40 year old appliances replaced and new ceramic tile floors and granite countertops installed.  All extraneous books donated to libraries.

That’s the short list!

So, every morning I wake up and nurse that cup of coffee while reading the Washington Post, then move on to my required 30 minutes of exercise followed by granola cereal and fruit.  Then, I ask BH, “What’s our goal today?”

Meaning....what closet are we attacking?  Or what bookshelf can we clean off?  He’s really pretty good about it.  I measure that by the number of bags I take to the Thrift Shop.

He can’t let go of everything yet.  When our parents pass, we end up with tons of pictures or things that had meaning for them and for us.  What to do with it all?  Generally, we don’t have room for them and our kids don’t want them.

If we get rid of them, it’s almost impossible not to feel guilty!!  OMG, I just threw away my mother’s favorite pot holder!  NOOOOO!  I think this is one of the reasons I’ve become such a minimalist....I hate guilt and I don’t want my kids to have to clean out my stuff.

You’ll probably disagree with me but, in my meager, experience, I find that men have a harder time ridding themselves of their parents’ stuff.  So, that’s why, I just let BH choose what he can let go of.

There’s another reason I’m trying to live in the moment these days.  I’m overdue to become a grandmother for the third time.  It’s my younger daughter’s first and we are all anxiously awaiting this joyous event.  She and her husband have no idea if it’s a girl or a boy and we have no idea what they’re going to name it.  Presently, they call it Gizmo....really.

I don’t blame them for not sharing the name ahead of time.  Everyone will ring in on whether or not they like it.  I was an educator for over 30 years....there are a LOT of names I have a negative association with.  But, even if they name the baby one of those, I will instantly lose my negativity because this baby will be absolutely perfect in every way!  

My medium predicted the gender a year ago and I keep saying it’s a girl but, there’s always a possibility that it’s not.  Actually, no one really cares what it is.

I just cannot wait for the baby to get here!!!  Soooo exciting!  All the other stuff like cleaning and moving are minor inconveniences in the scheme of things.

The baby was supposed to be here already!  She was having contractions two days ago.  I keep calling and texting....no change...ugh!

I know, I know. I’m, unsuccessfully, trying to live “in the moment.”

Gypsy Life

Two months, working everyday, cleaning out closets, drawers, scrubbing tile floors, sealing cement cracks, spackling cracks, spot painting, replanting container gardens, paying a stager to move furniture....that’s a fraction of what the past two months have entailed.

But, it’s on the market.  And, so is the house next door.  Yep!  Went on one day after mine.  How damn lucky can you get?

The truth is, I just don’t care.  It’s on and that’s it.  I’m afraid it will sell and I’m afraid it won’t.  I am so sick of cleaning out the place, I just need a respite from it all.  I lay awake at nights worrying about what I’m going to do with all my furniture.

I’m already living with Buff Honey but it’s full to overflowing with all his man cave stuff.  Plus, my youngest is one week away from her due date with her first child!!!  I absolutely cannot be thinking about moving issues!

Occasionally, I feel like a baby boomer gypsy....living six months in the Florida house, owning the house in Columbia and living in the house in Olney.  Like I said before, I’m a minimalist.  Of course, that’s after spending a lifetime accumulating things I am now more than ready to give away or dump at the landfill.

In Olney, I have three drawers, a quarter of a closet plus a few bookshelves.  I’m actually perfectly happy but I also know that’s temporary....a tsunami is approaching right after the closing date.

Actually, I did live the gypsy life for a long time.  After I graduated from Florida State circa 1970, I left in a VW bug with a husband, a dog, our hippie clothes and beads, and a surfboard (don’t ask).  We were on our way to New England where he’d gone AWOL, landing in New Haven.  He evidently had fond memories as we were on the return trip.

When we cruised the streets of Northampton, Massachusetts, it was fairly obvious that cops were not interested in busting marijuana users as they were apparent everywhere in broad daylight.  We got a room in a boarding house and cooked on two burners checking out concerts, poetry readings and consciousness raising groups in our spare time.

No jobs.  I think we had about $100 and the room was $25 a week so my husband, thank God, found one working in a minimum security prison as a drug counselor not too long after we arrived.  I know....the irony.  Hey, it was the 70s.

And then, the moves started.  We left Northampton, moved to a lake cottage in Southwick, then on to South Windsor, Connecticut....all this within 8 months.  I remember this because my oldest was born a week after we moved the last time.

Over the next ten years, I had ten different addresses...stability was not my forte back then.  I got swept up in communal living, the women’s movement, civil rights and politics.

I lost my husband....a very good guy...to my need to experience a life I could’ve never lived in Pine Castle, Florida or in an earlier era.

But, I digress.

I’m making baby steps progress on the man cave I now call home.  Last weekend, we totally cleaned out his daughter’s room (she hasn’t lived there in over five years).  She happily took her treasures to her apartment.

Today, we tackled the coat closet.  While he was running, I took everything out.  18 jackets, 11 umbrellas, 3 remotes, cords and cables to god knows what....12 rolls of wrapping paper, vacuum cleaner, dust buster, gloves, hats, plates (?).  There’s more.
But, now it’s less.  Down to three jackets, four umbrellas, vacuum and dust buster.
Ahhhh...progress!  I love that thrift store down the street!

I have to keep a perspective here.  It’s not easy for him to part with his stuff but, at least, he makes the effort and knows it needs to go.

Not so for my last boyfriend.  He could sign up for the Hoarder Show.  Seriously.  One day, he asked me to help him reduce the number of pants he had.  Okay, I’ll bite.  How hard could that be?  Just pants?

We started putting them in piles....jeans, khakis, dress pants, shorts.....the piles took up every space available in three rooms.  When the last pair finally emerged, I had counted over 300 pairs of pants.  No exaggeration.  Hoarder.  He didn’t throw away one pair.

LIke I said....PERSPECTIVE!  Hmmmm....18 jackets vs 300 pants?!  I think I can deal with Buff Honey's man cave!