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Regaining Control

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I’m usually pretty good at coming up with a title for a post. They come to me quickly, and I usually never second guess my choice. Today is a little different. I wasn’t sure whether to title this one as I did, “Regaining Control”, or my other thought which was  “Misconceptions.” What I need to get off my chest has a little to do with both. As I’ve pointed out before, this blog began as a way to force myself to work on my art. The unfortunate situation that we found ourselves in changed that. I still plan to return to my work, but there isn’t much time for creativity these days unless it is in the form of packing boxes. This blog instead has become a catharsis for my emotional well-being in a time of struggle. Pent up emotions do no one any good. I am a very “in your face” kind of person. I don’t believe in hiding the truth, I feel better when I am honest with people. That doesn’t mean that I go around insulting people by telling them something negative about themselves, some things are best left unsaid, but when I am upset with someone I don’t let it fester. When you don’t release your emotions I think little things tend to build into great big things, and then all kinds of unnecessary drama can ensue. I don’t know most of the people who read what I write, and that works for me. It just feels good to let it out, and if by chance someone else relates and it helps them in some way, that is amazing. I also don’t write looking for pity, which believe it or not I kind of think some people who I do know believe that I am. I’m a writer as well as an artist, so I am doing what a writer does, I write. I started keeping a journal at twelve, of course back then we didn’t have fancy names like “journal”, it was a diary. You know the kind where you talk about which boy is cute and how you hate your parents that day? I actually kept that diary for almost seven years. I’ve written a lot over the years. I’ve never attempted to have anything published, that lovely “you are good enough” voice that resides in my brain held me back. Short stories, poetry, and a few children’s books are all in a box. Someday I may let them out, but for now I write here. So with that rather long introduction I will begin.

I’ve had several people tell me to focus on the good in my life. Things such as, “Count your blessings.”,  “Look at all the love and kindness you’ve received.”,  “Stop focusing on the negative.” …and so on. The implication of course being that I spend my life in a complete state of “woe is me.” That couldn’t be farther from the truth. I guess I’ll address misconceptions first. I am grateful, I do count my blessings, I don’t always focus on the negative, and so on… This blog became a way to vent emotion. My lovely husband was struggling in his own way with his identity as the man of the house, the bread-winner, the guy who took care of everything. Did he need to be burdened with my worry wart ways? The answer is of course not. Venting here allowed me to blow off some worry as well as steam. Not that Dan didn’t always know what I was feeling, but this took the edge off. When I said that I felt my prayers weren’t being answered it didn’t mean that I suddenly stopped being Catholic. Trust me when I say I sometimes envy the faith that some people have. Mine is just a little shaky at the moment. I also believe something my sister said about God giving us free will. God does help them who help themselves, it’s just tough to get it going when no one will give you a chance, because guess what? The multitudes of people who turned Dan down for a job have free will too, the free will to not give him the job. I also in my beliefs think that God is a little busy right now with Gaza, the Ebola virus, the current crisis in Iraq, and the millions of poor starving babies in the world to be worried about whether or not I get to keep my 3000 square foot home. I wouldn’t expect that kind of attention. This is where the regaining control part comes in. I’m a self admitted control freak, and my life was way out of my control, that means I turn into a “basket-case”.  This was never about losing my big house, it was about worrying that I would have no house at all. This was about watching what the situation did to the person that I love, admire, and respect most in the world, Dan. It was about being scared. Loss of control is a big issue for me. It’s why I’m claustrophobic, I need the keys. The house will be on the market within a week. I’m exhausted, as is Dan, but (dare I say) we are also beginning to feel a little excited about the future. We went out last weekend to investigate potential places to move to, and quite frankly we fell in love. I won’t go into detail as of yet, but I am feeling hopeful, and just a little bit more in control. Now that there is a plan of sorts, it means that all is almost well in my world. We are helping ourselves and letting God take care of those who can’t and need Him way more than us.

Finally on this lovely Sunday morning a few words of wisdom from me.March 13 2010 079

 

Just Like Mom

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We are close to listing, I believe by Wednesday of this week. By then my right knee should move from softball size to small watermelon. I spent yesterday in the garden, as I had the day before. I painted the patio, and then that led to thinking that the frames around the window looked dirty, so I pulled out a small ladder and repainted those. I believe I have become just a little crazed. Today in 97 degree heat I will be repainting the door in from the garden. It’s the domino effect. Every time I clean one thing it makes the thing next to it look a little duller. I really need to stop. The place looks beautiful. I will be taking pictures soon, and will share some of our handiwork.

A few weeks before my Mother died she began cleaning out drawers. She made a comment to my sister about not wanting people to think she was “dirty”.  She wasn’t expecting company, there was no one set to arrive at her home to inspect her cleanliness, it was as if she had a premonition that those drawers would be opened again, but the next time it wouldn’t be by her. It still brings tears to my eyes when I think about moments like that. How alone she felt at times. The last night she spent in her house was alone, up all night suffering a heart attack. She was afraid, she always put my Dad first so she didn’t wake him, instead she sat by herself that entire night. It breaks my heart. What’s worse is that she spent the night in the comfort of her only friend, her cigarettes. So often I wish I could go back and tell her to call me, or to call one of my sisters. There isn’t one of us that wouldn’t have rushed to her side.

All of this came to my mind this morning as I continued the relentless preparation of my house to make it ready for sale. I am my Mother’s daughter. I have been looking at homes for sale closer to Dan’s job, and quite frankly I am appalled at some of what I am seeing. I would be embarrassed to reveal the kind of filth that is photographed and publicly displayed for the world to see. OK, so I’m being a little harsh, but really? I have cleaned every inch of this home, it is immaculate, every nook and cranny I can think of is getting a through go over. I wouldn’t dream of asking someone to move in and clean up after me. Years ago in Chicago we were looking for a house to buy. We went to see a typical Chicago Bungalow owned by someone named Otto. The house needed work, which is a challenge I enjoy, but what I didn’t enjoy was the amount of dirt I saw on every window ledge, the unappealing odor, and the general mess of the entire house. When I see that (or in this case smell that) I wonder what could possibly be underneath it all. Yuck! Sends a shiver down my spine. When we left Otto asked if we were interested, and when we said no he asked why. We lied, said the house was too small, but the reality is that I wanted to tell him to clean his house. A little elbow grease never hurt anyone.  I love my home, I’m proud of my home, and if I didn’t clean it my Mom would be ashamed. That in itself is enough of a motivating factor.

 

Lost Connections

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As we prepare for our move I find myself reflecting on friends lost over the years. Particularly the move here to California. Several friends promised we wouldn’t lose touch, but as time passed communication became sparse. Regular phone calls became monthly calls, emails went unanswered, even when I joined Facebook (late in the game I admit) I reached out to some who “friend ed” me back, but when I tried to move beyond that I didn’t get any response. I made a one time “Best Friend” my daughter’s godmother, sure that we would always be in each others lives. I’m not even sure where she lives now. She stopped communicating with me. I entrusted her with what I had hoped to be an important role in my daughter’s life. All I can do is wonder why. There was even a woman, a relatively new friend, who befriended me because my old neighbor, her friend, had moved away and not kept in touch with either of us as promised. We bonded over the loss of our friend and began what I thought was a terrific friendship. Not long after that I discovered that we would be moving here. We were both saddened by this road block in the way of the promise of a great relationship that lay ahead. We swore we wouldn’t be like “her” and keep in touch. I moved, we called, we exchanged letters, and then suddenly she was gone. No note, no goodbye. The same thing happened with a friend from high school. She reached out via the internet. I discovered that she was an artist, something I had never known about her, and was thrilled at the connection. We jumped into this new adult friendship head first. Lots of emails, exchanges of ideas, and even gifts. When I was back in Chicago I made a point of seeing her. It was wonderful, we had dinner and talked and talked about our families, our lives, and for me the most important thing of all, we talked about art. I have two wonderfully creative friends here, very artistic and talented, but neither does the kind of work I do. This woman does. I was excited at the prospect of bouncing ideas off of each other, and then…POOF! Gone. No answer to my emails. It left me feeling as though I’d done something wrong. Last year the wife of a former colleague of Dan’s and I met at a dreaded business dinner. I didn’t want to go, but by the end of the evening I felt like I had a wonderful new friend. She has dropped me like a hot potato. Your guess, I have no idea. There are so many more stories like those in my life. Not that I am completely innocent. I too have drifted out of a life or two. I guess I can’t take it personal. More importantly I hope that the people I’ve left behind don’t question themselves about it. I only know that some of my missing people had an impact on my life and I will never get to tell them that. As a shy little girl with not a friend in the world, friendship means a great deal to me. I’m not one of those people with a huge social circle. I’m more of a half-dozen or less kind of girl, but each and every one of my friends brings something different into my life. When someone vanishes it leaves a little hole in my heart for a bit, and of course me being neurotic me, I agonize over what I could possibly have done wrong. I know, wasted energy, but just try telling that to my heart and slightly skewed brain.

So my dear friends who may be reading this, you count. You make up parts of my life. You bring personality, laughter, shoulders to cry on, and you make me feel good about myself. Why? Because I think we are all special in our own way, I admire qualities in all of you, and the fact that you want to be my friend makes me feel special. That, and even though you know what a messy, half-crazed, glass not half empty but broken on the floor worry wart I am you seem to like me anyway.

Off to new horizons, but this time inside the state line, so no excuses my friends, lets work on this. I’m starting over, but there are some of you that I just can’t imagine my life without.

Good News At Last

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Well it finally happened, Dan got the news we’ve been waiting for, a job. Sixteen months of worry and stress. Unfortunately it is bittersweet. We will still have to lose our home. The job is much too
far away, the money isn’t quite what we had hoped, but it is more than so many people make, so for that I am grateful. I am also grateful for the support of so many, some of whom I know well, and some who reached out to a stranger in pain. Thank you, all of you.

We will continue to work on the house…thisclosetobeingdone…still tired, still discovering pain in muscles that we didn’t know we possessed, but for now at least an answer to one of the many questions about where we go from here. Another casualty is my dream of the bookstore/cafe, at least in Temecula. The money we had to put towards that has been used to survive this trying time. Dan has the job, but I am again not sure of where I end up. I hope to move to a place where I can renew my vow to continue with my art. As for now most of the paints are packed, and while I did leave a few supplies out hoping for a chance to work while we sold the house, I’m not sure if I will have the time. Once we are finished (by tomorrow I hope!), I will have to keep things in order as we sell the house, and then of course finding a place to live, and unpacking the multitudes of boxes. Last year when I began this blog it was in hopes of rediscovering the artist I was meant to be. Life has a way of laughing in your face when you try to make plans. So here we are, me and my artistic aspirations, on the back-burner once again. Not giving in, not giving up, determined to have a moment that is mine alone sometime in the future.

A Quick Update

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When I was a little girl my favorite show was Bewitched, you know she of the wiggling nose? Samantha only had to twitch that little nose and everything was magically in its place. I need that nose. I need that ability. We are still buried here at Chez Zuckerman. Our dreams of having our house up by August 1st are laughable. There is so much more to do that I am overwhelmed, overworked, over-tired, basically I’m over it. We are currently in the kitchen, packing and cleaning, and did I mention repainting the HGTV recommended neutral palette? The painting is done, but now we have to finish putting the room back together, less cluttered (HGTV), less personal (HGTV), essentially bare, boring, and not us. We have put a few pieces back on the walls, and of course books, books, and more books, but even those are whittled down quite a bit. We are racing the clock, and I fear we are losing. I woke at 4:30 this morning with a list racing through my brain. I jumped up, came down, and didn’t sit back down until nearly 7:30 this evening. (If memory serves me there was some implication that I don’t like work) I’m beat, Dan’s beat, our not so young muscles and joints are protesting, but we can’t stop. We can almost see the finish line. It makes me sad in a way. As tired as I am, once this is done the house goes up. We heard today that houses in this area are going fast, again good and bad. I don’t really want to leave, but we need to.  I’d just like a few more evenings in my beautiful garden before I have to say goodbye. Still no idea where we will end up. Just an update tonight. My fingers hurt as much as the rest of me. Enjoy your Sunday everyone, we’ll be here cleaning and packing. Here’s a shot of my beloved garden.

 

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And something on the vine…I will miss it so

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Borrowed Words

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Dan and I were working on the house today. We are halfway through painting our kitchen/family room. We are “neutralizing” yet again. Amazingly as we work to turn our home into something that isn’t us, hoping to sell before time runs out, we laugh and joke, and talk. Sometimes we even talk about our unknown future. Without jobs, or without knowing where we will end up when we sell this house, we do it as one. We work well together. As in every other place in our life we are in sync. We stop what we are in the middle of to lend a hand to each other, we take turns making meals, we worry over the other working too hard. We also listen to music, his and hers. Usually Dan’s, only because for the most part I prefer quiet, and I like much of his, my taste is all over the map. Years ago I made a mix CD for my car. Guns and Roses “Sweet Child O’ Mine”, right next to the Henry Mancini instrumental version of the theme to Franko Zeffirelli’s Romeo and Juliet. (All I can say is it works for me) Today we did a little singers and songwriters selection. Some Neil Young for Dan, and for me, Billy Joel. I’ve been a fan for more than thirty years. I’ve actually only missed two concerts since 1979. I love words, I love story telling, and I love good song lyrics. I love hearing a song and feeling something. I love relating to the emotions that are shared human experience, like love and heartbreak. I’ve been attempting to write something for a few days to express some of what I am feeling. I’m not giving up, it’s just that as much as I enjoy writing there are times when the words of another find a home in my heart. I am on the verge of losing these four walls and a roof, but when this particular song played I turned to Dan and said, “This is how I feel.” He said he feels the same. So thanks Billy, for putting my thoughts into words, I hope you don’t mind if I share them here. For Dan, who really is my home.Your My Home

Breathe

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Today was another good day. I think I have resigned myself to the loss of our home. No more crying about what I can’t change. Not that the day I hand over the keys won’t be a difficult one, but I also know that it will be the first day in months that I can breathe. This home I once lavished so much love on has become an insurmountable burden. We can’t move forward or figure out our future until it is gone.

Before I begin to write about today I wanted to write about Sunday. It was a wonderful day and deserves to be remembered. Sunday’s day of rest turned into a very long day, something we hadn’t counted on. Our friend’s flight was delayed, and delayed, and delayed, she didn’t arrive in San Diego until after midnight. I felt for her, it was an incredibly long day of traveling. As for Dan and I, the picnic was wonderful and long overdue. Good food, good wine, and an incredible sunset. Who says my life is bad? (I know… mostly me) For awhile we managed to forget about the not so great stuff in our life and focus on the moment and each other. Then when we realized that we had four hours to kill before the flight came in, we decided to splurge and go to a movie, Begin Again. A very appropriate title for us. It was also another enjoyable two hours that took our minds off our troubles.

I need to step back a day. I had an epiphany of sorts on Saturday. We were at the check out in the grocery store, I glanced over to the register next to us and saw a young family. That’s when it hit me, how much worse this could be. I realize we aren’t the only people in the world going through this, I’ve known that all along of course, but what happened on Saturday was the realization of how much worse this would be if I had kids to feed. I looked at this young couple and their kids and thought about what it would be like for them. This is a nightmare, no doubt, but it is just us, the two of us. There are no little stomachs going to bed empty. It makes you think.

Today… A really good day, another day when I’ve felt really happy for the first time in weeks. I mentioned that I was gathering art supplies for a local foster home. As I sorted through art supplies left over from my own kids days at school, I saw the little individual name tags that I painstakingly taped to each magic marker and pencil. Another epiphany.  There was a pretty good chance that the kids that I was giving the supplies to never had anyone tape their name to a pencil. This foster home is for kids who have been hurt by an adult in their life. It took awhile, but I removed every piece of tape from every pencil and marker. I want these kids to own the supplies, I don’t want them reminded of something that they may have never had. The further I got into cleaning the studio the more I wanted to give. In the end I had four boxes packed to the top, and a couple of bags. When I dropped them off the staff was thrilled. It seems they are in the midst of planning their annual art fundraiser, much of the art supplied by the kids. I had no idea, but when I left there I felt so happy, I felt like I had really done something positive. As I dig my way out of all of the stuff here at home, I’ve figured out a way to catch a breath, by making a difference in the life of a kid. I’ll be looking for more supplies to give away,  its good medicine for what ails me.

A few memories from Sunday to share…

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The Things That Can’t Be Taken Away

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No righteous indignation today, no steam to blow off, just some thoughts on what matters, and what I value. We are taking the day off from packing. We really can’t afford to. We are buried alive here, I think the crew from Hoarders should be here any minute. We have eleven years of living in this house, and there is also my stuff. Art is a messy business, and a business that requires supplies, lots of supplies. I am now nearly four boxes full for a donation to the nearby foster home, but that hardly made a dent. I will probably have to let go of more, but my creative brain is in full gear thanks to the reemergence of some long forgotten items. I only wish I had the time to create right now. Instead I have to content myself with thoughts of my artistic future, and write all of my ideas down before they become long forgotten. We decided to relax today because we are honestly a little overwhelmed and exhausted. As a souvenir from my eighteen years at the grocery store, I have tendonitis and carpal tunnel in both hands. My left arm began to hurt a few weeks ago, it is now a searing pain up to as far as the inside of my arm near the elbow. My knee(s) are unforgiving, and quite angry with me for the amount of time I have spent on my feet these last few weeks. Then there is Dan’s back. He of the “I’m fine, I’ll be OK”, gang has been (when he thinks I’m not looking) stretching out and rubbing his lower back.  We have been working nearly twelve hours a day to get this place on the market. We need a break, obviously in more sense than one, but today is the day. When I told my Dad last night he said, “You are burning yourselves out. It won’t do either of you any good.” He was right. Our friend needs a ride home from the airport in San Diego. She doesn’t arrive until 9:30 p.m. which gives us time to participate in a favorite activity of ours, a beach picnic. We haven’t had one in more than two years. Our last was on our anniversary two years ago, when I happened to rest my hand on the car door frame right as Dan was closing it. Ouch doesn’t even begin to cover it. Macgyver that I am, I splinted my thumb and fingers right on the beach using a couple of emery boards, and a band-aid I happened to have on another finger. I tried a brave front for about a half hour, then I caved and the picnic ended. I had broken my right index finger and thumb. A very memorable anniversary to say the least. We have been talking about a repeat ever since. As life would have it the time never came, until today. We are going to go to Coronado Island. For those of you who have seen “Some Like It Hot”, with Jack Lemmon, Tony Curtis, and Marilyn Monroe, the Hotel del Coronado is where it was filmed. It is a beautiful place right on the water. We have had a picnic there before, where we can watch the sun go down over the Pacific. These are the moments that I speak of, the moments that can’t be taken away. No matter how much we lose, what we have is unbreakable, a love that has grown in the some of the worst of circumstances. What we have are these moments that we cherish together. A day on the beach trying to figure out the unknown. A picnic made from what’s in the fridge (which I can tell you isn’t half bad, I’m a Macgyver in the kitchen too!), and sitting close, our arms wrapped around one another as we watch the sun sink beyond the horizon. These days, and the memories we take with us, are the things that we will always have, and for that I will always be grateful.

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Just one of many. A beautiful evening on the beach. There’s still a lot to look forward to in this life.

My Rant: More to come

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I’m back. So soon? Yes, I realized over the last few days that expressing myself on these pages is cathartic for me. I am feeling frustrated and weighted down by our current situation, writing helps me work through my feelings. I’ve always enjoyed writing, in fact I kept a diary for nearly seven years when I was younger. I’ve spent years starting and not finishing short stories, and have multitudes of paper scraps with single lines written on them. A thought or idea pops into my head and I grab whatever happens to be handy to capture the idea before I forget. Sometimes these elusive thoughts have come and gone before I have a chance to do anything with them. Many of them have languished for years in a file folder in my studio, and some have gone on to be parts of poems. I digress…

The point of tonight was to finish what I started last night. When I reread what I wrote I forgot to point out one thing about myself, and that is that I love to work. I derive a great deal of self-satisfaction from physical labor, and the accomplishment of a task. I hadn’t intended to add to last night, but this morning something happened that fueled my displeasure with those that would imply that I might think a job is beneath me. We have hardwood floors throughout our home. Unfortunately two of them sustained damage by bed frames that bore holes and scratches in them. We called in a floor professional who took a look, realized it wasn’t a huge job, and told Dan he could save us money by passing the job onto his “guy”. The implication that somehow the price would be less by cutting out the middleman. Then we got the call with the price…$625.  Six Hundred Twenty Five Dollars! To replace what came down to replacing about eight pieces of hardwood, which by the way we would be supplying. He claimed that the flooring in the guest room would take a day. Dan told him we couldn’t afford it, he said he would see what he could do and call us back. That was yesterday. This morning when Dan went for a walk, I did what I do, I did it myself. Me, still in my nightgown, sitting on the floor of the guest room (I can work as long as I’m sitting), with a hammer, two chisels, and a small screwdriver. Forty five minutes later Dan came home to find the “all day job” more than half done. I got up and brought him in to see what I had done. His response? “That’s my girl”. I am not one of those women who gets an idea, and then proceeds to make her husband do all the work. I think it’s my Parent’s influence. They were both hard workers, and always did their best.  If it’s my idea, I try my hardest to accomplish it. If I need help I will (sometimes) ask. I believe that it is one of the best parts of who I am, it never occurs to me that I can’t accomplish what I want. There is one exception, that unfortunately is my art. If I could master that confidence and apply it to my art, there would be no stopping me.

Another photo tonight. I promise not to make this a habit (not sure you want to see all my appendages), but sometimes when I get an idea in my head and just go at it there are consequences. Consequences like this…

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This is what happens when you don’t wear a glove and smack your hand with a hammer. Did it stop me? No it didn’t, in fact I did it three times, and this is only my left hand, I am sparing you the photo of the blister that covers the entire tip of my right index finger, or the tear in my right knuckle, or the cut left by the sliver of wood that went in my right hand. All day? Six Hundred Twenty Five Dollars, yeah right, I don’t think so, not when there’s a hard-working woman in the house.

One more thought as I look at my no longer colorless hand. People of the world, particularly in Gaza, give peace a chance. I say that my parents influenced my work ethic, but they also taught me that we are all the same. Respect each other, and honor the individual right to worship God, any God, your God, their God, in whatever way they see fit. Love each other, and stop killing in God’s name. As my very wise eighty-one year old father says, “Here’s how I look at religion. It’s like soccer, as long as you’re in the game it doesn’t matter what color jersey you are wearing.” Like I said, a very wise man.

Not So Cleverly Disguised

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Have you ever had someone tell you a story about someone else, when you KNOW that they are in fact talking about you? Trying to say something to you about you, but quite frankly not having the nerve to say it to your face? I’ve had it happen several times in the last few weeks. I’m feeling a little, shall I say, pissy today? Unless you have been through what we are going through, you have absolutely no idea what this feels like. No more than I, the pasty white person that I am, has any inkling what it feels like to be a person of color. (Any color, since I have none) I can sympathize, empathize, and offer support, but I haven’t walked in their shoes, therefore I should keep my colorless opinion to myself. I hope those in my life who have been generous in their support of us don’t think this is aimed at them, it isn’t. What has been getting to me is the judgmental way that remarks are being made to me, or as mentioned above, the fairytale fable of someone whose situation is just oh so close to mine, who made a bad decision, or is expressing virtues of which I am apparently lacking. Really? I may be losing a lot here, but it certainly isn’t my brain.

More than one person in the last several weeks has been aghast at my decision to turn down a job I applied for and got at a local grocery store. I honestly don’t know what I was thinking. As I have mentioned here on these pages before, I have had six knee surgeries. My first at the age of fifteen, and then five more inside four years here in Temecula. Five on one knee. I tore my ACL, had it repaired, it didn’t work, had it repaired again, and guess what? It didn’t work. Two more surgeries for torn tissue, and then because I thought my left knee was feeling neglected I tore tissue there as well, one more surgery. Let’s throw in the atrophy of my Achilles tendon of the left ankle and..WHAT WAS I THINKING??? This isn’t about not wanting to work, or not wanting to “suck it up”, this is about pain. Pain that wakes me nightly. Pain that had me in tears earlier today because I’ve been on my feet too much packing boxes. Let me show you something…

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Nice…right? (I have knee envy, and by the way, thank you stranger with beautiful knees that I found on Google images)

Check these babies out…

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I’ll bet you are jealous. I think the right knee is the real beauty. Don’t even know where my knee cap disappeared to. (I apologize if you happen to be eating)

My pissy point is this, unless you walk in my shoes, or in my case on these knees, don’t judge me, it pisses me off. Yes, we need money. But if you read this blog you also know that I possess talents far beyond what standing on my feet all day can earn. Be mad at me for that. Be mad at me for not using my God-given talents. I’ve spent the last few days packing away my supplies and my work. I’m mad enough at myself for everyone. I mad that I haven’t had the self-confidence to make a living with what I can do. It’s time to try, no knees required.