Shoo Lie Loo

The Haunting on Chestnut Street?

I don't claim to be an expert on many things.

As a matter of fact, I believe myself to be knowledgeable in many areas but an expert in none. To be an expert requires...well...expertise.

Recently, I've relished what great parents Chris and I are. Our children are polite, intelligent, adorable, creative (hey, I'm their mom, I reserve the right to brag or complain, depending upon the day...)

For the past week, Lucy and Henry have become "someone else's" children. Mom, I have to call you on the mat for this one - Grammy was here for a month and spoiled them ridiculously, as Grammys reserve the right to do.

Now Grammy has gone home and they are stuck with...insert scary music...Mommy.

I have been patient. I have been loving. I've even bent the rules, knowing that there are exceptions for change in the world of preschoolers.

Why, just last night I was singing my own praises on what a loving and understanding Mommy I must be to spend time talking to my children at length about their fears.

And then today...it dawned on me. It wasn't an epiphany, sadly. It took the sage advice of my husband and my very dear friend, Erika, to point out that maybe, just maaaaaybe I was coddling them. In not so many words.

Last night was another dreadful night. Lucy wet the bed and I found her in bed beside me sometime in the wee hours, freshly re-PJ'd - she claimed she'd had a bad dream. Henry woke up, also having had a bad dream, and needed consoling from Daddy for nearly an hour before he went back to sleep. And all four of us woke up red-eyed and in less than bright moods.

Chris has escaped to work after doing a bunch of housework (bless him) and taking an all too short nap (though I cursed his name and compared him to Rip van Winkle at the time because I had to work and knew my sleep time wouldn't come until much later).

Normally, I wouldn't think much of a night like that. Bed-wetting happens, and I've studied up on it and the why's and when to worry's, etc. Bad dreams also happen, in both children discovering their worlds and adults facing their's.

But this was the fourth night in a row of this. And I daresay that I'll go out on a limb and speak for the whole family - we are exhausted.

Tonight at swim class, Lucy's teacher mouthed thru the glass viewing area as they swam past that Lucy was "very crabby". Looking at Lucy tussling with her swim noodle with pink cheeks and angry tears, I could clearly see that Ms. Jessica was spot on.

Henry was also crabby - complaining of being tired. Demanding to go inside the swimming area to see the toys. Demanding to start a coloring project when only two minutes of class remained. Yelling at me because I had missed a commercial on a toy he apparently desperately wants (why do they have a TV at the YMCA, anyway??)

When Henry snapped at me and Lucy started to whine as we entered the locker room, I finally met my breaking point.

I started barking out orders like a drill sargeant with a raging case of hemorrhoids (I can say that word because I'm a nurse - poetic license).

"Lucy, get that wet swim suit off and put on these PJs." "Henry, if you continue to cry in my ear, I will take each of your cars, one by one, and put them up for two whole days." "Lucy, put your coat on now." "Henry, WHY are you wearing snow boots in 60-degree weather?" (Oh....woops, the last one was a Daddy choice...I thru it in for fun...)

Wow...the change...we got to the car, made a run for The Border, instructed them to not dare spill one crumb in my new van and that they were required to be fully responsible for their napkins and wrappers leaving the car, stopped at Walgreens for potting soil, birdseed and a strongly-desired bottle of chardonnay, came home to take them each inside, watched like a jailer to make sure they followed all their "steps" (which consists of taking off their shoes and coats and putting them in the closet, and hanging up their backpacks) and firmly instructed them to sit quietly at the dinner table while I prepared the rest of their dinner.

Not a peep of resistance. Not one whine. Not one argument or tear shed (I might have shed some tears of joy, but I really think it was just a side effect of yawning).

Up to bed after one "calm down show". Quick (but still affectionate) hugs and kisses. Sets of t-shirts and fresh undies for each child in the event of a nighttime accident. I was downstairs by 7:15pm. And not one single footfall from upstairs. Silence cherished by the Mommy-on-the-edge kind. They stayed in their beds, and I now believe they are asleep. AMEN.

So haunting, you ask?

I look at ghosts and the spirit world much like I look at religion. They are beliefs that no one can completely prove or disprove. I find absolutely nothing wrong with embracing any religion because all but a few that come to my mind signify hope, peace, love and compassion for your fellow man. And I consider those who believe in spirits and ghosts to be as just in their beliefs as those who believe in a Higher Power.

I've had it proposed to me twice this week by two separate women, who do not know each other to my knowledge, that perhaps we have a ghostly visitor in our house. And perhaps that is why the children have been so fearful. Each woman shared with me a story of a spirit that either resides or previously resided in their home. One had actually suggested she contact her pastor, who apparently does a ritual to ward off spirits.

Fortunately, I deal with the absurd everyday (not saying in the least that I think the thought of ghosts or spirits is absurd but many do). So I didn't laugh. I considered and pondered. I haven't felt any strange presence in our home. I haven't had items go missing (other than those which I myself have misplaced). I haven't had seen strange shadows or felt chills.

But, being the curious soul that I am (no pun intended), I asked both the kids about strangers (something they are reviewing in school) and asked casually if they had ever seen a stranger in our house. Both vigorously shook their heads and said they had not.

Whew...plumbing, electric, even the lack of a dryer - all those problems I can handle. A haunting...that's not up my alley and would require a lot of research.

One of the nursing diagnoses that I, as a professional (along with such profound medical anomalies such as "diarrhea") am allowed to diagnose, is a "disturbance in an energy field". We didn't cover this in school because I really don't think any of the instructors knew what it was. But I will say this - invisible energy surrounds us. Think of the atom. And solar power. And all of those scientific hypotheses and theorems, etc. that I'm not an expert on but know exist. Why couldn't life energy exist? And who's to say that it doesn't? I'm not here to judge - I'm just critically thinking.

In this instance, though, I think my kids got the best of me. I think they were enjoying the "good life" while Grammy was here (so was I...), and now they've gotten a taste of Mommy one-on-one. And sometimes, that means they may have to wait for me to complete whatever I'm doing or eat their veggies or not wear a mouse costume to the grocery store, etc. (Strike the mouse thing...I would allow that.)

Anyhoo, for tonight, I consider ghosts, should they be out there, to be friends.

And, if the spirit world truly does coexist with us mortals, I hope my grandparents come visit sometime, for I miss them dearly. And it would make for one astonishing conversation with my Grandpop....

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pushing the Envelope...

Today was a triumphant day for me.

My first success was a "meeting marathon day" wherein I, transplant case manager with no unique talents to offer other than a cheerful disposition (most of the time), successfully fulfilled all of the requirements to land the case management aspect of our newest and largest client.

Instead of "helping" at the meeting, as was first proposed, I drove the meeting. For those familiar with WebEx, that meant I navigated the screens, did all the narrative, presented case after painful case for scrutiny and talked non-stop for 2 1/2 hours (with sips of Sugar Free Rockstar in between to keep my mojo flowing and my tongue from turning to cement) - it was supposed to be a four hour meeting, but being able to present the amazing work of my team proved to this new client after only eight of thirty cases that we are indeed...the bomb-diggity.

I admit, after ranting last night regarding all the annoying extra, I find that work really did pay off. I was allowed to go home early and given accolades by the uppers. I'm pathetic - throwing peanuts at me really does work.... The one statement that I share with enthusiasm was "You don't know how big this moment was for you." Guess what? I really don't...ha ha! All I really cared about was being passionate about how hard my team works and the quality of the work that we do. And I was able to prove it....

Second triumph of the day was finally sending off a package to a friend that has been sitting on my dishwasher for several weeks. (Yes, Petra - it's the Erika/Kimm/Petra wine bottle glass and the scented Italian soap for your 'less-than-happy' moments to remind you of our awesome time in Scottsdale.) Small triumph, you think? For me, not wasting my time vegging in front of the TV or, worse yet, doing housework, I fulfilled a promise to a friend. (You should have it by Friday, my dear.)

Third triumph of the day came when I went to Goodwill and came out empty-handed. I found several things I pondered (an antique photo in a very nice frame - I've learned a trick about how to turn it into a hidden cabinet). A swimsuit with floaties inserted for the kids. A hutch that screamed "make me over!!" But no...I thanked the lady at the desk and went on my merry way.

Fourth triumph (if you're really keeping track)...I went to Menard's to buy spray paint for my windmill. I stood in the aisle (not inhaling the fumes) to become inspired. I landed on a brown primer and a hammered brown bronze. I left the store with those two cans of paint, a pre-potted rose bush that needs to be transplanted to one of the many scattered planters around the yard, a giant can of Lysol to keep the bugs at bay and a bag of potting soil. Not tooooooo bad. I could (and have) done a lot worse. I was beckoned by multiple departments (sconces, floor refinishing, unfinished kitchen cabinets.....) For the most part, however, I resisted temptation and left with just a few items above and beyond what I'd really come for. (And, to be fair, I considered the pre-potted rose bush to be a motivator to refinish one of the planters...who can let a lovely thing such as a rose bush whither indoors? Certainly not me...)

Fifth triumph...Henry's teacher stopped me outside of playschool and told me that he had been sent to the "office" for crying and not listening. Now, the boy is on steroids for his bronchiolitis and he does have a bit of a wild streak. But this was neither violence nor hyperactivity.

So, after loading the kids into the van, I asked Henry for his version of the story. He said to me "Mommy, I did like you told me and used my words that I was angry but I still got into trouble." Proud Mommy moment, but this means a talk with the director. If he really is using words over preschool bullying, the teacher needs to acknowledge that and not just send him off to be punished for every little thing. He is only a little boy -- only three years old...

My final proud moment of the day came when I had a lengthy discussion with both of my children about what's been frightening them. Lately, they both seem to have this newfound fear of the dark. Yes, we have nightlights. Yes, we leave the doors open. Yes, they share a room. But, instead of rushing thru bedtime so I could come downstairs and be at peace for just a few moments, I lingered far longer than usual. We discussed unisex bedroom decor (they are sharing a room and I think that will continue for the foreseeable future). We decided against castles (dragons and wizards are scary) and  circuses (just not their style). The two mutually agreed upon "Enchanted Forest". So, that was fun and took their minds off of being afraid, if even for a moment. A light switch in the hall later, and they both settled off to sleep. Even the cat is snoring on the couch behind me.

So, it's a few minutes before 9pm. Except for having dinner, I've met my quota of self-fulfillment. I'm so happy today - so happy that things can turn around in a blink. I realize that goes both ways, but, for tonight, it is allllllll goooooood....

Nighty night!!!

 

 

 

 

Sunset on Chestnut Street

A View Across Chestnut Street

Desk - Finishing Ideas?

Excuse the mess - Petra, this post is for your creative genius.

Dream Jobs...

One time, a few years back, I went on a cruise to the Carribbean.

At St. Maarten, we had to take a water taxi from the cruise ship to the main island.

I remember thinking back then that the barefoot captain, dressed in Bermudas with flowing dreadlocks had it made. Underneath the boat's canopy, reggae music played, drinks were passed out, all the tourists were either suntanned or sunburned, all smiling as they swayed to the music and the gentle waves. Big straw hats, cameras draped around necks, giant floral beach bags slung over shoulders, sunglasses in every shade, brightly colored toenails slipped inside sandy flip flops... Not a care in the world for me nor for any of those tourists. Certainly not for the "captain", who I feel confident would have much preferred to have been called "the jolly mahn".

I remember making a mental note then and there that I had just discovered, quite innocently, the world's most perfect job. And, to this day, I can still clearly picture "the jolly mahn's" feet propped up on a step stool with one hand casually draped over the steering wheel. I sometimes wish I'd have snapped a photo - but, no matter. The mind captured it.

Today, work was...well, I promised to keep this blog family-friendly. So, I really can't think of an appropriate word to use to describe work today. I can tell you that I was muttering plenty of R-rated words all day long while pressing the mute button on my phone ad nauseum or that I was angrily pounding out texts to my fellow coworkers, cursing the same annoyances as me.

One of my texts was to my very dear friend, Erika. I told her that I wanted to quit my job and paint and write. And her response, in her very dear friend way was "Let's do it!"

Of course, with my lack of skillz, my family would starve if I chose a life as a (literally) starving artist. So, of course, I knew that she and I were just fantasizing. Frankly at that point in our day today, I'd have taken a job dressed as a giant pizza dancing and holding a sign advertising Three-For-One Tuesdays at Antonio's Pizza Shack.

And then my friend Jamie texted me. Both Erika and Jamie are coworkers, but they are also friends.

Jamie shared with me that 1.) she's been following my blog (OMG sista - my heart melted!) and 2.) her dad had bought a farm, cows and all! Jamie said it was a hobby and that he was really enjoying it, and I remarked that, wow, too many of us sit on our dreams waiting for something to come along to entice us just enough to make it happen. Jamie mentioned in her casually cool way that her dad has always been the sort of person to just "go for it".

Man, I wish I were that type of person.

Sure, I'll strike up a conversation with just about anyone. And, when push comes to shove, I can be pretty creative. But every day I sit in my little office worrying about my job (high $$ + capitalism + human lives - compassion = inner struggle). I had never pictured myself where I am right this moment in my career. Though, do any of us really?

Sure there are the ones who live for baseball and then wind up (ha!) pitching for the Cubs. Or the trust-fund babies who become celebrities based solely on their bank accounts, no real job required except to occasionally make the cover of People. Those sorts of jobs never appealed to me.

Me, my lifelong dream was to be a writer. I've had articles published here and there. And I've journaled off and on for as long as I can remember. But I've never really "gone for it". I don't have a novel in the works (heck, I don't even have any ideas for a novel). An autobiography would find its way to dollar store shelves. A biography would bore me to tears. Poetry confuses me. Maybe a short story would be the ticket?

Or maybe I can keep blogging. No money to be made, but I'd be satisfied that I've written and someone, maybe even just one or two people, would have read what I'd written down.

And, more than that, maybe someone would actually come away with a different perspective.

I don't think I'm there yet. I don't think I'm even all that close. But, during these few hours of peace in the house (when really I should be dusting or folding undies), I get to have my dream job. I'm not paid for it, not in money.

But when people like Erika and Jamie, two people I respect very much, tell me that they've been following my blog, it makes me ponder, if only for a second, that I might have something interesting to say after all.

When my dad posts a comment regarding one of my projects, it makes me realize that what I'm sharing is interesting to at least one other person.

When my very dear friend Petra says that something I wrote "spoke to her and where she is in her life", it brings tears to my eyes (heart you, homegirl).

When my mom gets out her glasses and lovingly critiques my spelling and then says "Very nice, honey" after reading, it brings me back to my childhood and is equivalent to her putting an A+ paper on the refrigerator.

So, I maintain that, while I'm never going to be my own "jolly mahn" with my own sunny, tourist-filled water taxi, this is my dream job. I may not make it into The Atlantic Monthly or Reader's Digest, but I am allowed to fill these text boxes with all of my thoughts, dreams, wishes, ideas, hopes, fears.... And you, dear reader, whoever you might be tonight, are allowed to take away from these words whatever you like...

Thank you for allowing me to keep my dream job.... :-)

Heavily Shaded Area Growth

Prairie Grass

Sundial or Birdbath?

New Growth

We have lots of plant surprises coming in...

Adjusting...

Grammy Franzen returned home this weekend.

It was quite a sight to see the famous "green jelly bean" pull down the driveway and off to Wisconsin. The whole family watched from the front porch, Lucy with tears streaming down her face and Henry waving and shouting "There she gooooo-ooooooes!"

Tonight is my first night home alone with the kiddos in a long time, now that Grammy has gone home and Chris is back to work. And, of course, Henry is sick. So we've already gotten off to a rocky start. Lulu is missing tumbling lessons, and I feel like an inadequate mom (I should be more prepared for these things...!).

Not to mention that work was insane today. Everything that could go wrong did go wrong. And that includes being asked to handle 12 projects all at once (while balancing a clown on a unicycle on my forehead and juggling watermelons).

So I'm already primed for Tuesday (insert think layers of sarcasm). Tomorrow is swimming for Lucy. She can miss a tumbling lesson and be "ok" with that. Missing swimming, on the other hand, will cause mass hysteria of the five-year-old kind. So we'll hope that Henry's antibiotics and steroids help. Of course, that means preschool 'roid rage...never fun (but often interesting).

And any and all creative projects are on hold while I search for my chi. Some people are comforted by projects - I, on the other hand, find it to be one more reason to dislike myself, in the event that I don't finish it. Besides, when I'm grumpy or distracted, all colors turn to gray (I call this my Pink Floyd mood).

Additionally, I have said to my kids "dude, chill out" and "OMG - what's the deal?" more times in the past two hours than I have in the past two months. And Lucy got a serious PUBLIC time out today. Not typical for her A-type personality.

I keep glancing at the clock. Am I not supposed to be treasuring these times?? I just want it to be bedtime...for all of us! Tomorrow will be a new day. Besides, Lucy is playing with her Polly Pockets and disciplining them a la Mommy. I think she's too young to be mocking me, but oh well...

Henry's just going with the flow, per usual. And that's ok, too. One day I'll look back at this and...smirk.

Peace out....dudes....

Feather Down Farm Days®

Feather Down Farm Days®

Found this in Country Living, March edition.

If you want to learn where your food really comes from and you also want to support Midwestern Farms, plan a family vacation at one of the farms from this site. The money is well-spent because you combine education with vacation. Plus, it just looks like fun...

I don't live on a farm, but I grew up with a cornfield out my back window and, for many years, geese, chickens and ducks to care for.

What's your favorite comfort food, game, movie or thing to do?

I guess it depends on why I would need to be comforted...

When I'm feeling stressed, I write. When I'm feeling sad, I listen to my music. When I'm feeling bored, I watch re-runs. When I'm feeling overwhelmed, I dance with my kids or do something off-the-wall like make up a crazy song or game (like pressing my own re-set button). When I'm feeling angry, I will often find comfort in doing housework...?? When I'm feeling lonesome, I read or take a drive.

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The Very First Friend

It's knocking on Saturday night.

Today, the family went bowling with Lucy's new friend, Angelina, and her family. It was such a "wow" moment for me as a mom to see my daughter interact with a friend she made all on her own. Up until now, she's met children thru my friends.

I wasn't at all nervous when we arrived at the bowling alley (except for publically demonstrating my lack of bowling skillz.) I wanted to let Lulu lead this playdate. I had done my part as the parent. I had written the letter, I had set up the playdate...now it was her turn.

Being a small town, the bowling alley follows in its footsteps. It is a small bowling alley - you can clearly see from the first lane to the last lane. And so, as we opened the doors, Lulu was off and dashing across the bowling alley as fast as her five-year-old legs would carry her to embrace Angelina, who was also running at full speed, into a giggly, bestest-buddy hug! And my heart was filled with excitement, pride and awe as I watched this child, our own creation, enter into her own social life.

And the afternoon unfolded. Angelina's dad was a unique guy. A 30ish man covered in tats from head to toe, he openly discussed his glass eye, brought on by a vicious attack when he was a young boy. His bowling ball and shoes were adorned with skulls (so is his Ford Explorer!). He has a lip piercing. He doesn't own or use a computer, and his cell phone is strictly for calls. He's a bass fishing freak. He was most definitely the physical opposite of Chris and me, and we both thought that was uber-cool. (Erika, if you're following along, are you impressed that such diversity exists down here??? I bet you and Adam could exchange iTunes playlists and be near exact matches...except I don't think he knows what an MP3 player is...)

He had been living in Seattle for some time until things didn't work out between him and Angelina's mom. So he came back to Illinois. Shortly after, he returned to Washington to pick up Angelina, who had some very rough times out there, especially for a four-year-old. You'd never know it by interacting with the little girl, though. She is like a burst of sun thru a raincloud.

So, we found out their histories and shared our's, too.

Not only did we actually hang with new locals, we really bonded. They invited us over tomorrow for a BBQ. (Little did I know at the time that we were probably going to be visiting my in-laws...hubby leaves out these minor details sometimes.) But the plans remain open for future gatherings, and that is very cool indeed.

Cindy, Adam's live-in, is a garage sale/flea market fanatic like myself. So I scored additionally when we compared notes: do you go all day? YES. Fill up on coffee and leave early? YES. Do you get this incredible thrill when you find that ultimate treasure that you probably never knew you couldn't live without? YES, YES, YES!!! Local garage sale buddy for me - one thing to check off the mental wish list. (Of course, here is where I insert that Petra has always been and will always remain my best garage sale buddy, and no one can ever replace her. So yes, Petra, I will still shlep up to Oswego, even if it means getting up at 4am.)

Now it's quiet here. (Actually, it was when I started typing...Chris, Lulu and Henry were all sound asleep in his recliner while I did some housework and decided to blog early today.)

They are all now stirring. Undoubtedly they will all be in search of food soon. So that is my cue to jump into action lest we have sleepy, hungry crabs scuttling about. Yep...I just heard it..."Can we have something to eeeee-eeeat?" Exit stage left...

 

 

Spray Paint, Anyone?

Soooooo.....

This afternoon, when I was picking the kids up from playschool, I happened to mention to Lucy and Henry's teachers that I was interested in any cans of spray paint that they might have laying around.

It was about five minutes later that I felt the need to clarify my intentions. I'm neither a tagger nor a huffer. I just want to save a few bucks on paint to refinish the many projects that I have pending.

Ms. Sue and Ms. Karen laughed - the thought of me being either had never occurred to them.

I think I have watched too many episodes of "Intervention" and seen too many rail cars.

It's true, though. In this day and age, we have to watch so carefully what we say. My thoughts are "nuts to that". I'm just an ordinary woman with a gigantic list of creative projects I want to work on. And, sometimes, the colors that other people use on their various projects have the tendency to inspire.

Right now, I'm in the "Inspiration Phase". I continue to doubt my own intuition on what will make that planter look striking or that statue really add a spark to the yard. I have a Menards, a Farm King and, the sadly omnipotent, Wal-Mart at my disposal. I could go to any of those stores and buy any old color for a few bucks. But do I have that sense? Will it be a disaster or a piece de resistance?

When my kids are coloring or drawing pictures, I never doubt their integrity. Lucy loves to make pictures of people with large ears, looooo-ooooong legs and eyes that blend with dimples. Henry is going thru his "black period" - everything he colors is primarily black, including the apology picture he colored for a boy he tussled with at playschool.

So why then do I question and doubt myself? Isn't art, in its purest form, just an interpretation? So what if the colors I choose don't match the entire planet's vision?

I'm not afraid to write. I know I make grammatical and spelling errors and ignore typos because it's not a big deal to me. I never use Spellcheck. (This could have something to do with working in the medical field - Word frequently discriminates against terms like "bilateral oophorectomy" or "diabetic gastroparesis".)

In any case, I look forward to the weekend. We are going bowling with Lucy's friend Angelina. The letter I crafted to her mommy on Monday was answered by a phone call from her daddy. Since the forecast is cold and miserable (see my post on the weather for my thoughts on that during this time of year), we decided to plan something indoors.

My writing worked then. If not a thoughtful and inspiring example of literature, it at least got Angelina's dad's attention. And all I wanted to get from that letter was a simple "yes, our girls can have a playdate". Success!

However, when it comes to the visual, I struggle. I'm spatially challenged and, even though I've been told time and again that I'm not colorblind, I still see myself making ridiculous choices that will have the neighbors howling with laughter and/or calling the city council to take me down! (Did I ever mention that my mind wanders frequently to the dramatic?)

Here's to a great weekend, no matter what's in store. And here's to asking for those things that we need and having plausible deniability....

 

Monster Hats

Chestnut Street

Statue Garden Art

And this one, too. She's broken, but I think that adds charm.

Water Pump Garden Art

Need more ideas on restoration...

Lavina's Cross

Giving It Away...

When we bought this house back in October, we purchased it thru an estate sale.

The woman who lived here, an active eighty-something who enjoyed gardening and visiting with her family of eight children, died in her sleep after a day spent outside trimming her hedges.

The family who sold it to us dropped the price to half of what the original asking price had been, and our situation helped to seal the deal. They were generous, kind and willing to part with a home where they had established 20 years of memories with their parents in order to see a new family move in to love and care for this home.

On the day of the closing, I met the eldest daughter and executor of the will. Her name was Judy. I was nervous to meet her because of the price that we were paying for the house - I thought she might harbor some resentments because she and the rest of the family had accepted such a low offer.

Instead, we met by chance at the house before the closing. We were there for our final walk-thru. She and her husband were there cleaning out a few personal items and making peace and seeking "closure".

I was extremely nervous to see a vehicle parked in front of our new home - I just knew it would be one of the family members.

However, once she saw my two teeny children bound out of the van and rush towards "our new house" shouting with great joy and excitement to the max (with our realtor extraordinaire following behind), I saw her face light up in a smile as tears spilled down her cheeks and all of my fears were relieved.

You see, Judy knew her mom, deeply devoted to her children and grandchildren, would have been extraordinarily pleased to see us move in to her home with such wide-eyed excitement. This wasn't a "flip". This was an investment in the quality of our lives.

Judy and I initially shook hands, but I soon began my own blubbering by thanking her profusely for the house. Even though we would be sitting at an attorney's table in an hour signing papers and exchanging a certified check for paperwork and a set of keys, the house felt like such a gift. It happened under such extraordinary circumstances - we didn't choose this town or this house. They chose us.

At the closing, more tears were shed from both sides of the table (even the realtors got a little weepy-eyed). I promised Judy that our family would love this home and take care of it. We would ensure that every nook and cranny would be filled with the sounds, smells, feeling of home.

After the last document had been signed and a check had been handed over, we left the table to go our separate ways. Judy mentioned to me that, huh, her mother and father would be celebrating their anniversary the next day (insert more tears). She and I found this almost eerily symbolic.

On the sidewalk to our respective cars, me with a jangly set of new keys bouncing in my pocket, Judy embraced me tightly. (Tears again...) She wished us all the best, and I whispered thru my tears "Thank you so very, very much..."

When we returned to the house as the official owners, we brought in some personal items and started immediately snapping photos and evaluating every detail. We knew the house needed a lot of work, but the house itself was situated on such a lovely street (the neighbors call the houses across the street from us "Knob Hill"). Trees bursting with the colors of autumn seemed to welcome us brightly to our new home.

During my first assessment of the home (which is at least 3000 square feet and has rooms and doors everywhere), my eyes settled on one thing. Mind you, I was distracted by two children running every which way and none of us was really certain of what they might find (or, more aptly put, 'get into').

Despite all of this, the one treasure that I first found in this massive, new-to-me house, was a glass etched cross hung above a doorway. On it was inscribed...."Happy 50th Anniversary". 

Chills of happiness were immediately followed by a short word to our previous resident... "Thank you, Lavina."

What I've taken away from this whole experience, in regards to the home-buying process, is that not everything turns out the way you expect. When we started our journey to be mortgage-free, I had envisioned a delapidated old house that was barely inhabitable. Not quite...there's plenty of hard work ahead, but our home is truly lovely and most certainly fit for human occupancy.

I've also taken away from this experience that it's okay to "give it away". Take that as you like it - whether you hand over your personal problems to a higher being or your items to Goodwill or your emotions in a troubled relationship, consider this - failure is fun. It opens up all of these endless possibilites. If you are afraid to take that leap, you will never know if you've missed out on an incredible opportunity or been saved from an utter disaster. Either way, something crucial to your life will have new meaning.

And one thing is for sure...regrets that you will have in life are the questions that you will never have answered. The 'what-if's' and the 'if only I'd have...'.

Well, we did....and, right now, we stand by our belief that this was meant to be and the best choice for our family. And we look forward to what else is in store...

Weather Or Not...

Every spring here in Illinois, I do the same thing to myself - I burst through the doors on the first day where temperatures don't require down coats and head-to-toe bundling to drink in that delicious sunshine.

And every year, I'm hornswaggled (a term that I find is perfectly acceptable down here). The weather gives us a sneak peek, a tiny tidbit to get us all excited and to dig out the garden tools. And then, it happens...the temperatures drop, the pollen count explodes and it's miserable. For days. On end.

Case in point, last Saturday and Sunday were in the 50s and 60s. We spent those two days really enjoying the weather and watching the curtains flutter. We tackled the now infamous "leaf project".

Despite the weather...today, on my lunchbreak, I stepped outside in a coat and rainboots into a cold, miserable drizzle under a pale gray sky to lay down grass seed and to gently rake aside some debris burying unknown garden finds from the side of the house. My goal was to try to expose and  hopefully identify some of the perennials, trees and bushes that previous owners have planted.

Once again, I embraced my A.D.D. tendencies and moved quickly along the side of the house. Daffodils, lilys, prairie grass, a few ornamental trees and a gorgeous dark green leafy ground cover that appears to vine (ivy?)... Instant gratification. I would bag the piles of ick later.

I moved on further to the back of the side yard to discover another garden. I'd reference Frances Hodgson Burnett and call it my very own Secret Garden, but the area is in plain view. Just another example of the famous saying that a man will walk straight thru the gates of hell with both eyes wide open (since we tend to ignore our senses).

Perched centrally in that garden is an old metal weathervane/windmill. I posted a picture earlier because I'm hoping that those more creative than me will be able to help me come up with a way to repurpose it into something for the birds. A feeder, a perch? Should I just make it a piece of garden art?

It's clearly something you'd see down on the farm. I would love for it to make the house pop. Color - lots of color. The Victorian Period was splashed with color.

However, our house has been resided, possibly several times, into a drab off-white. The only hints of color to the house are the red cedar wheelchair ramp off of the porch (my son three-year-old Henry calls it "the bridge"), the black shingled roof and some trimwork on the front porch in a pale green. There is also bright green Astroturf covering the whole floor of the wraparound front porch, but that's not really my idea of "color".

So, this weathervane/windmill-a-ma-bob is ample enough in size that I can place it somewhere in the yard to add some eye candy.

One of my best girlfriends introduced me to spray paint not so very long ago. I keep finding things around the house that are begging to be primed and painted. I've sampled reds, blues and greens, a stony-finish taupe. Not sure where to start with this thing. I see endless possibilities. Hubby, no doubt, sees it as something he's going to have to help me haul out of the garden bed.

No matter - the weather will not get me down. Ok - honestly? It will. But only for a short time. Because I know something that only people who have spent a fair amount of time in Illinois know: if you don't like the weather, wait a few minutes because change will undoubtedly come.

 

Restoring an Old Metal Weathervane?

Looking for ideas to make this into a nice piece for the yard. Colors? Additions? Total waste?? I would like it to blend country with Victorian...

Before and After

It's been a relatively uninteresting Tuesday. However, I feel compelled to keep blogging so I don't fall into the A.D.D. crack that I'm prone to, never to return to the blog.

I posted a bunch of photos from the house - these are all "before" pictures, except for the repainted radiator. It's not placed where it will ultimately go, but it has been finished!

I would really like to post pictures of the elevator shaft, as I find that to be one of the most intriguing features of the house, however, lighting is poor. I just couldn't get a good shot.

As we continue to work on the old homestead, I will periodically update the photos with where we are in the project. I'd appreciate and welcome any comments, even the critics, to help us find direction. Advice is always welcome.

Ultimately, we want to maintain much of the integrity of the house, however, we are going to modernize it so that it makes sense for a family of four. (In example, we don't plan on hanging our undies in the dining room forever - we're just waiting to install a gas line to the upstairs kitchen/soon-to-be-laundry-room.)

For tonight, I leave it simple. My mind is a bit tired. I had an invigorating walk to the playschool to pick up the kids and then it was rush, rush, rush as usual to get Lulu to her lessons (tonight was swimming). Sometimes I find myself wanting to just sit and play Yahtzee on my phone or watch old episodes of The Twilight Zone instead of tackling projects (or even thinking about them).

And a good night of sleep never hurt anyone, either...

Original Front Door