Last year in October, I got Paulus, pictured on the left, from Body Mind and Soul after their buying trip to Denver. They made the trip again this year, but I’m not sure that Bard, on the right, came from that. I picked him up last week. After looking at the differences between their tail feathers and sizes, I’ve decided Paulus is more accurately called a crow, and Bard is the raven. (I have a compulsion to repaint Bard’s eyes. ETA: I have modified the eyes since this photo and this post.) Either way, they’re corvids and fit right into my imaginary world as discussed in last year’s post. I also finally have a name for the house that could soon make its first appearance in the novel I’m working on.
More than ever, my imaginary world is a lot more pleasurable than the one we inhabit, though (a) I’m very fond of the people in the real world, and (b) I’m at a frozen point in writing. I’ve revised and inserted change pages into all the drafts of the first five books, so maybe I’m thinking Mercury needs to get out of retrograde for me to resume new writing. At least I’m THINKING, all the time!
Since I’m heeding a message from my coloring journal, I’m also trying to do more, which probably explains all the organization projects that have been happening around the Hall.
Two surprises: Not reading at all this month. Thinking of a possible novel outside the Neverending universe and wondering if I should start simultaneously working on it when winter sets in.
It’s been a long time since three of my old watches have been on display. I had to do a bit of cleaning and adjusting, but they are now hanging in the writing sanctuary, which is in many ways the most retro room of the Hall.
A closer look:
Spiro Agnew watch from 1970, Bicentennial watch from 1976, and AIDS red ribbon watch from 1990s
I’m not sure which of my other watches I still have, but they once included a Mickey Mouse watch and a Winnie the Pooh watch. I think I still have the first watch I was ever given–probably a Timex. I remember the resurgence of watch-wearing in the ’90s with Swatches, but I guess these days, getting a fun new watch isn’t a thing unless it’s a smartwatch connecting the wearer to the entire world. (Okay, Boomer.)
Mercury went retrograde with a lot of drama around here. Two days before, then stretching into the day before, we had a nine-hour power outage. We realized the power outage had (once again–this usually occurs) caused problems with our Internet connection. Tom made a quick dash to our cable provider’s closest storefront before they closed to get a new modem. That worked… until it didn’t.
So the Hall had no cable, and even using 5G on our phones/devices was sketchy. The cable guy came late afternoon Friday, the day Mercury formally went retrograde, and after working outside, putting down new cable (which he said another crew will have to come back to bury in a few days), and installing yet another new modem, things seemed to be okay. He left.
Things were not okay. They are still not okay. Access is sporadic. Often, if I disconnect from Wifi and reconnect, I can get a few minutes of access. I’m being very bold here by trying to create a blog post, especially one that requires both this site and Flickr to work. Fingers crossed!
In our long hallway that leads to our bedrooms and both bathrooms, we used to have quite a lot of art and photos hanging. All that came down and was boxed after the Harvey flood in 2017. Over the long Labor Day weekend, Tom tackled getting that redone. We didn’t even try to make it the way it was. But here are photos to show mission: accomplished. I may attempt better photos of some of the items at a later date.
Just outside our bedroom, we have rehung the cross-stitched (some with beads included) angels that Lynne made for me through the years. They’re so beautiful and a great source of happiness and good memories. At the far end on the top, hangs a print that I thought I’d mislaid forever. It’s called “The Ramparts of God’s House,” painted by John Melhuish Strudwick possibly in 1891. I was drawn to it because of the angels, but one of them looks very much how I envision a character I wrote a long time ago. She’s in the same world as the Neverending Saga, but a different series. If I ever finish the story of this group of characters, I hope to also rewrite her book(s). Here’s the painting.
Finding that print stored with the things from the hallway makes me believe some of the other items I’ve misplaced may still be found.
On the opposite side of the hall outside our bedroom are these two items. The top is an angel plate that my mother gave me during my angel years. And the bottom is a piece I gave to her, though I can’t remember when. The words around the crafted angel that I gave her are “Angel–Another Word for Mother.”
At the opposite end of the hall, between the bathroom and a closet and close to “Lynne’s Room,” are a drawing of my grandparents along with various photos of my grandparents and parents and Tom’s grandparents and parents. I guess we can call that the Ancestors Wall, though some of us are still living!
Across from those, Tom rehung photos of family and friends that were there before the flood. I’ve changed a couple out for different photos, and there may be more of that when I get back to the photo organizing that’s one of several ongoing projects.
At the far end of the photos are fabric art by Tom’s mother, a piece of his father’s woodworking art, and a glass, tile, and mirror mosaic done by a Houston artist (I have another of her works over our fireplace).
Finally, on the section of the wall I can see from the Writing Sanctuary when I’m writing (or blogging, like now), I hung three of my old bottle cap paintings that were never for sale, but done for me.
The top one is titled “Friends: Before And After.” I used Coke caps because of several of the Coke campaigns (It’s the Real Thing, Coke Adds Life, I’d Like to Teach the World to Sing) that evoke friendship. Four of the caps with logos represent our friends who died from complications related to HIV/AIDS, Steve R, Jeff, John, and Tim R. One is solid red to represent all those lost. The caps I painted white are because in the old days, white balloons were released at the funerals and memorial services of many of those lost to AIDS. (I think the last time I released balloons of any kind was with Tim on the first anniversary of Aaron’s death in 2013. I’ve since learned how bad this is for wildlife and the environment, so I don’t release balloons anymore.)
The middle painting, also using Coke bottle caps, is titled “Tom Is the Real Thing.” That needs no explanation, I hope, but in a world I’ve populated with imaginary characters, he’s the reality I’m grateful I chose.
The bottom painting, using ram bottle caps from Shiner Bock, is titled “Aries Friendships Are Built Tough.” If you’ve been part of my life for decades, through all the good and bad things of human experience, including long absences and silence, you know it’s true. (And if you’re reading this and you wonder, one of my super powers is forgiveness; it works both ways.)
If this actually publishes after the many attempts I’ve tried—and the cable guy actually coming while I was composing it to bury the cable, though he’s not the cable guy who can fix our cable–SCORE!
I was rocking along Wednesday, taking photos of things, doing a bit more organizing, paying bills, planning a blog post, when an unexpected storm blew up. We got lucky–a big tree fell on the corner down the street from Lynne’s former house (at the end of our street), though Tom said it looks like it probably missed their house, maybe clipping a corner of the garage. We didn’t have any trees fall, but we did lose power. It was restored pretty quickly, for all but twelve houses in our immediate area. We were among the twelve.
We opened windows to get a cross breeze and waited. And waited. And waited. Especially after the sun went down, it was cool enough to have sat outside, except… As a news source noted a few weeks back when we finally got some rain, millions of mosquitos lay dormant through the drought, and they awoke with a vengeance.
Power was finally restored about 2:30 a.m., to the sounds of much limb sawing, workers hollering, etc.–I know our neighbors in the townhome complex whose parking lot they were staged in were delighted, because they HAD power and air conditioning and were trying to sleep. Tom and I sat up listening to it all in the dark, hot office attempting to keep our dogs from howling. The dogs had a VERY long day. I have a little fan that charges like any handheld device, that fortunately was charged, and whenever the heat got too bad, I used it on my face and the back of my neck. That thing was a lifesaver.
When the power returned, Tom and all the dogs went to bed after he put the trash on the curb and took one last outing so the dogs could do their business…some of which had been done in the library earlier. Thank goodness for tile floors. I mopped and sat at my computer finally, which is when I realized that my external keyboard wasn’t working–no problem, I can use the actual laptop keyboard–but our Internet connection wasn’t optimal. So I could reply to comments and slowly load other sites, but I couldn’t get this blog to load well enough to do a post.
While this will be dated with Wednesday’s date, I’m doing it on Thursday. Very S L O W L Y because I’m not fast on this keyboard. Here’s one of the photos I took yesterday to feature this lovely doll I recently found on eBay. She’s from 1999, and since the Cubs are the favorite team of a character in the Neverending Saga, I had to have her. Another character’s favorite team is the Yankees, and there’s a rumor going around that somewhere north of us in Texas, my doll has a Yankees fan friend who will one day join her here at the Hall. =) Love these girls of summer!
Lindsey’s shirt, featuring Al, Michael, Ed, and Sammy
Last Sunday, The Brides came for what Lindsey called “old people’s dinner”; that is, we ate earlier than usual since it was a school night. Unfortunately, Debby couldn’t join, but a fun time was had by the five of us. I was looking through my photos earlier and thinking about all the things at the Hall that were changed just before or after that dinner.
Side note: I told Lindsey I kept expecting her to say, “My eyes are up HERE, Becky,” because I couldn’t stop staring at Eddie on her old Van Halen t-shirt. I’m never going to stop missing Edward Van Halen.
We were talking about housekeeping and the time Lindsey and my mother came to clean at The Compound after our remodeling was done (December 2007). My mother was a fierce housekeeper and had a systematic approach to cleaning. Every month, she tackled one BIG job: things like washing windows, defrosting the freezer or refrigerator, polishing the silver, cleaning the oven, or laundering, ironing, and rehanging all the curtains. Shit that I do…every few years (thank goodness for frost-free appliances, self-cleaning ovens, and windows without curtains, meaning three jobs are automatically eliminated, and do NOT look closely at the blinds, please!).
Mother’s weekly housekeeping was also rigorous. She vacuumed the entire house at least once a week, but also any day on an as-needed basis. Dusting, vacuuming, cleaning bathrooms, mopping–every week. There were never dirty dishes in the sink, and if a house had a dishwasher, it was used only for full loads when the whole family was there, and it was emptied as soon as the load was finished. Cleaning house usually happened on Saturdays when Debby and I both lived at home, because I always got stuck with dusting, and I don’t remember what Debby did–maybe she handled changing the bed linens. She wasn’t allowed near the vacuum cleaner just like I wasn’t allowed near the sewing machine. I can neither confirm nor deny there was a method to our ability to break those two things.
The day that Lindsey and Mother both came to help clean my house before we moved everything back in, Mother saw Lindsey heading for the living room windows with cleaner and Q-Tips.
“Are you going to use the Q-Tips to clean all around and under the latches and locks?” Mother asked.
“Of course!” Lindsey said.
With a nod, my mother said, “It’s official. I hereby hand over my crown. You are the Queen of Cleaning.”
I like a clean house, but other than bathrooms (toilet bowls, at least, are cleaned daily), I’m pretty relaxed about things. Which is why every visit from anyone involves night-before or day-of flashes of Tom and me sprinting through the house with the Dyson, mops, dust cloths, and various other brushes and cleaners. But as I commented at dinner last Sunday, I always wanted a welcoming home. I wanted people not to be afraid to spill, to make messes, to put their feet up and be comfortable. I didn’t fret over people’s kids in the house, because I put things I’d never want broken out of their reach. I don’t sweat scratches or scuffs, and handprints can be removed.
So whatever that strand of DNA that Mother and Lindsey both got, I guess I didn’t. But there’s another gene that is definitely part of my makeup. I can only endure clutter for a limited time. Everything has a place. If it’s dirty, put it in the sink or the laundry basket. If it comes off your feet, put it in the closet or a set place (e.g., yard flip-flops by the back door are allowed). Dogs get a little leeway with their toys, but sooner or later, I’m going to sweep through and put them all in their toy baskets. Books go on shelves, as do records and DVDs. I have CD cases inside the stereo cabinet.
There are shelves for sewing, coloring, and painting supplies for crafts or projects. I have containers for everything. I may not finish an organizing project for a long time, but if you come in my house, it will almost certainly be out of sight. I can’t write, read, work, or relax if there’s clutter. If I leave a project out overnight or for a few days, I’m always aware of it, and have to breathe through my self-reassurance that it’s okay to stay where it is until I’m finished working on it.
While most of my recent projects are ongoing, here’s how things look right now.
The purged and reorganized trunk with many of my parents’ things. This trunk stays in our living room as an end table for the sofa. I was delighted to find my father’s college diploma inside; I didn’t remember I had it. I remain aware that there’s a bin (shelved in the home office) and a footlocker (in the storage room on the Hall grounds) with the rest of their things, but this amount of organizing got rid of one box and a sizable bin of paper and other stuff. Progress.
Tom and I had this cabinet custom-built either just before or just after we moved into The Compound. It moved between several rooms there, but here, at least since the Harvey flood, it’s been in our bedroom. This is where my many diaries and journals were stuffed in so tightly they were barely accessible, and it had some other memorabilia in it, too. On the wall: The art was painted and given by Timmy; the photograph is one Lindsey took when she, Rhonda, Tom, and I went to Galveston on the spur of the moment in August 2009.
Now: Easy to access journals and datebooks on the top shelf. The bottom shelf contains separately organized boxes with 1) copies of Riley’s poems, songs, some artwork, and letters, and 2) copies of my poetry and short stories mostly written in the 1980s, along with a folder of Timmy’s poetry, some of it with hand-written notations by me.
The box on top of the cabinet was a gift to me from Debby. It now holds the remainder of my diaries, day planner pages, and other little books of one type or another.
One reason I wanted all of that organized and more accessible is because it can be used either for future blog posts about writing, or I can use work by either Riley or myself in my fiction (fully credited to Riley in his case, of course).
You’ve already seen a photo of my recently reorganized coloring pens and pencils. For now, they’re on these two tavern tables just inside our front door. The two baskets on the far left contain the cloth masks that Tom and I use when we go out or when workers come here (e.g., the exterminator, plumber, etc.), plus a box of N95 masks for our use in public places like retailers, grocers, medical buildings, etc.
To the right of the coloring supplies, I’ve put the combination coloring book/journal that Lynne gave me on the table. When I color or write in that journal, I’m looking out at Aaron’s Garden. It’s a peaceful place and that journal is a peaceful activity for me.
The last big project involved the Barbie Doll Closet in Lynne’s Room. There are a few bins on the right side of the closet, but space remains for a guest (mostly Lynne!) to hang clothes or store shoes or other items inside the closet. Absolutely no space remains on the long closet shelf, which is full of boxed dolls. (Loose dolls are mostly individually wrapped in tissue and all are stored in plastic bins. I have a record of the contents of each bin. To be able to put my hand on a specific doll with a minimum of effort saves time and makes me happy. It’s like being the Old Woman Who Lived In A Shoe and knowing exactly where all my children are all the time.
I had a little over two years worth of dolls to catalog, photograph, and either unbox or shelve boxed. I refuse to justify or apologize for my doll collection. It has brought me joy and fun since the summer I was nine years old, and I’m a shit ton older than that now. So many of my dolls are gifts, including other people’s collections, and as long as I’m alive, donors like Lynne, Susan W., Nancy J., Cari, Rhonda, and Marika will know how cherished their dolls remain, as are the dolls given to me by the late Linda Raven Moore.
I had all the doll clothes separated in plastic storage or freezer bags depending on their function (Barbie skirts, Ken swim wear, etc.) and piled into a bin. The lack of organization and the amount of space they took up was a time waste and offended my sense of organization. Enter this lovely storage solution hanging from the closet rod.
The clothes remain in their labeled plastic bags, but the clothes inside each have been better placed and the air removed so that they take up a lot less space. Plus maybe some of the wrinkles will go away now that they’re lying flatter. If not, does anyone out there like to iron as much as my mother did? (Every week!)
A better look at the floor, the available space for guest use, and that full top shelf (which goes much higher than the door frame allows you to see).
To the left, more boxed dolls on shelves, plus vintage doll cases labeled with their contents, and in any of these photos, any bin you see, whether orange, green, blue, or clear, holds dolls (and in one case, Monster High doll accessories; in another, fun Barbie accessories like a boat and car–Lisa!–bed and closet–Chris and John!–horses, and motorcycles).
Here is an offering of my experience-based wisdom. I believe Lindsey, who organizes people’s home and work spaces as her career, will likely agree with me. I’m not an organizer of other people’s places, but I have done energy space-clearing in their homes. I freely admit to appropriating some of the methods and customs used by Balinese, indigenous North American, and Chinese feng shui practitioners in my own version of energy work. Without fail, every client who ever asked for my help listed one or more of the following reasons:
I don’t enjoy spending time at home.
I feel overwhelmed by all the things I can’t get done.
I’m not comfortable in my house/apartment/dorm room.
There’s a bad energy inside my place.
I feel like the former occupant (or an ex-spouse/boyfriend/girlfriend/friend/roommate) left all their problems here.
I mean to exercise or cook a good meal or do something creative, but I feel drained once I’m at home.
I’d never give suggestions or answers until I actually worked in their space, and you would be amazed by all the trapped, negative, or sad energy I could feel within their walls. I worked alone, without them present, and I made notes of all my impressions. Every single time I noted a specific place that felt off or wrong, the resident later could tell me a story of that space, what was there or had been there, or of some item placed there that made them feel a sense of shame, remorse, guilt, fear, or loss. Also present in places where a person lacked energy or contentment, or they felt a sense of helplessness about their time, productivity, or appearance, their space was full of stuff that served them in no way. It didn’t give them happiness. It didn’t give them good memories because of sentimental value. It didn’t even matter if the stuff was valuable. They felt weighed down, overwhelmed, and trapped.
I helped them identify things they could purge. I’m a good helper, because I KNOW how hard it is to let go of things. I had a mother who moved more times than I could count, and she owned SO MUCH STUFF, as do I, because of its connection to someone else. On her last day in her last apartment, before she moved into a care home (and later, hospice), I asked her if there was anything special she wanted to look at, hold, or even take with her. She looked around from her wheelchair, waved an arm, and said, “It’s all…just stuff.”
That can be a point we get to, but until it is, I’m getting rid of, and advise anyone to do likewise, as much of the stuff I can that doesn’t serve me or my family. My categories: If it’s trash, throw it away. If it can be donated or recycled, do that. If it would mean more to someone else (a friend, family member, collector, colleague, a person in need, or an ex), GIVE IT TO THEM. (Except one time, when I recommended an item be given to the police instead of the ex, and I know I was right.)
You can clean. You can declutter. If you think or have been advised that hoarding has become an emotional or psychological problem for you, and you accept the validity of this, get counseling, if you’re able. Or research online the workable steps others have used to make good changes. You’ll be amazed at the sense of control you’ll regain over your life.
Decluttering often coincides with many people losing weight, better managing their mental health, making more positive social connections, and feeling more like the people they want to be.
I may never be the housekeeper my mother was. The organizer Lindsey is. The purger Lynne can be. The minimalist that other friends are. But I keep letting go of things (especially when I began the “if something comes in, something goes out” habit). The things I hold on to will change when they no longer make me or Tom (and our dogs, too!) feel happy, nostalgic, comfortable, or creative. I’ll know when I’m ready to let them go, and I’ve proven I can do it.
So can you, when you know it’s time or you’re ready to take that first step.
Spending quiet time outside to observe how recent rains are helping our plants and flowers slowly heal and push back against summer’s drought. Nature can be cruel but reminds us to hope. I’m hoping for a quiet hurricane season and a worldwide recovery from droughts, fires, and floods.
Late every August and into September, it’s impossible not to think of the impact of the flood waters from tropical storm Harvey (it had been downgraded from a hurricane by the time it got to us) on Houston, our home, our family, and so many of our friends in 2017.
I know I blogged a lot about it, and often refer to it even now. When I was pulling all my journals and diaries out of the cabinet that housed them, I found again something very special that I shared here when I found it water-damaged in a bin a few days after we were flooded.
It was a sketch done of my father by a fellow art student in 1949. It hadn’t been in the best shape, but the water further stained and damaged the paper. I was crushed when I found it. Lynne and Debby carefully extracted it from the water and set up a safe place for it to dry.
When I took it out of the cabinet the other day, I decided it was time to frame and hang it, and now it’s in the library.
It hangs between two of his paintings: one of an old fisherman (my brother or sister may know more about this one) and one he painted for me when I was a young adult and asked him for “a city.” He interpreted it in a way I’d never have imagined and still love so much that it’s a pleasure to see it every day. You may even remember the colors inspired one of my tiny One Word Art paintings that I titled “Respect.”
I read The Book of Life, the third book in Deborah Harkness’s All Souls series. I think Tom and Debby may wind up watching the series made from these books. I have one left to read–the fourth one, first one written after “the trilogy” was completed–but I’ve forbidden myself to do so until September. I’ve really enjoyed this series.
Reading Janet Evanovich’s Fortune and Glory: Tantalizing Twenty-Seven and Game On: Tempting Twenty-Eight caught me up with her Stephanie Plum series. I think the next one releases in November. I know some readers say they’re repetitive, but for me, there’s comfort in coming back to these characters, and I laugh so much when I read them.
The biography I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead: The Dirty Life and Times of Warren Zevon was written by Zevon’s former wife Crystal Zevon at his wish and under the condition that she tell all the story. He died in 2003 from the effects of mesothelioma. This bio was a lot to process about one of my favorite artists. He had his demons, but some of the best musicians, composers, novelists, journalists, and artist managers of his working decades held his gifts in highest regard. Many of his worst behaviors happened during his blackouts (he was an alcoholic and addict) and he had no memory of them and was horrified and remorseful when made aware. Like many gifted people with his kinds of problems, he could also show extraordinary grace and kindness. To me, Crystal Zevon wrote with honesty and love, which made for a compelling read. I have two additional biographies of him in my TBR pile. I’ve started one of them, but it’s slow going because as I read, I’m doing a deep dive into Zevon’s music as the writer introduces his work from its beginning. I’m hearing songs I’ve never heard before.
Reading slowed down the second half of the month, not just because of my own writing, but because I’ve undertaken several organizing and purging projects. There’s no mystery here. When the world outside presents an abundance of chaos, all out of my control, I try to bring order where I can in the smaller environment of home. If this is something that might work for you, too, I recommend not doing it as I do it. Identify and follow through on one task at a time instead of juggling several at once.
A bright side: I’ve donated good stuff to Goodwill and to the Little Free Libraries around me.
There is an ever-growing list of things I can’t find. I think my dogs are gaslighting me. I might have to add a candle of St. Anthony (patron saint of lost things) to the Justice and the Songbird. Kidding. This isn’t an altar, but boy does the writing sanctuary smell divine.
In today’s search for what I didn’t find, I turned up three additional years of personal diary pages, so that organization task is still happening.
More than ever, my imaginary world is a lot more pleasurable than the one we inhabit, though (a) I’m very fond of the people in the real world, and (b) I’m at a frozen point in writing. I’ve revised and inserted change pages into all the drafts of the first five books, so maybe I’m thinking Mercury needs to get out of retrograde for me to resume new writing. At least I’m THINKING, all the time!
It hangs between two of his paintings: one of an old fisherman (my brother or sister may know more about this one) and one he painted for me when I was a young adult and asked him for “a city.” He interpreted it in a way I’d never have imagined and still love so much that it’s a pleasure to see it every day. You may even remember the colors inspired one of my tiny One Word Art paintings that I titled “Respect.”
