Our Pleasant Little Palace

We Moved!

It's crazy! We're crazy, I sometimes think. And then I realize we're right on schedule in our lives, and craziness melts into secure sensibility. I know that doesn't sound logical until I explain it this way: We're racing headlong toward retirement and hoping to have rental property bringing in an income before our final paycheck is deposited. This condo is just one step toward our goal of independence.

Now, I'll share a little bit of the nitty-gritty of our move. I'll skip the packing process, the last long-haul cleaning session, the emotional detachment pains, and the final farewells, and only focus on the chaos of unpacking...

Above: It's Day 7 and I'm standing at my bedroom door surveying the living space beyond. Look! My new tires arrived at 8:30 this morning. Awesome! There were only three possible parking spots for them: On the dining room table, on a sofa, or right in the front entry with everything else in transition. It was a no-brainer.

Side note: A couple of mornings ago I exited my new master bedroom and smiled at this scene, except it was more cluttered and the walkway was much tighter. I’d just entered an organizer’s paradise. I could sort and stash and clean until perfectly contented. Being an organizing/cleaning machine, it was pretty thrilling! Um, I'm getting over the thrill at a very fast rate, but I'm also enjoying the accomplishment, so maybe I'm not...

Reality announced it takes tons of effort to condense a massive palace into an itty-bitty mouse-sized nest, and that's my task. I thought I was accomplishing it fairly well before the move began, but once boxes started piling up in our new space, and after putting things away for a couple of days, I realized I hadn’t deleted nearly enough stuff from our lives before we started loading trailers. And so the job goes on and on and on…

 

Above: Now I'm standing in the dining area doorway looking toward the front door. Um, I need to find a new landing pad for the toilet plungers. Maybe even get rid of one? The wire rack is holding things that are heading to good will, long and short-term storage, or the trash. The shelf is heading out the front door to live in the little storage closet on the patio.

But success is coming! This is the dining area after 6 days of constant work, and so far it's the area closest to completion. Sorry, but I don’t have a before "disaster zone" photo, so I'll take you on a visual tour: Picture 2 wire shelves against the back wall, both piled to the ceiling with boxes. Every other space in their vicinity was also inundated with boxes; the table, the floor — every inch in every direction. In advance I planned the shelves as a "staging area" to hold things until I assigned them permanent parking spots. It worked great and held the chaos in check.

The last step will be adding wall decor, but that won't happen until the box invasion has been halted and all things cardboard have been banished from the kingdom. I'll plan 2-3 days for moving pictures and decor around. I'll smile, frown, nod approvingly, grimace, scheme, measure, and move things again. Finally satisfied, I'll tap nails into studs and molly bolts into sheetrock and finish the magic.

Other than stuff occupying every corner of our Pleasant Little Palace at the moment and disguising it as a hoarder's haven, and everything painted the same color (Everything! Walls, trim and ceiling), we're doing remarkably well. It feels good to pause, look around and see progress, take a breather, and sit down while not yet exhausted, and blog again!

Bye, for now!

My Surreal Life

I love real life enough to oppose living in an unrealistic dream world. Today I said surreal for the first time in memory, because for the first time ever that's how I felt. Surreal is a word I've never uttered out loud before because I personally don't like it. I've heard it so much it usually feels overused and abused. Come on, we don't all live in LaLa Land all the time! Anyway, after it escaped my tongue I took a minute to look it up just to be sure I wasn't misusing it. I pity people who use words incorrectly. The best example I can think of at the moment is notorious, as in this sentence: She is notorious for her incredible cupcakes. Everyone unfamiliar with the meaning of notorious starts drooling and wondering how they can wrap their lips around one of those cupcakes. Not me. I start wondering how many people she has deviously chocked to death or poisoned with them. (If you're wondering what I'm talking about, look up notorious.) 

Back to surreal. I peeked into my garage and watched box after box leave its comfy little nest high above my head and land in the 4-wheeler trailer. (With help--none actually flew or landed alone).

It was a beautiful day for packing our lives and start hauling everything to a storage unit. Actually, not everything went--just look at the poor 4-wheeler and you'll know what I'm talking about.

Yes, it's there. Drowning behind the gift wrap and buried beneath all that stuff that didn't make it onto the trailer. Overhead is what I've called the garage attic. Surreal is what I call moving after two previous failed attempts. Seven years ago we received an offer on our home, but the following day the bottom fell out of the world economy. The hopeful buyer couldn't follow through and no one else in the universe was able to borrow money for homes. We settled back in and enjoyed more time in out happy little village. Last year we again thought we'd change our address, but both my hubby and I took unexpected turns in the hospital. We pulled our home off the market to recover. This year we're actually moving the boxes I packed right after Christmas more than a year ago. Yep, that is very strange and surreal. Please don't wake me up.

Quick update: We're buying a tiny condo. It's so small that it wouldn't take much squeezing to fit 3 1/2 of them into our present home. That is a weird thought--having too much for way too long, although we've been very blessed to share our space with children and grands who needed landing pads for various reasons over the past few years. Anyway, now we're heading toward retirement and hoping to have less and easier space to fuss over. I will miss my little spinach patch, deer wandering by and chomping on my roses, kids laughing in the park behind our home, sitting around a firepit on the back patio and toasting marshmallows as the sun sets, and pool tournaments resounding in the basement. I won't miss sixty-acres of carpet to vacuum or ninety miles of driveway to de-ice during the winter. 

I'm already dreaming of sticking plastic flowers in a planter by my new front door just so I can watch them fade under natural UV lighting. Just kidding. I'm not that old yet. But I am considering wallpapering something. It's been ages since I've hung wallpaper, and since wallpaper is speeding back into style faster than a bullet train, I'm excited to decorate with it again.

I suppose my sparkling little dream bubble will burst and nightmares will push in around the edges as we settle into our new place--as all six of us occupy our cute little three bedroom, two bathroom condo. Scrunching together may tempt a couple of our nestlings to fly the coop. On the other hand, it might be us old birds who spread our wings.

Hmmm. I'm feeling a vacation coming on. Maybe two or three in quick succession to make up for last year's memorable "hospital stay-cations."

Final words before my hubby and son drove away with our first trailer piled with treasures: "If anything falls off, keep driving! Don't stop! Don't go back! Retrieve it only if a cop is nearby so you're not cited for littering!"

Hey, anyone want a box of something?

Catch! 

Who knows what you'll end up with.

Come to my garage sale when I clean out the storage unit.

Wait!

I've just changed my mind about that garage sale. I just remembered I've promised the kids I'll leave them something when I die...

Hee, hee, hee...!

First Cry

I cried for the first time this morning. In the shower. With warm water soothing my neck and aching shoulders. While thoughts of "what if" of an unpleasant kind, and "it's going to be okay" of the reassuring kind, flowed through my mind.

For the first time in 12 years, through weepy wet eyes, I realized the little inset tiles in the guest shower did not contain a deep green color, but charcoal gray. How did I not see that years ago!?! Or even two months ago when I went through the entire house with a magnifying glass?

Oh, life is strange, surprising, and keeps rolling on despite tile colors and the reason for abandoning my own shower to use a different one. It's a short story, really, that sent me across the house, and goes like this:

Once upon a time--actually, this morning--I awoke to low gray clouds, a definite switch from the sunshine I expected. I should have recognized the omen, but no, I proceeded with life as usual. I stepped into the shower and turned on the water full blast to get it heated up. Instead of a gentle flow coming from the end of the hose and shower head near my bare toes, a thousand angry geysers of icy water sprayed from every possible angle above my head. I was shocked into awareness of the panic-inducing situation, and the long-standing awareness that me and leaking water have never gotten along!

Yelp! Hyperventilate! Scurry out! Mop and fume...

Relax, I advised myself once the water was off and while cleaning up. 

Calmed down by many degrees (the house hadn't fallen into a dark swamp, making calm a possibility), I texted my husband and my realtor. My husband, on the road today, offered no hope of help because I couldn't reach him, but my urgent message caught my realtor's attention. (Of course, it did--he's got the listing.) He called the home inspector who had examined every inch of my home yesterday and left a little business card on my kitchen countertop. The inspector (I picture him tiny, like a mouse, at this point in the story) admitted  he'd attached a pressure gauge and probably hadn't replaced the shower connection correctly when finished. Yes, my exact conclusion after the massive leak was fixed and I knew no broken pipes were spewing destructive waterfalls behind tile and sheetrock and flooding my basement and ruining my home. The incident left me wondering how many other things the inspector messed up. I've gone through my house since then and searched deeper, feeling like Sherlock Holmes as I looked for something out of place, odd or suspect. Nothing strange has turned up yet.

The end. But not really.

We listed out home less than two weeks ago and received an offer almost immediately. Today I cringed when heavy pipe wrenches crossed my tile floors, and cried when my bathroom resembled Yellowstone. Lately my whole focus has been on filling out forms, sharing banking details, signing papers and scheduling things like inspections, appraisals and walk-throughs. And I'm still cleaning like crazy. I feel like a goalie holding a rag and mop while defending every wall, cabinet, floor, etc. I'm ready to spring into action and block everything even remotely destructive. Nothing is getting past my body! 

Hey, put that marker down! Take your shoes off! Don't slam that door!

Ahhhh, the life of a someone who is selling their home. Tomorrow I'll laugh over today. Already I'm starting to chuckle. I wish I had a picture. If you don't know it yet, let me clue you in:

Crisis + Time = Humor

(Sometimes it takes a LOT of time, but I don't have time to waste right now, so I've got to get on with getting on so I can start packing.)

Here it Comes: Home For Sale

Big day, around here. Our home is for sale. Again.

The sky  is spitting snow and the wind is howling. Literally. Winter is staking its claim on my Happy Little Village. It's a perfect day to flip on the fire, grab a book, snuggle under a blanket and forget about the world out there. But no, I've got a professional photographer nosing around my house, snooping in closets and behind beds. He's taking pictures of everything. Even inside the closets. No skeletons have tumbled out yet. Maybe behind the next door?

I caught my son (yes, he's a professional photographer and photo editor) checking readings. I have no clue what he's doing, actually. Maybe checking to see if a kid ran through a shot? That could easily happen in this house. I do know the final results will be better if he takes the pictures than if I do. They'll soon be plastered all over the internet, give or take twenty-four hours. They need to be good so they entice a buyer through my front door.

 

I snapped away behind him as he worked, but that was only when I wasn't removing the tissue box, or stray grand kid shoes, or moving his camera lenses for him, or turning lights on and off or adjusting the angle of the blinds. I got a few good pictures myself, but also tons of fuzzy ones and lots with random spots of light floating through the air or attaching themselves to walls. Ahh, that is the sad outcome of an amateur. It's amazing what the eye will overlook, but is glaringly out of place in a photo. Look! An open drawer? Umm, that's not cool. Yes, I took that shot...

 

Of all my photos I think the best one is of this little Grand. We "hid" behind a corner while shots were taken, or she waited in the other room, or she danced around asking us to take pictures of her. I caught this one while we waited in the shadows while my son worked. So while I stressed about whether towels were hanging straight and the canisters on the kitchen countertop where lined up just right, she played games and thought the whole process was just a fun game.

 

Now I've got a key box hanging on my front porch railing. A sign goes in the yard on Friday. (My realtor listed 9 houses last week and ran out of signs and had to order more!) So, once we hit the MLS, that's when the games really begin. It's called hide-'n-seek and goes like this: My realtor calls, giving me a 15-minute warning before a showing. I, we, and whoever else is around will rush through the house hiding everything unsightly like dirty dishes, dirty laundry, a basket of unfolded clean laundry, shoes, socks, trash, you name it. We'll then leave the house in a dither. (Silly, word, dither. Who invented it, anyway?) No matter, off we rush in a dither to Arctic Circle or McDonald's, but only if we have little ones in tow. Both have play lands. If it's just adults we'll find a better hangout. An hour or two later we'll casually cruise up our street to make sure a buyer isn't lurking around studying our shutters and sprouting pansies. When we finally return we'll begin the hunt for all lost things--key's, important papers,  stacks of bills, school shoes, medical records, favorite recipes, etc. Oh, this dither-ditch-and-find game is going to be so much fun!

I just swiveled my chair around to give thumbs-up or thumbs-down on house photos and discovered another reason to dither--yikes! I forgot to put a centerpiece on the table for staging! How terrible. Yes, I know, centerpieces are hit and miss in households across America. Personally, I play push and pull with mine. I push it to one end of the table, then pull it back to center. After about five weeks of doing that three times a day at least, and more often when helping with homework or in the middle of a creative project, I want to throw it out on the driveway and run over it! Instead, I dismantled it and pushed various parts into hidden places and forgot about everything. I also shopped for something new, but returned home uninspired and empty handed, which ended the push and pull. Now, with a quick swivel, I discovered the dining room photo on my son's computer screen showed the table in all of its own, non-enhanced glory. It looked stark and empty. Bare. Desolate. Lonely. Boring. Too orangy. Not good!

Good thing I have a photographer in residence. We grabbed a basket of apples and a few other things and another photo session began. I wonder if that's how Better Homes & Garden's does it. Probably. They pull up with a truck of stuff to offset what they find in the featured house. They tote in rugs and plants and carry out  bookcases and porcelain iguanas. Well, the staging is finished around here, except I really could use an inedible centerpiece that didn't continually need restocking. An iguana would work. (Just kidding.)

I really should make something ultra stinky for dinner, like cauliflower and bean soup to go with liver and onions. Tonight might be my last chance for offensive kitchen odors for a long time. Wait! The kitchen is sparkling clean and everyone is under strict orders to mess nothing up, or else! Chinese, anyone? Take out, of course. I'd hate to be the first one to scatter crumbs.

Thanks for wishing us well!

Bring on the Hearts!

Hearts

It’s that time of year—Spring is hinting it will return, bringing sunshine, flowers and warm breezes. Summer will be pushing behind at its heels. Before Spring even arrives I can already see its eager effects—almost half of my backyard is visible again, as if it's throwing off its winter-white blanket and preparing ready to jump up and dance around again. 

I'll be dancing with it! 

I can hear the whisper of water dripping through my downspouts as the snow overhead thaws. It’s saying, “I've been on this lonesome roof way too long. I’m heading downstream to lounge in the lake before I soar overhead in a puffy white cloud and look for a lofty mountain stream to explore."

My son has been looking at his bike with longing—another sign of Spring—and today started it up with a roar!

I’m glad Valentine’s Day comes in February—a cold winter month that sometimes is socked in by fog, ice storms, snow or drizzly rain clouds. Valentines arrives dressed in happy pinks with sweet reminders that the garden will soon be dressed in similar shades. 

Usually I bake and frost cookies, but this year I’ve decided to skip it. I’ve been making hearts a little differently the past few days…

This year I’ve been hard at work helping my little Grand prepare for her preschool party. For her personalized valentines we chose blue—the color of Spring skies, and added hints of pink, her favorite color.

How to make little denim rag heart pockets for Valentine’s giving:

* It’s simple—no special pattern is needed at all. Just fold a paper in half and cut out a heart. Everyone learned that basic technique before fourth grade. If you don’t like your first attempt, adjust things and make the second one longer, leaner, fatter, smaller, fuller, or whatever you wish. Just make sure it's big enough to hold a love note and treat after it's assembled.
  
* Cut a fabric front and back from old jeans (washed and dried first). Cut out a pocket for the front, using the bottom of the same paper heart pattern. Be sure to add enough to the top edge for turning it under if you don’t want a raw edge and frays topping your pocket. I added ½ inch. The pocket can have seams and other details from the fabric in it. Play with it and be creative! Make sure it's deep enough to hold what you're planning to hide inside.

  * Cut a thin layer of dacron batting (leftover quilt batting), making it about ½ inch smaller all the way around than the fabric. 

   One pocket above was made using the waistband and nearby little coin pocket. 

The other pocket came from a top-stitched seam and has 

an added little pocket with a button for trim. I finished off the top of the pockets with a rolled hem.

Take care when you're sewing near rivets and through several layers of fabric!

 Now it’s assembly time!

   * Lay everything out on the table so you know what each finished heart will look like. I finished off all the little front pockets before I tackled assembling the hearts. This is where you'll spend a lot of your time if you're not finishing off all the front pockets the same.

*  Here's how you'll finish off the pockets: Finish off the top edge of the front pocket. If you used a waistband or hem, that’s already done for you. For my hemmed pockets I rolled the top under ¼ inch, and then another ¼ inch and sewed along the (inside) edge. I rolled twice because I wanted a clean edge without any fraying.
  
* Next, decorate the pocket any way you’d like. I used leftover scraps of lace, ribbon, buttons, sequins, rick-rack, etc. On some I made tiny pockets from denim or felt. Add bows, buttons, etc. If you want a Velcro closing, add that now to the pocket and the front of the heart.

    *  To assemble: Place the back of the heart with the wrong side facing up on the table; place the batting on top; place the top of the heart on top of the batting; and last, place the pocket on top of everything. You get the idea, everything is stacked and looks like the way it will be when it's sewn together. The is NO turning things inside out. If you need to pin everything together in a few places go ahead. This is a rag heart, so don’t over stress if things aren’t perfectly aligned. (If you want a loop for hanging the heart, add it now using ribbon or a sewn length of fabric.) Play with the decorative pocket and have fun adding your own touches!

*  Sew around the edge about ½ - ¾ inches from the outside. I started at the top of the V in the heart. When I reached the V again, I set my needle ¼ inch inside the first stitching line and stitched around again using my foot as the distance guide. The inside stitching should catch the batting if the outer stitching didn’t. Don’t fret if the batting isn’t caught all the way around. (In the above photo you only see the the inside stitching line around the top, but see both stitching lines along the side below the pocket.)

Now that you have a cute little heart with a pocket for holding treats, you might think you’re finished. But this is a rag heart, so let’s continue on:

    * Clip the outside edges toward the stitching line. I spaced my snips ¼ inch or less apart. A couple of my snips on one of the hearts cut through the outer stitching, but that’s just fine. There’s a second row of stitching that defines the heart shape—and this is a rag heart!

    *  Toss the finished hearts into the washer and dryer with a similar colored load of clothes. The edges will fray a little and give the heart a soft, well-loved rag look.

   *  Add additional trim if desired. (Below, the ribbon bow was added to a belt loop on the pocket after washing.)

 

    * Add the final finishing touch by stuffing with goodies and adding a tag. Wow! You’re ready to give a sweet little surprise to someone special. 

It was cute watching my little Grand help choose the way she wanted the hearts trimmed. We were limited by scraps of this and that, although it was amazing to discover we had plenty of things around—like gold sequins—which she fell in love with, that challenged my creativity for a moment before I realized there is no right or wrong. She loved tossing the hearts into the washer as I finished snipping them. It took her forever (no exaggeration) to write her name on each tag.

Head’s up: This took time. Yup, time, including a trip to Wal-Mart for a little $.88 bag of buttons and a spool of polka dot ribbon ribbon. Other than that, once the hearts were all cut out, designed and laid out, the final assembly went quickly. Um, in my opinion (I sew, and I had free time...). Suggestion: While they are washing and drying you can fix dinner, clean the house and get the homework not only underway,  but completely finished, kids bathed and ready for bed…

Hope you have a sweet Valentine’s Day!

Remember, it's not about the "valentine" or the sweet treats.

It's all about LOVE