I have a friend who loves pictures of couches.

Not lovely, Pinterest-worthy pictures. But dark, blurry pictures of people sitting in dim rooms smiling for a snap shot while sitting on a couch.

She’s been to Spain, Quebec, and Japan and come back with pictures of… couches. Not the Sagrada Familia Basilica. Not the Citadelle of Québec.

Couches.

The other day she asked me to post pictures of my new house so she could see what was going on with my new house.

I know her only interest was in my couch.

But I still felt that maybe it was time to take a little tour and show off my progress. And the work still to do.

I posted the sales picture of my house the other day, but here is one with my various outdoor items and my car in the driveway.      If you come in through the front door, there is a little entry.

Turn to your left and you go into the living room.

There is still a lot to put away… but you get the idea.

There is a little hallway that leads to the carport, studio and dining/room kitchen.

The studio still need a LOT of work, but I’ve got the tables set up and have un-earthed the painting supplies box.

With two big tables and my drafting table, I’m hopeful that I’ll finally have enough table space!

Going back through the hall we enter the dining room / kitchen area.

There is a little mud/laundry/dog room off the kitchen.

Unfortunately I still haven’t got laundry due to unforeseen electrical issues, but the dog is comfortable.

Moving back through the house, here’s the office.

Last, we’ll head upstairs. My room…

And the extra bedroom (which is a story in itself,)

That’s the two bit tour. Now, when are you coming to see it in person?

I am a hug fan of the “one year experiment” genre of books. Animal, Vegetable, Miracle is probably my favorite, but I also like The Happiness Project and Not Buying It. I really want to read The Year of Living Biblically, too.

I always have vague plans to do something along these lines. Weight Watchers and the accompanying lifestyle changes would be a great match, but the process is too involved , too scary, and too non-linear (in my current case an upside down bell , but I’m back to working on it.)

When I moved recently, one of the things I took a look at is how I wanted my new life to look. With an extra two hours a day in my life (not commuting!) I thought about what I’d like to fill that time.

I also looked at my current commitments and realized that I was exhausted. I mean, really, really tired. I have this feeling I am doing everything except the things I want to do.

In the course of packing up the house I did my best to shed a few things. I purged the physical objects I could and made a few phone calls to get off some committees. And I decided not to replace those obligations with anything else for right now. I’d give it a year without joining any Salem groups or applying for any new shows and see what came out of it.

I also decided to not get television service.

This is a tough decision and I’m immediately going to caveat the heck out of. I am setting up my TV’s and I am putting a DVD player on each to watch movies and things from the library. My next consideration is whether I can survive on just that, or whether an antennae might be enough (If I could get OPB, ABC, and CBS, that might be enough.) If that isn’t enough, I may look into some of these streaming services I am always seeing. I was shocked to find out they aren’t free though (but $20 a month seems better than $60 a month.) If all those options don’t work, I’ll go back to Dish or something.

In the ten days since I’ve moved I’ve already noticed a difference. I play a lot more music or simply let the silence go. The extra hours I’ve spend putting rooms together doesn’t seem like a chore, it just seems to be filling the time.

I’m hoping to get my studio room up and running within the next week; I’m then hoping that this no-TV thing might translate into more painting. 2015 was not a good year for painting (at least quantity-wise) and I’d like to make some strides in 2016. But I need some more time to get that done.

Will no TV be the answer?

We’ll see.

Last Friday morning I signed the papers to sell my little house on Glacier St. in Oregon City.

I’d like to say that this post has been held up because of deep angst about that, but the fact is I’ve just been too busy, and when not too busy, mildly insane. (So what’s new?)

That isn’t to say that it was an easy thing to do. Sometimes I wish I was one of those people who seems to feel things like this really deeply; instead I just take a deep breath and take the next step… and a few days later attack a mailbox.

The house in Glacier St. has been the Choate home base since September 1975, when I was nine months old.

For most of its life it has been yellow, though in the 90’s it went through a beige stage. It’s always been a good house, snug and tight in its boxy way.

The house withstood the first years of tinkering, including a garage addition in 1981. A little wood stove was added and the house loyally kept that heat inside during the Oregon winters.

In 1981 we got a big snowstorm that I still remember.

In the late 80’s and early 90’s it withstood my teens, with accompanying moodiness and fights with my parents. In my 20’s it let me go, though I returned a couple times. My mom attempted some remodeling which my returns with (muddy) dogs tended to foil.

The dogs and my dad playing in a big mud puddle in the field in back of the house (before the church was built.)

In the 2000’s (my thirties) my parents retired and decided to move to their beach house. At the time I owned my own business. It wasn’t my intention to move back to Oregon City, but the combination of tight finances and a good deal made a return to Glacier a good idea.

Again, the house loyally welcomed me, though I put in new flooring and repainted. The house just quietly took it. A new roof and new windows, all without complaint or even a momentary lapse in duty.

The house always had a partner: the yard. Each summer Dad would put in a large vegetable garden.

Mom would periodically tinker with some landscaping in the front. Trees were pruned and occasionally cut down. When Dad retired, the size of the garden shrunk, to go away completely when I took over. My contribution was some additional flower beds in the front and a backyard that went completely to the dogs.

A couple of years ago when I announced to my friends that I was probably going to sell the house, they all wondered how I could do it. Nearly forty years in the family home.

Part of me says, “It’s just a house.” The lumber and glass won’t know. The pipes and vents will distribute just the same for someone else. The new owners are already changing the flooring and paint and probably lots of other things.

The Dr. Seuss quote comes to mind here:

That house held a good and secure household, a loving family, and more life events that I can remember. That’s a lot for any house to brag about. I’m sorry to leave my address on Glacier St., but I feel confident I can take the best parts with me.

I still say the mailbox started it.

Really, I think we all knew a meltdown was coming. It was only a matter of time.

After a week in the new house, dealing with no hot water in the shower, three different inspections, millions of phone calls, and working extra hard after work to make the house livable, I decided to take Sunday off.

It was a good plan, and I had a good excuse. My friend and I were going to go the Wild Arts Festival to do a little shopping, enjoy the art, and see my 6″x6″ piece.

The day started out innocently enough. Finn and I took a long walk and a short nap. Then my mom called.

(Now, before I continue with this story, please know (especially because my mom will read this) that I love calls from my mom. However, she has this one bad habit…)

“Hi, Mom, How are you/”

“Fine. How are you?” My spidey sense went off because there was the tiniest pause after “fine” but I (foolishly) ignored it.

“Oh, I’m okay. Just doing a little relaxing. How about you?”

“Well… actually… I spent most of the day in the emergency room.”

Turns out Mom had a small blood clot in her hip from her recent hip replacement. It wasn’t the serious kind, just the looks awful kind, but the doctors wanted to examine it.

However, it isn’t that she was in the emergency room that was bad (necessarily) it’s that she has this habit of not TELLING me about the bad news. When Dad had a stroke it took almost five minutes to get to that point. I guess I’ll look on it as improvement that it only took her two sentences this time. I’ve begged her just to break things to me immediately, but so far the progress has been slow.

I shook off the phone call, thinking the story would just add to my collection of “Mom can’t tell me bad news” stories, and ventured off to meet my friend.

And there I proved (as if there was any doubt) that I really shouldn’t be allowed out in public anymore.

I love the Wild Arts Festival. The art is high quality and of great subject manner. It is in Montgomery Park in NE Portland, which is a nice venue. The only flaw, and it might be only me that sees this as a problem, is that it uses escalators. When going down you look straight down three floors into a bank of windows that in turn overlook the river. It always feels to me like you are jumping off a cliff.

I guess my head state was not great because when I started to go down I got a little scared and dizzy and tried to back up, tripped, pulled a muscle in my leg and toppled over. I didn’t exactly fall down the escalator, but it sure wasn’t a pretty ride down. I limped the rest of the way around the show. I’m still taking Advil today.

After making my way home, I decided to tackle just one more small job that had been plaguing me… my mailbox. When I got the keys to the house, the mailbox key was not in there. Saturday evening a woman came to the door; she turned out to be the wife of the contractor who worked on my house. She was cleaning out her files and came across two keys, one for the regular locks and one for the mailbox. She gave the keys and her husband’s business card to me. Unfortunately, I couldn’t make the key work.

So Sunday I decided to get out the WD40 and give it a shot. That didn’t work. Shocking.

Then I tried Google.

I tried a lock picking attempt.

I tried a lock picking attempt using Google.

I tried wire.

I tried a wrench.

I tried more WD40. I broke the key in the lock.

Finally, I decided to “drill out” the lock.

“Drilling out” doesn’t work. I don’t care what Google says.

So I got out a hammer and a very long flat head screwdriver. And I whacked that stupid lock until it opened.

18 tools.

18. Tools.

But I won.

Wah-haa-ha-ha.

It only cost $3.69 to get a new lock.

He-ha-ha-ha!

Don’t mess with me!

I have said it before and I’ll probably say it again: I have a tough time with reality. At least twice a day I find myself looking at some person who has come into my little sphere and having trouble figuring out what is going on.

What’s completely depressing about this is that when I realize that it’s my own little sphere that’s warped.

Take my recent move.

For the last four weeks I’ve been packing up my entire life. I kept finding myself thinking “oh it will be over soon” and the little (logical) voice in my head would say “but what about unpacking?” And the stupid voice would say, “Oh, it’ll be fine.”

Sure.

I’ve been “in” the Salem house now for four days and tonight I came home and all I could think was that this was a huge mistake.

Now, this “mistake” voice (is it bad that I’ve already described three voices?) has been surfacing more and more often, but tonight when I walked through the new door knowing that my big goal would be getting myself back on line, I just about ran for the hills.

I’m probably making it sound worse than it is. Here are some good things.

1. The movers showed up on Sunday, pretty much on time. They were packing wizards. One told me he was #4 ranked at Tetris in the world. After watching him pack that truck, I believe it.
2. I have an awesome Mom. She took care of Finn for the last few days, brought him back, helped me get set up, and took Finn to (another) vet appointment. She completely ROCKS.
3. The fur children are settling in like it’s all no big deal. As soon as some of their soft sleeping places re-appeared, they acted like this was no big deal. Finn has been the most challenging, but today he used the back yard like champ and stayed home alone while I was at work. In fact, he seemed perturbed when I came home to let him out at lunch (I interrupted his nap!)
4. I am back online. And it only took me four days to do it!

However, here are a few challenges.

1. My box springs wouldn’t fit up the stairs. At the end of the move the movers  were talking about sawing it in half (yes, I know it’s a thing. It’s weird) and my head about exploded. “We are NOT sawing anything in half!” I bellowed.
2. I don’t have hot water in the showers. I do have hot water in the sinks, but not in the showers. It’s been tepid showers for the last few days. The contractors says he will come back tomorrow (oh, PLEASE!) to adjust something or another and get me hot water.
3. The first night I slept here the fumes from the new carpet, etc. gave me a severe allergy problem. I think I scared Mom half to death when I announced at 6am that I thought I needed to go to urgent care because my heart was racing. Then when I went outside, the problem fixed itself. Since then we’ve had the windows open a little bit trying to get the place to air out.
4. I honestly have blocked out how hard moving is. I thought I’d be all “la de dah” once I got here. Instead I’m just exhausted and a little depressed.

Voices and alternate reality aside, I think we (voices, fur children, me, and readers) can agree moving is hard and I need to give myself a little break.

Now if only I had some groceries.

Since I got my car four years ago, I have been unsure about it being gray. I mean… gray? After a red car and two blue cars… Gray?

Today a solution presented itself.

I’d rather go back to gray.

***

So this morning I had a dentist appointment. It was first thing, but it still meant I left home about 15 minutes later than normal.

As I walked to the car I tossed Finn his treat, got in the car, and backed out of the garage.

As I was backing up I saw that Finn (dorfy dog) had got his treat stuck in his upper palette and was shaking his head and pawing at his teeth frantically.

I turned off the car, hopped out, and hurried over to save him. At which point he ran into the back yard. I caught up with him and fixed the problem, but not before stepping in dog doo.

It took a few extra second to wipe that off, but when I came back through the garage to get back into my car…

There was no car.

***

No car

***

I variety of things about thieves, candid camera, and being crazy flickered through my mind.

Then my gaze drifted upward ever so slightly.

Across the street, millimeters from my neighbor’s little red car, my little gray car sat.

My car had drifted across my driveway, across the street, and into their driveway, somehow missing their car by the narrowest margin you can possibly imagine.

In fact, the distance was so minuscule the though of candid camera again crossed my mind.

I walked across the street, dreading what I would see. It seemed impossible my car has missed theirs. But it had.

Then my heart stopped again. My car must have been stopped by their house! They have children! Oh my gosh.

I looked. The car was about six inches from the house.

Next I looked at the tree on the other side of the car, thinking my car must have been stopped by the tree.

The car had missed the tree.

Yes, the car had somehow managed to perfectly park itself between the bushes in front, red car on left, house in back, and tree on right.

Perfectly.

I got in, hardly believing it.

I pulled out.

The car had broken off a branch of the tree, and a couple of those push in solar lights were the worse for wear (broken), but it seemed that was the extent of the damage.

I would have liked to knock on the door of my neighbor’s house and explain, but all the lights were out and I know they have kids.

I’d apologize in the evening and offer to pay any damages.

So I drove off to the dentist.

***

All along the way I kept thinking, “Gosh, traffic is noisy today.” But that was all.

I got to the dentist and made my appointment. No cavities.

As I was walking back out to my car I finally saw it. The little window was broken.

And thus, my technicolor window is born.

To get it un-technicolored will cost $230.

But someone suggested that maybe I should go buy a lottery ticket because I did get off pretty easy.

***

Oh, last part of the story.

When I got home in the evening, I went over an apologized to my neighbors. They said they were glad to know the story, because they could tell something happened. But they said the lamps had been free from their dad and the branch was just a branch and didn’t want anything.