Ever since I can remember, my family has used the term “plans” in quotes. Years of painful experience warns us that no matter what we think will happen, something else will actually take place.

Unfortunately, this knowledge rarely helps me to NOT make plans. I come up with a great scheme, start to implement, and then… well… disaster.

Case in point: my website. In the first part of June, I undertook a redesign of my website. I wanted:

• A cleaner look
• To take the blog off the “front” page
• To highlight more of my art

Not too bad, right?

Hysterical laughter

I forgot about “plans”.

The first problem was that I couldn’t find a WordPress theme that I liked and that did all the things I wanted it to do. (For those who are not familiar with tech things, my website uses WordPress as the “program” to run things. There are hundred (if not thousands) of templates you can download to make the pages look a particular way.) If I tried two, I tried 52. Finally, I decided that I was going to have to settle for “good enough” and moved forward.

Then, the beach house happened. And forward progress in my life sort of stopped.

When I would found a moment of inspiration, I created the front page images that you might notice. Then I turned to the painting. Of course, this was the big one. A complete inventory of all my pieces was conducted. And then nothing would do but that I had to reorder almost 15 years of photographs and assorted images.

And during all of this, the depression over the beach house lingers.

This last week I finally “sat down with” myself and made a list of all the things that were making me feel bad. I broke them into steps and started to work on the most pressing items.

Thus, today, I am proud to announce a “mostly” completed website. My paintings, through 2015, are up. The pages are updated. I have a list of things that I am contemplating, but I’m going to move forward. This pausing thing is just making things worse.

Preface: I had hoped to have my website completely updated and finished before pushing a new blog post, but I needed to vent a little. We’ll call this a “soft opening.”

History

I don’t think I’ve ever written about “The Beach House” before.

My mom and dad purchased the land, in a development south of Lincoln City, with his “Vietnam money” in 1971-72. The summer of 1972, Mom and Dad and both sets of their parents framed, roofed, and sheet rocked the beach house. Over the following 20 years, they finished the house. I was about twelve before my room was painted and flooring went in.

As I was growing up, we would head down to the beach house about once a month. There would be a big rush to leave the house as soon as possible on Friday, and then by 11am on Sunday, we’d be heading back home.

We spent most Thanksgivings there. It just became the house where that happened, with various friends making their way to this feast over the years.

When Mom and Dad retired in the early 2000’s, they intended to retire down there (unless Dad could have talked Mom into Arizona… which was never gonna happen). That was delayed a few years with Mom’s breast cancer, but by 2005 they were ensconced and Mom began turning the beach house into her dream house. The kitchen was remodeled, then new flooring. Then the bath was remodeled. After Dad died, she added a third again onto the house as well as a swim spa and patio.

Over the years, I had pondered the future of the beach house. My vague plan was that maybe it would end up being my retirement home, too. I love the beach and the house has so many memories and associations for me.

The last 6 months

When Mom died, the house was suddenly mine. About 15 years ahead of “schedule.” Over the last six months I have concentrated on cleaning it out (as discussed, Mom was a packrat) and making sure that the house was as “stable” as I could make it. I had removed food, found a yard maintenance place, and I was working on finding someone to do the gutters. The neighbors were wonderful, checking in on the place a few times a week.

Over Memorial Day weekend, I went down there with my friend, Lea. Lea knew how hard I was finding enjoying the house and that the responsibility was getting in the way of any pleasure I was finding. That weekend we put together puzzles, walked on the beach, and watched movies. I left hopeful that maybe I could find a way to come to peace with the house as a gift and not just a responsibility.

June 14

Last weekend, I left work a couple of hours early to attend my friend Mary Margaret’s 50th wedding anniversary party. Mary Margaret and her husband had also retired to the beach, and I was excited to see her again (and a PARTY!) I swung by the beach house to drop off my bags, use the potty, and give the dogs a quick walk before heading over.

When I walked into the house, I noticed how hot it was. “Did I leave a heater on?” I wondered. As I made my way to the bathroom, I heard an ominous hissing. The moment I wasn’t overly distracted, I started searching for the noise. It was coming from in back of the refrigerator. Then I noticed the puddle. Frantically, I moved the refrigerator from against the wall. Immediately, gushes of water started going everywhere.

The line to the icemaker had failed and was spraying water.

My dad had installed the icemaker probably 20 years before and, of course, had not installed a cut off switch, so I had to call a plumber. Luckily, there was one living in the area and he got the water turned off. But the damage was done.

It’s hard to tell from this picture, but the floor was squishy and the tiles were pushing up around the edges. One did not have to be an expert to realize a new floor was coming.

I called the insurance company and the next day “Disaster Master” arrived to assess the situation.

Worse and worse

Over the next few days, it just got worse and worse. I was originally hopeful that it was just the floor, but as they got in, it became obvious that the lower cabinets and the bar had been affected as well.

They would call with more bad news and I would just say, “Do what you have to do.”

Friday they declared the house was dry and that I could begin reassembly.

The problem is that I’m not sure I have the heart to do it. I was already struggling with having more houses than were comfortable. This blow feels like another sign that maybe it would be better to say goodbye, as hard as that would be, and accept that this house is going to be an incredible memory.

Depression

I’ve sunk into more than something of a depression, sleeping a lot to get away from it all. This is more than a little upsetting because I had really been starting to feel like I was on a path to recovery the last few weeks.

I’ve discussed it with my therapist, and she has suggested putting it on hold for a while. The insurance company says I have a year to “close the file.” While the house is not currently livable, it’s not in any danger (I really hope) either. A pause to get my bearing seems like a good plan.

Part of me says to go ahead and put the house back together. While they did have to remove the lower cabinets, they were careful with all the other cabinets, and saved the doors. They assured me the cabinets could be rebuilt, using those same doors. And a new floor is not a terrible thing.

Part of me says that this just makes it easier to put the house on the market. I feel like anyone coming in wouldn’t care about the history of the house and would just want to make it their own. A good realtor could advertise it as a blank slate.

My therapist had another idea. She says there are people who LIKE to do this kind of project. Are any of these people my friends? Want a project?

This weekend Mom’s estate took part in “The Great Oregon Coast Garage Sale“.

After the initial visit to Mom’s house, where I cleaned out her clothes (Marie Kondo, step 1) and books (Marie Kondo, step 2 (went into my Little Free Library and are still be distributed)), I decided it would probably be simpler to cart everything out into the garage and have a sale, rather than pack up everything to take to a thrift store.

The first step in this plan was to clean out the garage. The garage was very organized and more than capable of holding a car. But there were a lot of almost empty cans of paint, odd wood pieces, and garden chemicals that I decided to clean out before starting anything else. That was February, and every second at the beach the last couple of months has been full of taking things out to the garage.

Garage sale yard sale unnecessary decor items and things for home

You will notice in this stock photo, that things are priced. This is a step I did not take. Instead, I made this sign and placed it on every table.

It worked a treat. While a few people were obviously flustered at the idea of “making an offer” it turned the event, for me, into an exercise where I could just beg people to take it away.

But what really surprised me is that it turned the weekend into a people watching event, rather than a stressful “sale.” Mom liked Christmas and collected snowmen, which frustrated me a little. But watching people enjoy her things and then take them away made me appreciate the joy they brought.

Some people purchased things and I would share their story. “Oh, Grandpa made that.” Or “Oh, Dad used to wear that hat.” Other things were just too ugly to do more than rejoice when they left.

We had a version of this. Isn’t it hideous beyond ALL WORDS?

Mom’s pots and their plants sold pretty quickly, but then stalled out leaving the more battered specimens remaining. Then a lady came and loaded up her Prius with the remaining. The deal: All the pots you can put in your car are $1. She got her money’s worth!

Several packs of ladies came around several times, bringing a variety of friends to look through Mom’s decorative items. Mom’s closet of pillows was a hot commodity. One lady was looking for “real silverware” for an outdoor wedding. I cut her a good deal. Another lady was looking for glass serving items for a charity event; another good deal was had.

Yes, there were pickers who came through, scanning for things they could resell. Some people would have been worried about selling them something too cheaply. Not me! Take it!!!!

Mom’s piano is still looking for a new home.

Mom’s piano has not found it’s new home yet. And the media stand hasn’t sold. But we went from a garage piled with items on tables and the floor to five overfull tables of items of pretty questionable value. I started out the weekend thinking I would need to do a second garage sale, but most of what is left is pretty picked over.

The great news is that this is the last of the “Mom events” for a while. For the next four weeks I get to run amok, doing whatever I like. I’ll be going down to the beach for Memorial Day weekend, but it’s a friend weekend, not a work weekend. I haven’t signed up for many of my typical summer events, and I’m trying to get in the head space of having a “lazy summer.” I feel like I need to just spend some time at the beach without “doing things”. I feel that will help me with whatever decision I need to make.

In the meantime, the garage sale items are out of the way and dry, so they can just sit. If I decide to pack them up, I can always do that a little at a time. It’s SO MUCH less than it was.

One thing that came up, especially on Friday, was how many people asked about Mom’s fused class pieces (the pieces, not just the equipment, which had already been dealt with by Mom.) I did not sell any of them because I wasn’t ready. Most people were respectful of that, though a few were pretty tactless. Coronado Shores has a craft sale in the winter; I am thinking about taking her pieces to that as a “final memorial.” But no decisions right now.

As for the inside of the house. Well, it’s starting to look a little spartan, which is great. I kept furniture to live on and haven’t changed the items on the wall. I did rearrange the living room, move the TV, and add a game table. But the storage rooms are cleared out and the knick knacks are moving along. There are still a lot of items I haven’t decided about (see all those items on the piano… there are five ikebana vases that I am considering. That should give you an idea of how much is left.)

And that can all wait for another day!

A friend pointed out this week that I had not posted for more than a month.  I’m working on apologizing less, so I would like to say thank you for any remaining readers I may have. I can’t promise to be any better in the next few weeks, but please know that I have started many posts in my head and have rejected them for a variety of reasons, most of the revolving around the dark nature of my thoughts or the old adage “write it and regret it.”

So… here’s a recap.

March 9-10 I went down to the beach again and spent more time working on Mom’s house. In some ways, it’s nice to go down, but in other ways, I end up very tired and worn out. It’s not really like a vacation… it’s just more work.

The next weekend, March 15-17 (one of my three-days) I stayed here and did exciting things like taxes and housework. Then on Sunday Key went to a nose work trial and got his Interior 2 title. That was the end of a little rush of nose work trials and now we have to wait a while before more come along.

At this point, I was feeling pretty good. I could see some progress on Mom’s house and I was feeling a little more cheerful. Then I let the medical professionals in.

My knee has been bothering me and I have been having some more breathing problems. So, it’s been a while since I had seen the doctors, so I decided to go in and see what could be done. It was one of the worst appointments I have ever had. The details are just too much for me to recount, but I was given another medication and a very serious lecture.

Then a few days later I came down with a cold which I have been unable to shake since (I feel sure I picked up the cold in the doctor’s office). So the weekend of March 23-24 I stayed at home and was sick.

The following weekend (obviously, you know I’m going to work on all the in between days, right?) was a big weekend, the first of four consecutive intense weekends that may end up being the end of what I can take.

I met with professional genealogist and friend, Roxanne Cummings-Basey, to tackle the mountain of photos and genealogy materials left to my mom from my aunt Carol. (See my post about the first time I went back to the beach house after Mom died.)

A total of 10 bankers boxes of genealogy and photographs was originally stored on these shelves (in addition to all the photo books you see). In this photo, we are down to three bankers boxes. The photos are essentially untouched.

Aunt Carol was an avid amateur genealogist in the 80’s and 90’s when records were still mailed to family and friends and EVERYTHING was done a word processor (not a computer). Over the years, Aunt Carol and Uncle Jack took quite a few genealogy related trips and self published many tomes of family stories and records. They distributed these to EVERYONE. And over the years many have filtered down to me, as first my grandparents, then my aunt, then my mom died.

The agony of having all this is that I have all but no interest in it, but I was concerned that there was information that was “important.” That’s when Roxanne stepped in. While I sorted the boxes for pictures, she went through the paperwork, sorting through what was basic information versus actual ancestry information.

In the end, we went from 10 bankers boxes to 1 bankers box of ancestral information. Even that information, Roxanne felt, while possibly personally priceless, was not terribly “valuable” as so much of it was not cited and sourced. It is probably readily available on the internet.

About half of what we eventually disposed of.

The piles of duplicates and discards were awesome, and of course had to be hauled home where I have recycling service.  In a lot of ways, it was a fun weekend. While Roxanne and I worked a lot, we also watched TV and talk, went out dinner, looked at the ocean, and knitted a little. However, by Sunday I was ready to be finished, not the least because Aunt Carol was a smoker and all the smoky paperwork was making me feel terrible.

Once back home, I scanned the information in the one remaining bankers box and I have put it on CDs which I will give to my cousins and Roxanne (she may do something with some of the information having to do with her professional development, but I don’t really understand.) However, I am confident that everything is as preserved as it’s going to get and that responsibility is off my shoulders.

Finally, this weekend was the Watercolor Society of Oregon spring convention where I was pleased that this painting was accepted. I plan to write another post about that tomorrow. (We’ll see if I do…)

I also found out this week that my painting, “Page 1” was accepted into the Emerald Art Center Exhibition later this month. That’s always very pleasant.

Next weekend is Mom’s memorial and to say I’m wound up is an understatement. The following weekend is the garage sale at Mom’s house (part of the Great Oregon Coast Garage Sale). I wish I could learn not to turn my life into some kind of extreme endurance sport.

I want to show you my accomplishment over the last three days.

I know. You just gasped in shock and amazement. Your heart filled with envy. I am sure you wish for a corner for your very own.

Yeah.

What’s exciting about this corner is that it does not have three boxes of paperwork left over from Mom (as well as a computer in need of decommissioning.) Instead, those three boxes have been filed in my filing cabinet (along with my stuff), shredded, or generally tossed out.

And that took me the better part of three days (plus the last two months).

Through a flex plan at my job, I get every other Friday off. I like to use this day to run errands, go to the doctor, and other little tasks. The theory is that it leaves my real weekends free to do other things.

As a theory, it’s a good one. The flaw is that Friday goes according to plan, then I spend Saturday and Sunday cleaning up the mess of what didn’t get done, or got started but not finished, on Friday.

Here is what Friday looked like (I’ll admit I lost track around 2pm).

• Trim Key’s nails
• Walk
• Unload car from art talk on Thursday
• Take back cans for deposit
• Laundry (3 loads)
• Fill up bird feeders
• Fill up little free library
• Unload dishwasher
• Unload items in my studio from art talk on Thursday
• Clean counters
• Call NW Natural (Mom’s estate)
• Call Point Pest Control
• Call Medicare (Mom’s estate)
• Get art from River Gallery
• Lunch
• Library
• File (includes shredding and labels) (repeat…)
• Email (repeat…)
• Artists in Action parasols (emails)
• WSO (emails)
• Balance checkbook
• Pay bills (repeat…)

I was still working on various things on my to do list at 10pm when I decided to go to bed.

The next day, I took Key to a nose work trial (he got his Level 1 Exterior and Level 1 Vehicle titles!) When I came back, I did more filing and paying bills.

And then today, I volunteered at the nose work trial. And when I came back, I got groceries, took out the trash, did another load of laundry, and did more filing and emailing and finally got the last of the boxes gone.

Doesn’t that corner look FABULOUS?

Yeah, I think so too.

As I approach the anniversary for my Little Free Library (LFL), I have been pondering a few things I’ve learned from the experience.

1. Enjoy your surroundings

On the advice of LFL, I created a Facebook page to go with my LFL. It’s my understanding that these kinds of FB accounts are better received if they post occasional updates. I have incorporated the idea of “Shelfie Saturday/Sunday” (going out and taking a picture of the shelves on either Saturday or Sunday). I occasionally make a recommendation based on my own reading. Once in a while I post a funny “pro-reading” cartoon.
And I post pictures of happenings in my yard or around the neighborhood.

This has made me more aware of what is happening in my little segment of the world. I’ve posted pretty flowers, interesting skies, and children’s chalk art. Berries, birds, and books. Vistors, vegetables, and vines.
I can’t tell you how much I enjoy coming across a pretty little site on walks around the neighborhood and snapping a quick pic on my phone to post later.

Many times over the last year I have seen families  come down the sidewalk, mom, dad, stroller, dog, and kids. They selected several items and I had a nice chat. I was so happy “my” Little Free Library was a local family stop. Since adding a geocache to the library, new people come around and a few minutes later I’ll get a nice little email with a complement about the library.

2. What is value?

Books are an odd thing in terms of value. To a bibliophile, there is little more precious than a good book. However, the surest way to put me in a foul mood is to recommend of a bad book. The value of the reading experience of any given book clearly outstrips the retail price of the item, whether for good or ill.

Then there is the retail price. Books are a physical item with a price. But all you need to see to question that is to go into a used bookstore and see copy after copy of “Twilight” or “50 Shades of Gray” to ponder the issue of value versus price.

And then, regardless of value, I am giving books away. What does value mean? What else am I holding onto as “valuable” that ultimately is just an object.

3. Ponder social justice

There is something inherently odd about the idea of putting out an item for others (who you may not even know) to take. The first time I acknowledges this was when I took out a book I had really enjoyed (The Spellman Files), that I had kept for several years, but felt I did not need to keep any longer. I put the book on top of a pile of lesser books to take out and paused. I didn’t want the book to go. But I didn’t want it to stay either. As I thought about it, I realized I wanted it to go to a “good home” and my reluctance had more to do with not being able to choose the home than about releasing the book itself.

I still grapple with this idea. I try to focus on the books getting to good homes, not the books being sold to support a drug habit or a homeless person’s hoarding. And even in those cases, it’s only my ideas about what people “deserve” that makes me feel bad.

There is an entire system behind the individual choices we make. LFLies are the tiniest DROP in an attempt to make that system better.

Some people add a “community box” to their library, where people can deposit food or other needed items. I am thinking about adding one soon.

It’s still hard to see the books disappear.  Before I got a stamp for my LFL, one day I took out a batch of my personal books that I was ready to release. The next day, all of them were gone. Someone had come along and taken all the “trade paperbacks” and newer books, the kind that sell pretty easily at the local bookstore. I ordered a stamp, but I still mourn that none of my neighbors got to read “The Hidden Lives of Owls.”

4. Let go of your expectations

I’ve always wanted a LFL, but I really didn’t know what to expect. I just loved the idea. Books going to people and neighbors and children. I quickly learned that you can’t count on what will happen with your “customers.” As I mentioned before, my library has been cleaned out several times. I never expected adults to use it, but I have a gentleman who comes over a couple of times a week and carefully selects a book, but only a certain kind. I’ve had to start shopping Westerns just for him.

My proudest moment was when a neighbor told me that her grandson finished his first book ever on his own, and it was a LFL book. My most confused was when I went out one morning to find the little metal owl I had affixed to the post had been ripped off, the jagged remnants mournfully poking out.

5. Embrace the new

From the first moment, book turnover in my LFL has been good, but periodically things just started sitting there. After a few weeks of no movement, I’ll swap books with another nearby LFL or my inside stash and things began to “sell” again. From the beginning I’ve tried to keep children’s book in stock, but there are weeks when nobody touches them and it’s all about the adult books. Then I’ll get a few new items and suddenly there is a run on board books.

Here’s to another year of “Books on Breys: Little Free Library Charter #67289.”

This weekend marked the third Women’s March, and (hopefully) the half way point in the worst American Presidency in recent memory.

The highlights? Frankly, it’s hard to know where to start. Insensitive and tone-deaf statements and actions? Corruption allegations that turn out to be startlingly true? The systematic dismantling of a budding environmental conservation hope? A government that is 1/4 shut down for the longest period in history.

History, folks. The American government may “only” be 243 years old, but it’s still a grim statistic.

There are some bright spots on the horizon. In the “mid term elections”, Congress became noticeably more diverse, particularly on the Democratic side. And… well, so far there haven’t been any nuclear incidents, but I’m not holding my breath.

Due to digestive issues, I did not attend the Women’s March on Saturday. But I feel it’s necessary to restate my objections (see above) and my action plan (see below.)

Action Plan

1. Ignore the Trump PersonaMr. Trump and his team have lead a world-class, Machiavelli-worthy press scheme that keeps the media focused on the trivial. I’m not going to engage anymore.
2. Take it down to its rootsWhen something posts with an abuse, don’t engage it as a problem with Mr. Trump. Look at the reason it can happen and engage with that.
3. A Marathon (Not a Sprint)Baring incident, we will have four years two more years of this. 1448 days 731 day and counting. In addition, we can look forward to whatever the national election has in store for us starting (probably) in just a couple of years (if not sooner) now.
   
4. VolunteerVolunteer early and often.
5. The funnier sideAmong the more important things, I believe, will be to find the funnier side of this situation. Bring it to the surface.

   

   

   

   
   

I’ll sign off with this thought, originally posted just under two years ago.

I, Donald J. Trump, am exhausting. It has been 11 days, Stephen. 11 [expletive] days. Eleven. The presidency is supposed to age the president, not the public.

The reason that I, Donald J. Trump, am exhausting is that every instinct and fiber of my pathological self-regard calls me to abuse of power. I want — no, deserve — not just your respect but your adoration. Parades with the tanks and the synchronized dancing, and why can’t they train 10,000 doves to spell out “Trump” in the clouds? How hard can it be? They’re already flying.

I, Donald J. Trump, am exhausting because it is going to take relentless stamina, vigilance and every institutional check and balance this great country can muster to keep me, Donald J. Trump, from going full Palpatine, with the lightning coming out of the fingertips and “fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate.”

We have never faced this before. Purposeful, vindictive chaos. But perhaps therein lies the saving grace of my, Donald J. Trump’s, presidency.

No one action will be adequate. All actions will be necessary. And if we do not allow Donald Trump to exhaust our fight and somehow come through this presidency calamity-less and constitutionally partially intact, then I, Donald J. Trump, will have demonstrated the greatness of America. Just not the way I thought I was gonna.