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.

“Hallo, Rabbit,” he said, “is that you?”
“Let’s pretend it isn’t,” said Rabbit, “and see what happens.”
― A.A. Milne

Today I went out to see the American Rabbit Breeders Association show at the Portland Expo.

I’ve never been to a rabbit show.

Who knew?

There were gray rabbits

White rabbits.

Brown rabbits.Spotted rabbits.

Small rabbits.

Things called cavies (I thought they were ginea pigs…) This was was called a “silky.”

There was a rabbit breed called a “cinnamon” (a friend of my mom’s breeds them which is what lead me out to see this panorama of rabbitdom.)

There were over 80 breeds of rabbits.

Frankly, I’m not sure I could have named one before today.

Now I can probably name two…

One of the best things about my Weight Watchers journey had been the friends I’ve made. Author, humorist, mother, and Weight Watcher Kelly Wilson has been one of the gems along this journey. When she posted on her blog, Wilson Writes, that her book Caskets from Costco was going into reprint, I was excited to offer her a guest spot on my blog. I can’t wait to read this and I hope you’ll add it to your list too.

Caskets from Costco

Kelly Wilson

Genre: Memoir

Release Date: November 2, 2015

Gravity Imprint of Booktrope Publishing

Blurb:

For twenty years, I thought that I had been marching through the stages of grief in a straight line. I had been following the formula, crossing each processed grief experience off my list.

Except that I was totally deluded. And I didn’t discover that until Jim, my beloved father-in-law, died. I found myself drying off from my shower the morning after his death, really hoping he couldn’t see me naked. Or, if he could, that he was averting his eyes.

From that moment, my path through grief resembled a roller coaster, spiraling and twisting and turning, circling back around. Echoes of past trauma, including childhood abuse and cheating death, would no longer be ignored. I somehow needed to get from the beginning to the end of this grief adventure, and I don’t have a good sense of direction.

But what is always present during a journey through grief, regardless of the path chosen?

Hope.

Caskets From Costco is a funny book about grief that demonstrates the certainty of hope and healing in an uncertain and painful world.

Author:

Kelly Wilson

Kelly Wilson is an author and comedian who entertains and inspires with stories of humor, healing, and hope. As a survivor of childhood sexual abuse, Kelly writes and speaks about finding hope in the process of recovery. Through both stand-up and improv comedy, she brings laughter to audiences of all ages using a wide range of subject matter, including silly songs, parenting stories, and jokes and anecdotes revolving around mental health issues.

Kelly is the author of Live Cheap & Free, Don’t Punch People in the Junk, and Caskets From Costco, along with numerous articles and short stories for children and adults. She currently writes for a living and lives with her Magically Delicious husband, junk-punching children, dog, cat, and stereotypical minivan in Portland, Oregon.

Social Media Links:

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/WilsonWrites

Twitter: https://twitter.com/KW_Writes

LinkedIn: www.linkedin.com/in/wilsonwrites

Google+: https://plus.google.com/u/0/+KellyWilsonWrites

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6548683.Kelly_Wilson

Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/user/wilsonwrites/feed

When I was in college I had a professor who was one of those characters who stays with you. I wish I had been mature enough to appreciate him for the unique individual I now know him to me. It was always proposing wildly random and very dark theories that when the bizarre happens I find myself laughing about because… well, he predicted them.

One of those theories was that humans, as members of the mammal class, crave stimulation. Its why they are willing to try new foods and explore new places. According to him, it’s why movies like “Twister” (more current examples could be “Day After Tomorrow” or “Transformers”) are successful. They really aren’t good moves, but there is a lot of movement and noise that entertains and stimulates us.

This last week was a tough one at work (I gave my first training; it went well, thanks for asking) and by the time Friday rolled around, I was ready to be done. I had no real plans or activities, but I did have one goal: NOT to get a new dog.

A gal at work volunteers at the Willamette Humane Society and I had told her that I thought my next dog might be a corgi. She knows that I’m not ready for a new dog yet; I’d like to decide whether to move or not (and then actually move…) before adding to my household. Additionally, the next six weeks would be a terrible time to get a new pet: I will be out of town quite a bit in September doing trainings, and my mom (normally ready to dog sit) will be having hip surgery.

Then Mathilda shows up at the Willamette Humane Society on Wednesday.

Insert three days of repeating: I can’t get a new dog right now.

The smart thing to do would have been to invent a project to keep myself occupied, but I was too tired. So yesterday I went out to see the SEO horses, went for a hike, and ran a few errands. Today I decided to create chaos for myself. I can’t get a new dog right now, but I can go look at houses.

For whatever reason there were a lot of open houses in Salem this weekend (most weekends I have been in the mood to go looking I’ve been lucky if one showed up.) So I made myself a list and headed down to Salem.

The first house I went to was on a street I liked, but was just to the other side of my target area. When I went to it, the open house wasn’t open, so I just peaked in the windows. It was okay, but I didn’t like the busy street just one house away.

The second house I looked at was absolutely lovely and decorated fantastically. But it was three levels and, again, close to a busy road. It was also at the top end of my budget and I would have wanted to make some changes.

The third house I looked at was in the south Salem area (an area I hadn’t looked at before, but I understand is quite desirable.) I liked the street, I liked the house, I liked the yard. But it was more of a commute and, again, I saw some things I’d like to change and with that price point I wouldn’t have a huge budget to work with.

I drove to the fourth house, which I LOVED from the pictures, but it wasn’t open because it had already sold.

The fifth house was across the river, which is another area I understand is popular. This house would have been within a long walk or short bike ride distance, It was new constructions (which I find myself drawn to) but it had two major draw backs: 1) it didn’t have a full bath on the main floor, and 2) it was right across from a school. Based on how much I dislike the church in back of my house, I don’t think a school would be a great way to go.

By this time I was feeling tired and a little depressed. I decided to go look at the locations of a couple of lots I (thought) were in my target area. Maybe a new build was the way to go? On my way there, I passed an open house that hadn’t come up on my search that was in my target area.

it’s in the right area, it’s the right price, and it has been completely redone. There is a full bath on the main floor, a nice porch, and a fenced back yard. Marks off because it doesn’t have a garage (plus points for not on an alley), but it’s as good as I’ve seen today. It’s not perfect. I actually think it’s a little bigger than ideal, and it isn’t all one level. But really good and walking distance to work on a tree-lined street.

The ride back to Oregon City was filled with angst.

• I need to get through this last month of probation at work.
• I’m about to start a month of travel around the state
• I’ll have to keep the house clean
• I’ll probably have to do some repairs
• Cat and dog issues
• Packing

Of course that does not even begin to touch the issues of getting into a new house.

And then there’s the big one: Do I want to move?

• I have friends here
• I have a church here
• In a little over a year I have a convention to put on here

But I hate my commute and I think living an working in the same basic area is a value for me.

It’s possible that getting a new dog would have been easier.

P.S. Don’t anyone hold your breath. I will wait at least one month to make a decision about puting my house on the market.

At about 10am today I decided to give myself a night off. It wasn’t that I was having a horrible day, it’s that I was just tired and knew I had to get through a lot to make it through the day. I think that was a good decision. Here’s where I’m at.

1. My van pool driver didn’t show up this morning. Just didn’t show up. We still don’t know why, but eight of us were left standing there with no way down to work. Finally, a few people got in their cars and headed down and a few more of us decided to carpool, but it wasn’t an auspicious beginning to the day.

2. At work the office is moving. Actually, it’s more the office is rearranging. We’re staying in the same place, but the cubicles are being rearranged and all of us are being moved around. My mantra: “I’m an Indian, not a chief.” I’ve been hiding under my desk for about a week now and so far it’s a great strategy. Today was the first day of actual moving and tensions were high. Under the desk, man. It’s where to be.

3. Finn (my dog) is not feeling well. He has a great big hot spot on his rump and acts depressed and like he’s in pain. Historically, summers have not been the best for him, but it’s hard to see him hurting.

4. Bella (my cat, sister to Lola who died in November) is going downhill and it’s not fun. She’s now on soft food and is barely even eating that. The vet can’t find anything obviously wrong, so I think it’s a “make them comfortable” game from now on.

5. My friend Mary Margaret is moving. She and her husband are downsizing from two houses to one. Mary Margaret has great taste and I have always admired her couch. When I heard she was moving I inquired about the couch and recently purchased it from her. It really wasn’t my plan to purchase another couch until I was cat free (my cats are not kind to furniture) but Mary Margaret is moving now and my couch is ready to move along to that great living room in the sky. The “new” couch was delivered tonight and the old couch went away.

Here’s what Bella and Bob think of that.

By the time all the things were delivered and covered and rearranged, it was well past painting time. But I’d given myself the night off, so I wasn’t stressed.

Good job, Tara.