Why do we wait?

Well, Eddie and I finally decided to take the plunge. We are selling the house and moving into a condo. Ahhh. Simpler living. Can't wait. But, there is a long road (in a short time frame) from here to there. While we wait for the closing day on the condo, we are busy whipping our house into shape to put on the market. We are finishing projects right and left, but most of them are things we've wanted to do for years. Some of them date back to when Eddie first moved in . . . several years ago (we won't disclose just how many).

The same thing happened to me before Eddie and I were married. Overall, my house was in good shape, but I struggled year after year to strip the paint from the front porch so I could repaint it. When I knew I would be moving soon, though, I asked a contractor, "can't you just pour a layer of concrete over it and be done with it?" As it turned out, you certainly can. It looked fantastic. I was only able to enjoy it for a couple months. It was the same with the kitchen floor. The cheap tile installed by the previous owner came up in 30 minutes, only to reveal a stubborn mess of mastic (or whatever that stuff is) underneath. More than one person spent countless hours trying to scrape that junk off the floor. The same contractor took one look at it and said "no problem, we can sand that out." And so they did. Filled in the cracks and put on a nice, dark stain. It was what I wanted all along. Again, it was great for the few short weeks I was able to enjoy it.

Over here, we just had a new dishwasher installed. We had been washing dishes by hand for months because after we replaced the kitchen faucet, we couldn't attach the hoses for the portable dishwasher anymore. Let me tell you, I am running that bad boy every other day! Before the dishwasher, we put in a new kitchen floor. The old floor had a cool design on it, but it was wood painted white, and after 10 years, there were stains that wouldn't mop out. It never really looked clean to me, though I could attest to scrubbing it within an inch of its life. The new owner won't have that problem. They will have the nice, new floor. And the freshly painted trim, and the refinished floors.

So, why do we wait? Why do we pull out all the stops and produce our best work on a place right before we leave it? Did that lesson learned in Girl Scouts (leave every place better than you found it) imprint that much? Is it simple economics (if we do all these projects, we can sell the house at a higher price)? Or is it karma? The condo we are buying is a much newer property, so it doesn't have the quirks and character and architectural accents of the old houses we've been living in, but it is SPOTLESS. Everything is clean (at least until we and the animals get there) and fresh and painted and in good condition. All we will have to do is move our furniture in and enjoy. We hope the same will be true for whoever buys our house. Maybe we shouldn't have waited to do all these things, but I guess it all comes around in the end.

Working on acceptance

I do not like cold weather. I mean, I really, really do not like cold weather. Some people think it is not winter without snow. I totally disagree. Others like the cold temperatures so they can wear tights and wool coats and colorful scarves. I would much rather wear sandals and cotton and sleeveless shirts. I like the feeling of the warm sun on my skin. I like being able to sit on the porch. But, I am trying to accept the cold weather and the changes it brings. It gives us a break from yard work. It gives us a chance to snuggle under blankets. Hot chocolate tastes better. December brings Christmas and January brings the new year and all the hopes and promises to look forward to. February rolls around and you dare to think that the warm weather is in reach. If I can just tighten my scarf and pull down my cap and hold on a little longer . . .

Almost the new 30

Today, I turned 39 years old.  I keep hearing that 60 (years old) is the new 40.  By extension, some say that 40 is the new 30.  That's fine with me.  I will be the old 40 or the new 30 or whatever, as long as I don't have to go through my 20's again.  They sucked.  I was in a toxic relationship, 60 pounds overweight, and didn't know how to stand up for myself.  I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life or how to make anything good happen.  Miserable stuff. I am much happier now.  Please don't make me go back.  Some people pine for their "youth" and don't want to grow up.  I embrace it.  I feel more alive now than I ever did then.  I think I look better, too, if I do say so myself.  Next year, maybe we'll have a big party when I turn 40, or the new 30, or whatever.  I can't wait.

Make a decision, please!

I was in a department store the other day trying to buy a few things. I was not in a hurry per se, but I needed to return to work at some point. I could have accomplished all my tasks in a much shorter period of time had I not entangled myself in this trite, bordering on insanity decision-making process that always goes on in my head. First, I went to pick out a belt for Eddie. All he wanted was a black belt, silver buckle, size 34 waist-- one that he could wear with his work clothes or more casually with shorts. Not exactly detailed criteria. Anyway, I find the rack of belts. I could ignore all the brown ones and the ones with gold buckles. I started going through the black ones. Wrong size, buckle too big, belt too wide. Oh, wait, here is one that has the right sized buckle, black leather, size 34 waist. Perfect. Great. Walk away. Nope. Not so fast. Instead of taking the belt and going on my merry way, I continued to look through the belts to make sure there wasn't a better size 34 waist black belt with a silver buckle. This went on for several minutes before I walked away with the same belt I picked out in the first place.

Then, I went to women's lingerie. They had underwear on sale-- 3 for $21 or something like that. It was a brand I liked, so I started to look through the underwear. I have to pick out 3 pairs. Do I want beige, black, yellow or this nice rose color? I have to wade through the thong and bikini styles to find the hi-cut style. Or, should I get the hipster style? Oh, they don't have it in my size in that nice rose color. I finally find 3 pairs that I like. Perfect. Great. Walk away. Nope. I see another display with another brand that uses organic cotton and bamboo. I want to try that. That's a nice purple and a nice blue. Oh dear, I can't find 3 pairs. Then, I realized that I probably had enough underwear at home already, so I put the 3 pairs back and went on.

Next, the baby department. No, not for me, for our next door neighbor and one of my tennis teammates. Both are having boys, both have a girl already. So, they need boy clothes, right? Because that's what we do with babies right? Boys have to wear blue, girls pink. They can't use hand-me downs. Since my neighbor and my teammate don't know each other, I could get them the same thing and save some time. Yeah, right. I looked at toys, blankets, stuffed animals. No, keep looking. Three racks stuffed to the gills with baby clothes on clearance. Here we go. I found a couple of cute outfits. Perfect. Great. Walk away. Nope. I kept looking to see if I could find anything cuter (because they would know if I didn't). Finally, I settled on two outfits for each. I guess I'm done with shopping. No, wait, there were those shoes that I saw in the ad. Oh, you sold out of the size 10s? Hmm, maybe there is a pair sort of like it around here some place. Let me try these on. No, those won't work. Aaaaaaaaggggghhhhhh!

Obviously, I eventually made it out of the store and back to work. On the ride back, I kept asking why I insist on tormenting myself in this manner. I guess I just want things to be perfect. Good answer. Great. Walk away. Now.

Oh, isn't this just lovely

I see this gem on my way to work in the morning-- the giant billboard with an advertisement to purchase a gas-guzzling SUV. Nice.

There might be a story here

The other day, I left the tennis center to run some errands during lunchtime. The center is located in a residential area, but on a collector street that carries a fair amount of traffic. I had not accelerated much after pulling out of the parking lot, and it was probably a good thing. As I approached the first cross street, a man with no shirt was running barefoot at full speed, holding his jeans up with one hand (even though he had a belt). He did not look either direction before he went tearing across the main road into the distance. Never broke stride. What on earth was going on? I ruled out that his house was on fire, because he could have tried to stop one of the cars or run down the collector street to the police sub-station. Was he having a rendezvous with someone he should not have been and was discovered? Was he just locked out of his house and needed to get to work? I guess we will never know. But, I still wonder.

A couple of days later, in Midtown, I saw a guy walking down the street playing a guitar. Maybe there is not much mystery there (actually pretty normal for Midtown), but it made me wonder again about all the people there are in this world and all the different stories there must be on any given day. I only caught a glimpse of two.

Getting in a car changes a person

I was thinking about what I wanted to write about next, when Eddie came up with this gem. We were in the car on our way out of town and everyone was zooming by us or cutting in front of us. I asked rhetorically why there were so many jerks on the road and where did they all have to be in such a hurry, and Eddie replied with a sigh-- "Well, getting into a car seems to change a person." I thought about it for a moment. Maybe it is true. Back when I was commuting long distances to work, yelling (even screaming) at other drivers was a daily occurrence. I don't yell any other time, though (except maybe on the tennis court). I am basically a quiet, gentle person. But, in a car and in traffic, a certain aggressiveness takes over. Maybe the shield of sheet metal around us and our relative anonymity on the road makes us think we can get away with this sort of behavior. It shouldn't. What is the rush, anyway? Do people think that weaving in and out of traffic and not letting people other people merge on to the highway is really going to save them that much time? Is where you have to go so much more important than everyone else that it is okay to risk everyone else's safety by running a red light or pulling out in front of another car? Unless you have sirens and lights flashing on top of your car, I would suspect not.

Also, have you noticed how often there is an inverse relationship between the size of the person and the size of the vehicle? Our neighbors across the street have. They told us one time how they are amused by how Eddie and I (the six-footers) get into our two-door Volkswagens every day while our 5'6" neighbors get into their hulking SUV and full-size crew cab pickup truck. Come to think of it, I do see a lot of little women behind the wheel of some very large SUVs and some pretty big dudes on motorcycles. Are we trying to be something we are not through our cars? Or, is it sometimes dead on? I remember one day not long after I had purchased the GTI. It was parked next to Eddie's car on the street. He looked outside and said, "you know, the Volkswagens look pretty good together." I stood beside him and looked at the beige (blond) easygoing VW Beetle and the black (brunette) racy VW GTI and said with a smile, "yeah, they sure do."