She's Got a Sharpie

8 days till closing. Too much pressure.

2014-06-17T19:47:00.000-05:00

Hell according to (1) Hieronymous Bosch, (2) Gustave Doré, and (3) a scorned wife.

8 days till closing

We didn't expect to close on the house until August 11th, but the sellers were extremely motivated, so they've done everything they can possibly, legally do to help us set a June closing date. June 25th is the golden day.

One devastating caveat (for me): We won't be able to actually move until August, if we go with Mack's preference. He's concerned about funds.

Personally, I think the budget will allow us to move comfortably. But then, I'm not the breadwinner. I'm not the one who is exiled to the southeastern quadrant of the Earth every 30 days, for 30 days. I can't in good conscience oppose a strategy he -- in good conscience -- prefers.

I'm burned out on the purchase process. I've figured, adjusted, refigured, and readjusted the monthly budget and moving budget probably every day for the past month. I've been texting and emailing the agent at least three days a week to stay on top of the requirements. I feel like I've negotiated my very last brain cell in preparation for this.

I lost it this morning. It all finally did me in. Mack's second day home, and my temper checked out and ran away. Along with a full coffee cup -- went sailing across the kitchen.

But I didn't swear.

We're supposed to drive into Leesville tomorrow to meet with an attorney and the sellers to sign some related contracts. A trip like that, trapped in a silent vehicle with the opposition for 2.5 hours each way... worse than either Hieronymous Bosch or Dante could conceive.

The right and reasonable thing to do is to take the high road and clear the air so we can take care of business. But the pressure has gotten the best of me. I'm sapped.

365 Items: Day #1

2014-06-05T15:32:00.000-05:00

"I'm doing it." I'm endeavoring to get rid of one item per day, every day for the next 365 days. Sounds easy enough, but after five minutes of perusing the before-and-after photos of other participants' progress, I'm feeling rather...wimpy. The jobs these women are tackling in a day would take me a good week.

But the point is, setting a realistic goal. For me, tossing out one significant item per day is achievable. It's so achievable, in fact, it really requires very little effort at all to take the first step and grab something to throw away. Therein lies the mind-trick: You take that step, and suddenly, you realize, "Hey, look where I am. I stepped. Am I really at Point B??" You're actually moving, and that's called "Momentum". And if you just flow with it, your momentum rolls on, and before you know it, you're at Point Z and your overflowing file cabinet has lost 75 pounds in an hour and a half! It's a miracle!

But it's really not. It's a mind-trick, maybe even an extremely subtle form of (irony) denial. It works for me, and if self-delusion is the only means to an organized end, I'll take it.

Old World Sexy vs Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe

2014-06-04T02:07:00.001-05:00

Usually when I sit down to write, I ask myself one question: "What do I feel most strongly about at this very moment?"

Right now, the answer is this:

Grand Italiano Dining Room Table and Chairs - Accents of Salado
Solid wood, pegged tabletop, seats 12.

It's one element of design for our new house that I have zero doubts about. Mack found it, not me. That's because Mack is the one with all the taste.

For this reason, Mack is the most influential in our design choices, and overall, our home reflects his inspiration. Since I have no taste, I have little inspiration, unless I'm piggy-backing Mack's.

Mack loves Old World. He loves leather, iron, exotic hardwoods, stone, slate. Once upon a time, he dreamt of working in archaeology, of being a real life treasure hunter. He's fascinated by history and geography. He's drawn to geologic finds like rocks, gems, petrified wood, and fossils.

It's easy for me to love these very same elements not only for their aesthetic value, but also because they are so representative to me of the man Mack is. Through Mack, Old World is sexy.

Enter conflict. We have seven kids in this family -- six under our roof now since the oldest has flown the nest. Old World Sexy is not all that compatible with a houseful of children, and Mack knows this.

In the early days, I bucked him something fierce: "Children live in this house, Mack! There are going to be toys and art supplies everywhere. We don't live in a museum!"

But he bucked right back: "Just because we have a bunch of kids here doesn't mean their stuff has to take over the house!"

In the end, the simple solution was, kids' belongings stay upstairs unless they're being used. Period. The downstairs is elegant and polished, the upstairs looks like a toy store exploded.

The floor plan of the new house is quite similar to our floor plan in our current house -- except in the new house, half of the kids' rooms are upstairs and half of the rooms are on the first floor. Fortunately, the kids' downstairs bedrooms are confined to one wing of the house away from the common areas, so it's perfectly feasible to establish Mack's beautiful museum in the places that count.

Do I sound bitter? I'm really not. More residually chagrined. When I say I love his taste, I mean it. I do, so much. And I'll contribute as I'm able (within my pathetic design limitations) to bring his vision to life.

Behind the curtain, though, the kids will have their whimsical youngster and angsty teen motifs. There will be no map, no nude, no sconce in sight. Little Mack will have his treehouse. Faerie will have her carousel horses. Claire and Elise will have Doctor Who (or should I say, David Tenet). Bunny will have her art studio, and Grace will have her practice dorm. No antiquities allowed.

As for the rest of the house...

Image details: Pinterest - shesgotasharpie

Death by Hanging (Files)

2014-06-03T00:32:00.000-05:00

70 days till closing.

Currently, we have 2400 sq ft and 13 years accumulation of stuff to sort through and pack. That would be the belongings of 9 people ranging in age from 1 to 40. That's 4 bedrooms, 3.5 bathrooms, 6 closets, 2 dens, 1 kitchen, 1 dining room, 2 attic spaces, and a garage full of things.

To date, the only things I've managed to pack are the items in 1 bookcase, the DVD collection, and the cookbooks, because those tasks are virtual no-brainers. There are very few sentimental conflicts when it comes to media.

The next task I've chosen to tackle is the filing cabinet. Death by hanging files (pun. and a poor one at that.). The only reason I'm choosing that next is because it's the next most easily accessible project. It doesn't require me to scale stairs or haul heavy items out of the way. Paper is easy. Theoretically.

Hell no, it's not. We have tax papers dating from 2007 (even though the digital forms are just a few clicks away), instruction manuals and warranty documents for items we don't even own anymore, floppy discs (!), software CD-ROMs for operating systems that have been obsolete for a good decade, tourism brochures, old homeschooling files that have no transmittable value whatsoever, outdated shot records, documents for accounts cancelled years ago....

Why have we kept them for so long? The short answer is, I've never -- in all the years I've said I would -- purged and organized those files. But now that we're moving, I'm forced to it by the repulsion I feel when I think of allowing so much junk like that through the hallowed doors of our new, unsullied home.

The file cabinet has four drawers. If I can complete one drawer a day over the next four days, I believe I'll make it out the other side with all my hair still rooted in my head.

Writers' Thoughts: What to expect when you move back to your hometown

2014-06-01T23:32:00.000-05:00

I've been Googling "blog, we're moving back to our hometown" just so I could read about other people's thoughts and feelings on this prospect we're facing. I've wondered if the things that have been going through my mind are symptomatic character flaws, or if they are indeed natural.

The two following articles I found really spoke to me and helped me find a bit of peace of mind, some reassurance that I'm not a bad or paranoid person. Apparently, it's perfectly natural to experience doubt, irritation, and even a bit of repulsion.

Olivia, How to Survive Moving Back to Your Hometown

The Struggle: People perceive you as the same 18-year old you were when you left.

What was your reputation like when you left? Chances are, it will be the same when you return. This, of course, can be good or bad.

What were you known for in high school? Were you the smart kid? The athlete? The kid involved in everything?

Many people will expect you to have those exact same interests and to be just as invested in them now as you were before you left. This can initially be irritating, especially if you no longer have those interests of long ago. You might feel offended that they may not really know anything about your current interests.

How to Deal:
First, realize that these kind people mean well. If they remember what you were like in high school, be grateful that they paid enough attention to your existence to know what you did, and that they are still taking an interest in you.

Reminisce with them about “the old days”, and then offer them a tidbit of information about what you’re currently doing/are involved in/are interested in. This way, you can get re-acquainted with these good people.

If you had developed a bad reputation during your adolescence, then there may be some damage control that needs to be done. The nice thing is that most people are willing to give second chances. So if you don’t want the people around you to perceive you as that person you were before, then you can’t stay in the past either. Let them encounter who you are today, and watch the transformation of their opinions unfold.

---

Meg Beyer, 8 Feelings You Feel When You Move Back To Your Hometown

6. You Loathe Being Reminded Of Your Unpleasant Behaviors Of Yore.

Whenever I visit, I find myself getting profoundly irritated by the anecdotes of when I was sluttier and drunker and stupider. No one is rubbing it in my face; to them, they are just stories and memories. I always laugh along half-heartedly and try to change subjects about things I would much rather forget...Some of those bruises that should be healed by now never were, they’re still bright black & purple, and you erupt with a startled OUCH when someone touches them all over again, which invariably happens when you are reminiscing with old besties.

Falling in Love (and signing the contract)

2014-06-01T00:15:00.000-05:00

Most people save for a long time when they're coming up with the downpayment for a house. Not so for us. The house itself caught us off guard. We've been watching the market closely for a good three years and have watched some stellar houses come and go. None ever really struck and inspired us to action. The sensible thing to do would have been to save money all along so when the right house did present itself, we'd be ready for it.

But I think Mack and I genuinely didn't expect to find "The House" so soon. Or so unexpectedly. Silly -- that kind of discovery is not exactly a process.

No, for us, finding the house was like slipping yet another old, random key into the mysterious lock of our future and finding... it turned. And clicked. And opened the door. The House we've prayed and pined for, year after year.

We poured over the listing photos again and again, fawning over the amenities and details.

Oh, love the portico.
Look at those railings!
Hardwood trees?!
Oh my...3.5 acres!
Jacuzzi tub?!

It was a constellation of all our little "I wish"es, together formed at one address. But could the reality truthfully reflect the vision?

We drove to Leesville the very same weekend and made an appointment for a viewing. Reality not only reflected the vision -- it surpassed it.

We turned up the long, wide driveway, and what we saw took my breath away. Trees all over the property, both new and mature. The shady porch and front double doors invited us to imagine this house as our home, our land, our piece of the earth.

Inside, the owner guided us from room to room, and it took great effort for me to restrain my awe and excitement. I saw glimpses of our family occupying those bedrooms, passing each other in the halls, meeting in the kitchen for breakfast.

It's one thing to love a house for its features and character. It's quite another to look at the building and the grounds and actually see your family living there. I didn't just see our family living there -- I felt it, in my bones, in my heart, in my spirit that acknowledges the future and dusk of my life.

We would've put the house under contract that day, but the responsible thing to do was to cool off over the weekend, review our finances (which were none), and evaluate the change we'd really be accepting if we decided to purchase.

On Monday, we arranged to sign the contract, and we accepted the responsibility of coming up with a downpayment from scratch.

It's been almost 30 days since we toured the new house. We have 30% of our downpayment. We have 2.5 months to save the remaining 70%, but I'm confident we'll meet our goal in time.

Most days, practical aims like saving money and sorting through our belongings distracts me from spending too much time daydreaming about what it will be like for me to brew my first cup of coffee in that kitchen, or take my first bath in that tub. The eventuality feels real, but the dream is still mist and fog.

Looking at the photos of the house, I admire it as a suitor may admire a sweetheart he intends to make his bride. He is ever in love and imagines how her hand will finally feel in his, but the thought of belonging to her, and she to him...almost too wonderful for his heart to contain. What he knows for certain is, she is The One.

Writers' thoughts on moving back home...

2014-05-30T01:32:00.000-05:00

(Photo: Mike Sinclair, "Back Where I Belong")

"I also came to realize that what I needed as a free-spirited 15-year-old boy was not what I needed as a 45-year-old man with a wife and kids. My parents, cousins, nieces, and nephews wanted me there, and I longed to be there as well. I never regretted having left in my youth, but now Ruthie had shown me why it was time to come home." -- Rod Dreher, Back Where I Belong

---

" But beneath that anxiety is a sense of openness, a gentle whisper that it's time. My mom isn't getting younger, and she doesn't have other family nearby. SF is crazy expensive and I don't have a full-time job or partner tethering me there. I'm ready for something new (but old!). Ready to try living near my home base again, being closer to my closest friends again. Ready for grey skies and red brick and dead winters and sticky summers. San Francisco will always be here...." -- Laura Barcella, I'm Moving Back to My Hometown and Am Pretty Damn Freaked Out About It

Return to Hometown

2014-05-29T18:57:00.001-05:00

(Photo: S.K., below mentioned popular, effective community leader.)

74 days until we move.

The new house is under contract. Closing date is August 11th. The property is in Leesville, LA, 2.5 hours from Lafayette, where we are now and where we've been for the past 13 years.

Leesville is, in fact, our hometown, where Mack and I grew up. We met and fell in love there 25 years ago, when we were both 14. Our families are still there, so returning to our old stomping grounds isn't so much an adventure of discovering a new place as it is rediscovering what the old place and people have become. For Mack and I, it's coming back home after a long, eventful sojourn.

For the kids, though, it's ripping their roots from their native Lafayette soil and plunging them into a strange, uncomfortable flowerbed that promises a not-quite-flourishing future.

Leesville is small and relatively nondescript. There are two major grocery stores, a 6-screen theater, a bowling alley, and a million churches. It's a busy little city that's not unhealthy, but stepping into it after leaving Lafayette's vibrant light, I fear Leesville might slowly suffocate one who pines too deeply for what she's known rather than embracing what's before her.

What Leesville does have is our families: our matriarchs, siblings, aunts and uncles, cousins, god parents, nieces and nephews. All the folks who remember us when we were "yea-high." Our teachers and coaches, the same bank teller whose hair hasn't changed since the early 80s, the very same folks who have run the skating rink since before Mack or I could tie our own shoes -- all still there.

Leesville may cast the same shadow it did the day we left 25 years ago, but at heart, it isn't the same town. Before, folks wouldn't breathe the word "gay," lest speaking the word aloud might make them "turn gay," if they weren't "gay all along." But now an openly gay man is one of the most popular and effective community leaders the town has ever seen, and he's married to an equally popular and effective community leader. Leesville loves, accepts, and celebrates them. (Granted, Leesville, like so many other Southern towns, has a long way to go before it establishes itself as genuinely all-accepting, but it's a start.)

Local business was, is, and always will form the full figure of Leesville, but someone who sits where it counts has begun to allow bigger business the opportunity to enhance the economy. Surprisingly, it seems no one has stepped up to vehemently oppose progression, which -- to some folks way back when -- was far worse than being gay.

Where and when does this put our little family? We are dropping into the roiling tides of municipal and social transition. We carry in our hands worn, outdated suitcases full of memories of the old Leesville and it's antiquated spirit. We are unprepared to court this place now that she's all grown up.