Door Number 2 please! Negotiations were finalized this morning, all signatures in place. At least, I think so. Our realtor is calling it the final final. Let’s hope that is literal and not figurative. It seems like a good deal for everyone and just in the nick of time. Housing prices have peaked and are beginning to slip. Interest rates are rising and will continue to rise. All of which adds up to a nice straddle for us. We’ll slide out of the metro just before things get “interesting”. As an added bonus, we’ll be rid of a lot of extra baggage that we unwillingly inherited over the last 5-7 years. Living with less clutter is so liberating.
So now, we can finally take full breaths and begin to accept that we ARE, in fact, moving!
Let the packing begin. We have 3 weeks to get ready for the moving van. One day to make arrangements. Pack one room per day. One trip to Goodwill per week. Little by little….it will all get done! Kenyon, get ready…the Bessers are coming!
Today was supposed to be moving day. That sale fell through. This sale is supposed to close on October 30th, which is 18 (EIGHTEEN) days from today. That’s cutting it close.
The seven days of October 5 – 12, 2018 has taken about a month to elapse. It’s the Einstein theory of relativity coupled with inescapable waiting.
Even though I’ve kept myself occupied, Blanche has been working overtime the last 2 days. Every 30 seconds or so she whispers (or screams) in my head, “Tell me! Are we moving or Not?” “What the hell is taking so long?!?” “Call me NOW realtor man!” “Answers. We need answers!!” Then, it echoes off my skull causing a din that overcomes my calm. So annoying. Probably more annoying for the people around me because some of those questions then tumble out of my mouth smack dab in the middle of other conversations or inappropriate moments. I am pacing. My feet tap the floor. I’ve chewed up my fingers. If my hair were long enough to get hold of, I’d be bald somewhere on my head. Other personally odd symptoms of anxiety: dry eyes, yarn store runs every other day this week, snapping at my Mom on the phone yesterday, wearing a wool stocking hat in the house, insomnia followed by sleeping late, eating a gluten-y powdered sugar donut, which then caused me gut issues and twitchiness.
It’s Nicole’s Dad. I just know it. He has put up some kind of resistance. Fucker. I already dislike him, even though I’ve never met him. He probably wants us to remove the roof entirely, and start over from scratch. Why, oh why is this taking so damn long??!!! I CANNOT STAND IT. Meantime, this inner dialog is interlaced with plans for the new house. “Oh look! There are compact dishwashers which can effectively be used with a septic system for $400”. “Definitely going to paint the front door” ”
Yes, I know it’s not life-or-death. To be fair to myself, I have remained calm throughout the last 65 days. I’ve been of good humor. My head and heart were absolutely sure that we are moving for good reason to Kenyon. Hear what I said? “We ARE moving…” I have been so sure. Until Wednesday of this week. Now, each tick of the wall clock reminds me that WE JUST DON’T EVEN KNOW. It’s no longer in our hands. All our work and prep and debt incurred might not yield…..
My hands are so shaky, I can’t even paint my nails. On the upside, the sun is finally out after three weeks. Huzzah! Also, I have used some of this idle waiting period to read. A lot. Plus Audible. How I love it. The good fortune of hearing the book “Big Magic” by Elizabeth Gilbert on this particular week, with that particular message about creativity and perseverance has somewhat dulled my nervous tension. I know from times past that I could be much, MUCH more agitated than I currently am. There remains a nugget of peace somewhere within me; a wee small voice barely perceptible saying to me, “It’s all going to work out. Don’t worry. It doesn’t help or change a thing”. I will try very hard to focus my attention on that voice, despite Blanche’s continuous barrage of negative bullshit.
And then, my Mom called again. Second time today, and counting. Yes, I can be insensitive. This is one of those times. Is it fair? Probably not. I’ll apologize to her later.
Trying to process muddled feelings about the death of another neighbor
Read a book: “Ghost Country” by Sara Paretsky
Listen to a podcast about introverts
Continue exploring ways to generate work-at-home income
Talk to realtor about house sale
Number 1 is tough. When someone dies, feelings & memories bubble around randomly inside your skull until they pop. There’s no order to the process. It’s very chaotic. He was our very own neighborhood 6’5″ Santa. He and his wife moved into their house May 1960. That’s my entire life plus 10 months. The man was 82 years old in July and he went two-stepping last weekend with his daughter, same as he did every weekend. She said he’d walk into a room as a stranger and leave with new friends. He was that kind of guy. We attended his 80th birthday party 2 summers ago and it was packed with multiple generations of people from far and wide. His long-time musician friends took turns playing music, there was lots of great food and non-stop laughter. He collected cars. Just ordinary used Detroit autos of all makes and models. No collectible “barn finds” like you sometimes read about. I suspect that a few of them he bought with a sentimental connection in mind, more than any investment value. He could be seen tinkering with a battery in one of them, trying to coax it out for a spin, as he held himself upright with a walker. Once in a while he’d drive past our house real slow in the Firebird and gun the engine, issuing a challenge to the Hub to come out and play. On our walks to the park we’d always stop by if he was outside so he could give our dog Leroy a good scratch and he’d make us laugh while I tended his flower pot. His absence will be keenly felt when we walk to the park now. That makes 2 neighbors lost this week. Autumn claims the weak ones. While I wouldn’t call him “weak”, age had taken this strong man down a few notches. He never let that stop him from enjoying life, and he practically died with his boots on. That’s a fitting end to a life well spent.
Good bye Ardell. We miss you already. Thanks for the memories. Hope you’re hoofin’ in heaven! ~kb.xo
They’ve gone round and round and not made any real progress. Tomorrow, the Judicial Committee votes on whether or not to confirm him.
Brett Kavanaugh’s testimony had the smell of CYA all over it. He had a lot of bullet points. Yet he refused to answer a direct Yes/No question. As “Exhibit A” he referred to his calendar/diary from high school to confirm that his day to day activities kept him “so busy” that he couldn’t have been at the party described in the accusation leveled against him by Dr. Ford. He sniveled while telling about the “loss of his good name”, the embarrassment to him and his family and his lifelong friendships with women, his pattern of choosing female law clerks, of coaching women teams. He repeatedly mentioned that 65 women put their names on a letter stating that “He’s not that kind of guy”…But none of that convinces me that years ago he wasn’t that kind of guy. The kind of teenager capable of getting sexually aggressive while drinking heavily. Every female has experienced a guy like that. I can tell you from my own experience: it is traumatizing, even if he doesn’t get everything he wants. It still leaves you feeling that you have no control over your own body. That you can be invaded and violated and that you have to accept it. Furthermore, just because he didn’t do it to any of the women who signed a letter on his behalf NOW, doesn’t mean he never did it to anyone, ever.
Unfortunately, I missed the live feed of Dr. Ford’s testimony. I will find it online so I can hear what she had to say.
At the end of the hearing today, it’s still “She Said”/”He Said”. She is 100% sure that he is the person who assaulted her at age 15. He refutes it 100%, and “bears her no ill will”.
[It came up during the hearing that a former roommate stated that Brett drank excessively, sometimes to the point of blackout. How convenient. “I don’t remember, so it didn’t happen”] He denied ever being blackout drunk and tried to mirror the question back on Amy Klobuchar. “Did YOU ever drink until you blacked out?” (That’s what bullies do – they deflect.)
To my ears, he is using as a shield his solid Catholic upbringing, his role-model parents, an active sports life and his hard work to be excepted to Yale Law School to prove that he just didn’t have the time to go around assaulting girls. He also sounds incredulous that his past is coming back to haunt him just at the entrance to nirvana and the Good Life Forever.
Here’s what abuse victims know: Predators are very skilled chameleons, at deflection, at distortion.
If he becomes the next Supreme Court Judge, let us hope that it will make him a more compassionate judge. To understand intimately what it’s like to be under the hot lights and disbelieved. Doubtful. He’ll more likely just feel more emboldened because he got away with it. The newest member of the club.
His installment on the bench would send a clear message to the women of the United States: You Don’t Matter. Unfortunately, that’s been the sub-text of our culture for as long as our society has been in existence. Now more than ever with the Philanderer in Chief at the helm.
Ideally, Kavanaugh will not be the next SCOTUS. This country can, and should, choose better. The Republicans who are in total control of this decision had best consider wisely the ramifications of this vote and the raw rage it will ignite. Remember boys: without the women, you wouldn’t exist. You Need Us. Treat Us appropriately.
Oh yeah…I was writing a post, wasn’t I? Doh…now I remember, it wouldn’t SAVE! Command C, close the browser window, start over, Paste, DOH! It saved the Page Menu!!
So back to the drawing board.
I want to make note of the conflicting emotions I am experiencing today about selling this house to move to another. Each day that goes by with no resolution to the question, “Should I stay or should I go”? opens a new round of Blanche’s game with me. This game should have a name because we play it so often. MyTurn:I actafter weighing the pros & cons of something I am considering. It’s a process that takes days. When I feel satisfied that I have answered the right question with a thoughtful answer, then it’s Blanche’s turn. [She interrogates me]: “Is a different home really what you want?” “WHY?” “This one is finally the way you like it, and don’t forget: it took 20 years!” “Gonna start all over again, eh?” “Who will fix your car?” “What about the critters?” “You are putting them in danger” “Chester could get lost and eaten by a bear. or a weasel” “What if your dog makes everyone on the road fear & loathe you after he munches on some mini dogs and humans?” “Where will you buy the food brands you like and/or GF & DF options?” “What if that house has LESS light than this one?” “It has 1 ceiling fan and only 1 air conditioning unit” “Too much carpet” “Round sinks and NO dishwasher!” “If you don’t get full price, the deal is in jeopardy…you made a Junk Offer too – ya Loser” “You reached too high” “You acted rashly” “You don’t even know what you want”
[Her turn ends when she see my shoulders slump, face sag, darkly clouded thought bubbles hovering overhead and I begin muttering to myself as I board the Negative Thought train]
“Shut Up Blanche!” [but it doesn’t work. She’s gotten to me] “Are you running from or running to?” “Do you think a change of scenery will change the way you operate?” “What kind of work will you be able to find?” “Do you trust yourself to make a decent decision?”…
Yes. She wins this round. Think I’ll go take a hot shower. kb.xo
I let my anxiety drive the Google box. Bad idea. Kinda like P45 and his Tweets.
By “moody” I mean lo-low to hi-high, or anywhere in between (aka: manic/depression)
For the last 2 days, I’ve been moving to the low end of the spectrum like a kid sliding down a banister. An unfortunate symptom of my declining frame of mind is that I texted our realtor Saturday to ask if we should have an open house (effectively questioning how he does his job). He replied that we’ll pow-wow Monday morning. Then I was both annoyed at being brushed off and embarrassed at my own behavior. You see, I was under the erroneous assumption that they mainly work on weekends. Nope. Wrong again Kb. One more reason for him to think of me as a problem client. The Hub & I have switched roles. He is now calm and optimistic, I have assumed the role of insomniac worry-wort. Though I try to fight it, mental images flip through my brain causing me anxiety. A few choice ones: Remember Indiana Jones in the Crystal Skull going legs first over a cliff and clawing the bare ground as he slipped further and further until he was out of sight? In this scenario, I am Indy; slipping away from the reality of our retirement home. (And possibly my own sanity).
Another image: the way you sometimes awaken from a pleasant dream before it has reached it’s conclusion, “..no no…waaaait….I was having such a nice dream. Let me go back to sleep…”
I was so sure that it was where we are meant to be for our next chapter. Could I have been wrong about that too? Has all this frantic work served to put us deeper in debt and nothing more? We eat out most meals so there’s no mess to clean up. It’s an expensive way to live and feels very like killing time in the starting gate like eager race horses.
Maybe the spoiled only child in me is just bubbling to the surface. “WHY must I wait to get what I want??! We did “all the things”….isn’t that enough!?”
Could I be experiencing a form of Rejection? (e.g. “People don’t really want our cute little home. Maybe it’s not as desirable as I thought”, “Why aren’t they showing up to look”?)
The answer to THAT question may be that it’s just too nice outside to go looking at houses. (As opposed to too lousy, as it was last weekend and most of the week). Either way, time grows short and so does my patience. Maybe the best thing to do would be to get out of the house, take Leroy and go enjoy this gorgeous day while we can. This weeks merry-go-round of revisited and repeat attempts to resolve administrative/billing issues, all which I thought were completed weeks ago, has pushed me to the brink of cRA-Zee! Could also explain some of my downward spiral.
On the upside: it’s been a day of peace & quiet in my craft room. Just me doing a little yoga & meditation, enjoying Pandora and my nail polish while looking out the window with the sun and the breeze and the furry boys napping nearby.
I hope to be forgiven for losing hope. Just wanted to put it down for posterity so that I remember the ups AND the downs of making a major life change. You tend to forget the wrinkles but I choose to remember it all.