Black Feet

i've never been a *clean* freak, although i do like things fairly neat and uncluttered. ok, my office is a mess but i really can tell you exactly what is in every pile on my desk. housework has never been my forte (with the exception of cooking and doing laundry), and i'd fail the white glove test miserably. at the old house i went so far as to have someone come in every two weeks for half day and really clean the place.

well...THINGS HAVE CHANGED.

in the place we are staying, the owners ripped out the old carpet (filthy beyond belief) and now it is all hardwood floors (except for two rooms still carpeted). during the course of the move i spent some time on my hands and knees messing with computer stuff. by that evening i noticed that my knees were black with filth. EWWWWWWWW.... then i looked at the bottom of my feet...and they too were black. double EWWWWWWWWWW.

since i don't own a mop, i grabbed a rag and bottle of pine sol and began scrubbing away. next day i bought a mop and scrubbed some more. that night i looked at the bottom of my socks...and they were STILL black. so, i went out a bought a Swiffer. and i swiffed...and swiffed...and swiffed some more. i'm making progress, the feet are now a light brown.

this move is bringing out all sorts of stuff in me. i'm actually cleaning house and kind of enjoying it. on sunday i was able to figure out the wiring schematic for the new thermostat we put in since i broke the old one moving a mattress. i successfully hooked up all the various boxes and components to the satellite box. dare i say i'm having fun?

demolition on the old place begins on monday the 25th.

Cat Fights

this remodel and move has been hard on me...but far more stressful for our cat Ashley. first she had to endure the house being slowly dismantled. she did not like her favorite places suddenly disappearing. she did not like seeing us stressed out and yelling. she hid outside a lot. and then one day, the ultimate indignity. she was placed in a box and carried down the street, protesting vehemently, and placed inside a strange house that didn't smell real good.

surprisingly, she is adjusting well. we have our living room couch and our bed in this new place, and those are familiar and comforting to her. we are here now, and much calmer. the first two days she returned to the old house each morning when we left for work, but on day 3 she stayed.

the back yard is a cat's paradise. overgrown, with lots of trees and old rusting, rotten stuff. gopher holes abound, a rich new hunting ground. a fence surrounds the property so she is separated from the street and its dangers. apparently two other cats who live at this end of the street have long considered this deserted place *their* place. suddenly, this new house and yard became *her* territory. now Ashley is going on 10 years old, and cats fights should be behind her, but our girl has risen to the occasion. i've had to run outside several times when the yewling noises escalated into screams.

mostly, she sits proudly in an open window, surveying her new domain.

Settling into the Hell Hole

ok, i'm still being negative... but i'm finally looking for some positives. bottom line is that life goes on. i may be upset, angry, frustrated, confused, and emotionally unbalanced...but i'm not dead or sick or blind or in a wheelchair.

it's time to look forward, time to accept that we will be living in this new house for the next six months. i use "hell hole" affectionately; the place may be old, dirty and a relic from the 50's, but we could have done a LOT worse. the cat has adjusted, the appliances work (fingers crossed), the neighborhood is the same and the rent is reasonable.

today my high point was that i finally got all the tv boxes connected and working. we can watch all those episodes of "house" that are piling up. the computer works, and i have new monitors (old ones didn't survive the move.) granted, there is no food in the refrigerator and i haven't yet faced taking a shower here (much easier to do that at the gym with the luxury of a steam room and sauna thrown in). i'm lost without a garbage disposal and ice maker, but that's just cause i'm obviously spoiled.

hey, life is good and getting better. we don't get stronger without these icky little life pitfalls. we get spoiled, and then get real, when forced to deal with things the old school way. back in my college days i lived in some pretty nasty situations; no reason i can't do that again. maybe it will make me younger :-).

so...the worst is over. time to look forward.

The Sale

how does one move out of a house where you've spent the past 25 years? we've thrown out a lot of stuff already. who really cares what you looked like in high school or how you screwed up?does one really need those dust caked home made pottery pieces from the early 70's? can you still fit into that leather mini skirt? did you really look like THAT???

still, we are starting out new, and that means i really don't want a whole bunch of this stuff.

observations on yard sales...people really expect stuff for pennies. even knowing that on ebay you could ask (and get) so much more...they pressure and pressure to get you to give it up for nothing. they lie and appeal and do all sorts of weird, sneaky stuff. the occasional *real* soul occasionally drifted through.

there was the woman who bought my grandmother's china. i'd resisted the hustlers an creeps all day who wanted it for pennies (read resale at 100% markup). this was important. this woman lovingly wrapped each piece in newspaper and her husband transported them to her car. she told me china was her passion...and she'd use and care for my grandmother's pieces.

this wonderful woman made this whole thing worth while.

Melt down

i think part of my frustration is just a control issue; i'm most certainly NOT in control here. each day, each hour, each minute sometimes...this remodel has taken on a life of its own, and IT controls ME.

i had a melt down the other night. overwhelmed with demands from two houses, phone company arriving at one at the same time the POD mover shows up at the other. i'm literally running up and down the street dealing with both. oh and then, here comes the Directv people. in between, i'm trying to set up for the yard sale. by the time kevin got home, i had ceased functioning. i crawled upstairs to an empty rooom and cried myself to sleep for an hour. when i woke up it was dark, didn't look at the time. kevin had gone to bed. now, when i'm this stressed out, about the only cure is physical exercise. so i set out into the night to walk off all that was troubling me.

now, i'm a morning person. to be out walking this late was a bit disconcerting. no plan, no goal, just one foot in front of the other. in my ultra-marathon days, this was RFM (relentless forward motion). this night, it proved soothing. i could hear the sound of waves, the whisper of wind in the trees, the occasional gull still up at this hour. when i arrived home, the lights were blazing, uh oh. i saw that it was 11:30, i had no idea it was this late. and...kevin was gone.

well, kevin got home. after coming downstairs to ensure that i was really back and safely tucked in, he goes upstairs. and then returns.

"uh...could you come tell the police that you're ok and i didn't beat you up?"

WHAT????????

"you called THE POLICE???"

ok, how embarassing was this? i think they were concerned due to the hammers and crowbars sticking out of our walls. who was to say i didn't have a hammer sticking out of my head? who was to say i wasn't really out walking and trying to clear my head and not some victim in the bedroom.

no sleep thereafter.

What makes a house a home?

i swear, this old house is talking to me, maybe even complaining a bit. built in the mid 40's, i acquired it in 1983. i was 10 years into a bad marriage, with two young children, ages 1 and 3. within a year i was divorced. almost immediately, i had a new guy, one with a lot of connections to this house.

he grew up across the street. he was best friends with the son of the owners of this house back in the 50's. he attended some wild parties held here, i've seen the photos. the avocado tree in the back yard...planted from a pit in the 60's. the rose bush...still going strong after 40 years. the very weird existing layout of the house...with the strange little windowless room in the center. so many people in this small town have lived here, partied here, passed through this house. if the walls had ears...

and now that we're tearing the walls down, i'm worried. will they remember all that happened here or is that up to me? how does a house maintain it's history if you rip out it's guts?

Punching holes

as the moveout deadline approaches, so increases my frustration. half the time i wish we'd never started this particular journey...the rest of the time i visualize the wonderful new home we'll be moving back into. as i wander from room to room...there is just junk left in piles on the floor. some trash, some for the recycyling bin, some i just don't know. this afternoon i need to move the contents of my closet to the new house (like they are going to fit!). i know what i *should* be doing, but the more i ignore the tasks at hand, this easier it is to ignore the reality of what is going on.

but, i do have an outlet for all this inner turmoil. i walk around with a hammer and when i feel like i'm boiling over...WHACK! i punch a hole in the wall. all the walls now have little round holes in them. i also pour little bits of red wine onto the carpet. it's a free for all here; next week it will all be gone.



ran four miles this morning in the fog. tomorrow is the 4th of July. i'm not running the 10K at Spreckels but will go take pictures of our running club huffing and puffing their way through the fields. then home for the final push to get out of here. it's kind of like the last moments of childbirth.

First came the POD

i know this is suppossed to be all about running...but sometimes other stuff gets in the way. it is running that will keep me sane over the next six months.

kevin and i have long dreamed of our...dream home. what we'd really like to do to this old house that was built back in 1946 or thereabouts. we're not going anywhere, we love this town, we love the ocean. and, one day about a year ago, i realized we're not getting any younger either. the kids are self supporting, we have decent incomes, it's now or never.

words are just so easy!

reality, now sitting in front of our house, comes in the form of a PODS (Portable On Demand Storage.) reality is boxes and boxes of stuff. reality is recycling and garbage...and what is garbage? how much of the last 30+ years do we just haul off to the dump? turns out, lots of it. seriously, who cares about crap you've kept since high school? reality is that we have only three more nights to sleep in this house. reality is, that come Monday, this house will have it's guts ripped out. reality is that we'll be living across the street and three doors down in a house that hasn't been updated since the early 50's. reality is some major stress right now.

but reality also means our cat Ashley won't be totally transplanted. reality is that my running routes won't change. reality is that we can watch the phoenix of our new home emerge from the rubble of the old. reality is cheaper rent than most people pay to live in PG.

the countdown begins...and then there is the yard sale this weekend.