In Danger of Getting Old

I was lying on my back on the floor, head hanging over the top of a hard yoga roll, the kind people use to relieve back tension. My neck was killing me because I’d been going nonstop for three weeks getting ready for this big garage sale we just had. I knew as soon as the sale was over, my neck would be suddenly better. I always seem to hold my stress in my neck, as though I’d really like for my conscious self to be separated from my body.  That’s when this thought came sidling up to my conscious mind: If it weren’t for this whole sailing plan, I would be in real danger of getting old.

A life filled with all kinds of celebrations.

A life filled with all kinds of celebrations.

Not just any kind of ‘old’. We’re all going to get chronologically old. We can’t help it, living here on the planet as we do. No, I’m talking about the kind of ‘old’  where your best days are behind you; the kind of old where you have ‘stories’, most of which revolve around the glory days when the children were too young for the world to have damaged them yet.  I am referring to the kind of ‘old’ that causes people under the age of 35 to have glazed over eyes as you begin with, ‘When I was your age….blah blah blah…walked five miles through snow drifts the size of Everest… blah blah blah…television…blah…rock and roll..blah blah’.

It occurred to me that if it were not for this plan to go sailing, I might grow old and die right here in this house, surrounded by all the stories of the detritus of a life well-lived in the past, but only marginally existing in the present. If it weren’t for this little cunning plan, I might drift aimlessly through to the future and out the door into the beyond.  I shed exactly two small tears and as they hit the floor, I got up and went back outside where the rain was ruining what was left of our garage sale. How darkly poetic.

One of many tables.

One of many tables.

If you’ve been reading our blog for long, you know that I never planned to have a garage sale of any kind. My plan has been to have an estate agent come in and take care of things for me so I wouldn’t have to deal with things like going through baby clothes, toys, collectibles – all the THINGS that have created their own special gravitational pull over the course of a long and happy marriage and family life. While we were away for our month on Galapagos, that plan began to change gradually. I began to feel as though I could mentally, physically, and especially emotionally handle it, and, in fact, that part of me looked forward to it. Life has so much more room to breathe on the boat, so much space to be nourished and to grow robust in its fullness. August has been a month of flinging open closet and attic doors and ruthlessly clearing out things that I thought were special, but turned out to be average.

Claire made this shark head when she was working for a 'sharky' insurance company. I didn't think this was special, but my friend did.

Claire made this shark head when she was working for a ‘sharky’ insurance company. I didn’t think this was special anymore, but my friend did. She will be a shark for Halloween.

During our month of peace and quiet, boat swinging at anchor, bears on the shore, the better part of me began to emerge in about the third week;  ready to engage in the process of letting go. These things simply cannot be rushed if one is to participate joyfully from a place of readiness. Sometimes it is earnestly hard to trust the internal process. We struggle to become something we are not long before the time of blossoming into our dream for ourselves. We watch what others do and say ‘why can’t I?’, and yet, we cannot. We listen to our own internal critic and say, ‘I must.’, and yet we don’t. Others cry, ‘Procrastination! Just do it! It’s so easy! You’ll be so glad!’, and yet, they are wrong because timing is everything.

I’ve said it before: all people deserve to have their own level of suffering and struggle before they can be ready to move on to something new. This is true in all things, in my experience, even while it is frustrating for both the observer and the observed. While others who have gone before us can encourage and cheer from the side, it is a rare thing that their experience changes ours. I have lived long enough to know this. And still it has been difficult to have patience with myself. It has also been fearful to think of what the future would hold if we did not take some kind of leap into it; it we did not hold tight to that rope swing and jump off the rock into the pool of the future. Either jump or keep standing still forever in that place. There is no going back.  Poised on a precipice, it’s easy for fear to get the better of us.

I jumped. Now gone are the special hand made quilts, the 26 Beatrix Potter figurines, the toddler castle set, dolls, jewelry I never wear, a zillion tools we don’t need, and probably 50 frames and framed prints. Those flew out the door. Dumb bells, a skate board, and a knife in a sheath went home with a 10 year old boy and his dad. Gone is a cement leaf planter I made that would have sold for over 200$ in a garden store. I got 30$ for it, but it will be enjoyed by another gardener for a long time. I batted barely an eye at any of this.

A dealer bought all the figurines that were not already sold via my Facebook event ad.

A dealer bought all the figurines that were not already sold via my Facebook event ad.

And my sister, who came and worked all day at the sale,  buoyed me up when I got a bit emotional seeing an old friend from those glory days of Andrew’s young boyhood. It was wonderful to see her, but I was dangerously close to feeling old in that moment, as was she. I’m afraid tears began sort of trickling down my face and I had to pull myself up short. She took home a special picture I had a deal of trouble parting with. It had hung in Claire’s bedroom her entire childhood and I still loved it. As a symbol of our family when we were young, it was perfect.  But it cannot go on the boat, and it was sitting in the back of a closet. I feel good that Rosemary will have it to remind her of how much fun we had back in those days, having tea and watching our kids play ‘restaurant’ together. Life is even more precious when our stories are shared by others.

clairespicture

This was always above Claire’s bed as she grew up.

We’ve been in this planning mode for several years now, dreaming and making small moves toward the day we get to cut the dock lines and go adventuring. We sold Moonrise, bought Galapagos, and all of that was easy compared to dealing with a family home. But, onward we go. We are making the leap into the unknown and trusting that we land on our feet. This is the year of having faith that things will work out, if not as we expect, then at least well enough for us to continue. By the skin our our teeth we might just avoid becoming the kind of old that shouts ‘our best days are behind us’.

Good bye to our Avian Allies

This photo was taken in the middle of the day. There still wasn't enough light to get a good, sharp image.

This photo was taken early in our care taking careers.  You can count six chickens here.

A short post to say good bye to the remaining two chickens left in our care by our young nephew, Reid while he and his family spent a year in the wilds of Oregon. Faithful readers will recall that we were chicken sitting and can revisit our post here:Playing Farmville.

Cue ominous banjo music here

Our record for keeping our six charges safe is disappointing. We lost one chicken to the neighbor’s dog, one chicken just disappeared without a trace, and just recently we lost two to a marauding gang of raccoons. We really enjoyed having the chickens in many ways; they were beautiful, gave us yummy eggs and made the yard more amusing. Melissa will miss their help keeping the weed and bug populations down. And we will miss the way they clucked contentedly whenever we fed them scraps. On the other hand, we won’t miss the mess, the worry about their safety and the difficulty finding a qualified chicken sitter for our trips to Astoria.

Our last Australorp lays an egg before leaving

Have Chickens, Will Travel. Two chickens and all their appurtenances are neatly loaded into Darin and Amy’s truck.

After our sailing days are over we will have a place that can accommodate another small flock of chickens. Maybe some bantam breeds would be nice. Melissa and I love the beautiful colors and grace they bring to the property. We enjoy their little noises and antics as they weed the garden and worry the dog. Just a few chickens. No more than a dozen.

 

Life Review

This week my life flashed before my eyes. Generally when one says that, people respond with “Oh No! Did you have a bad accident? Did you get a terminal diagnosis? Did you have a clairvoyant episode outlining the details of your own death, and if so, do you know the date? (And by the way, can I have that painting I’ve always admired?)” I assure you, hopeful reader, that none of these things is true because none of these things is necessary for me to have my life flash quickly and alarmingly before my very eyes. All that is required is a trip to my attic.

See those dark recesses toward the back? You have no idea how much stuff is there. But I do. This is only one side. The other side is worse, and goes back further.

Long time readers will know that part of our cunning plan is to get rid of most of our stuff and move aboard a sailboat. They will know, as well, that we have been married for 31 years. That we have two adult children, that our home is large and has large grounds. What they might not know is that cloistered in our attic is the considerable remains of that 31 year history. Our house has about 3000 square feet. Our attic covers the entire house. Easily 2/3 of that attic is crammed with boxes big and small. Oy vey. I have spent many hours since this blog’s inception going through ‘things’ in my house and toting them to Goodwill. We have the tax deductions to prove it, thanks be to God. But I have not yet touched the attic. Until now.

Over the years as children have outgrown special toys, graduated to new grades in school, or decided they wanted a room ‘remodel’, things got stuffed into the attic for storage because I’ve lived with kids long enough to know that the minute I get rid of something they intuitively know it and look for it. Likewise when my own mother downsized dramatically, I was the recipient of special things that were hers or my father’s. They currently reside in the attic. Then there are things from my own childhood that I have kept for decades. All in the attic. Mike’s home burned to the ground twice when he was growing up, so he has very little from his childhood. He knows what it’s like to lose everything and then be okay.

Just imagine this, times 2 million.

In our attic is a gazillion dollars worth of Legos, Playmobil, action figures, American Girl dolls and their accouterments, Christmas ornaments, old LP’s, Nancy Drew books, a huge collection of rubber animals (anatomically correct, don’t you know), wedding and baby momentos, dressup clothes… Seems like our kids’ entire childhoods are in that attic, safely tucked away for the grandchildren we may never have. If there were any young children in our lives just now, they would be having an amazing time in our attic if we could get them to put down the Nintendo DS.

Some of you more thrifty and organized readers may be echoing my own superego just about now, giving voice to the general tongue lashing that goes on in my head. You know the words, so sing right along with me:  I am reaping what I sowed because I should have been getting rid of stuff all along and shouldn’t have collected so much stuff to begin with. Sure, you would have a good point because there is a lot of ‘sunk costs’ sitting up there in that space. But, by way of ‘walking a mile in my orthotics’, consider this: I grew up a military child. We moved a couple of times in early childhood, then in kindergarten; then again in grades 1, 2, 3, 5, 7, 8, and 9. We then had three years where I had a stable high school experience, more or less. I’m not complaining, as there are many blessings that come from this kind of upbringing. But I am making the point that the only things that remained stable in our lives were our immediate family, and our stuff. I do not easily get attached to people, but I do get attached to things; the dirty little secret of this vagabond kind of childhood, at least for me.

Home may be where the heart is, but in my upbringing it was defined as where mom hung the portrait of me and my sister over the piano. When the big book cases (which currently grace my family room) were placed, and all the decorator items were in place in the living room, we were ‘home’, for however long it lasted. When the movers brought our stuff to our new digs, it was like Christmas. My brain and my body, and mostly my heart, developed around ‘stuff’ defining our space, and thus defining my feelings of ‘home’. So I guess part of my karmic learning is how to let go of things and still feel whole. I’m getting there but it’s a slow thing.

I’m not quite ready to let go of Andrew’s Playmobil collection. It’s just so cool! And he was so completely adorable with it.

Anyway, this attic has been literally hanging over my head for years. It has been the huge elephant in the middle of the living room of my mind. I knew it was there, but I preferred to walk around it rather than try to tame it.  Caught between a rock and a hard place, I have been wondering if this task of ridding ourselves of the stuff would ever end. And if it never ended, surely we would never get to go sailing down the coast to Mexico and beyond. We would never sail around the U.K. We toyed with the idea of renting out our house furnished, locking up the attic as our continued storage space. But on some level, that just felt like a cop out, like not really making a decision.

So this week Claire and I began with the attic. I pulled down as much stuff as I had space on the garage floor. We threw out a huge bag of trash, sent some stuff to Goodwill, put aside a few things for a friend’s garage sale, and packed up a box of treasures for Kitty down in Texas. Then I stared in horror at the collection of dolls, baby clothes, dress-up costumes and other assorted things that I just don’t have the heart to deal with. All I could think was “there are only about 200 more boxes upstairs”.  The word ‘discouraged’ doesn’t even touch my feelings. Just thinking about it makes me want to go lie down in a dark room with a whiskey and soda. Large, please. This took an entire day, and I was not finished yet because it was only the easy part that we had accomplished. Only about 200 more boxes to go, and countless decisions to make. I walked away from it to prepare dinner.

Goodbye cute little paper giraffe Claire made in the first grade. Goodbye hand decorated photo frame with starfish picture that she won a prize for.

I decided that this was just too much work, both physically and emotionally. There had to be another way. So I waited for the epiphany, and then it came:   What if, instead of having to touch each thing and make the decision to keep or get rid of it, I touched only the things that were most important to me? What if I began to look at things in terms of what I would choose to take to a new house in the future? If I were building my dream home today, what would I take with me? What things give me that comfortable feeling of ‘home’? What things tell me that it is I who live here? If I could choose those things, I would hire an estate agent to come in and have a big estate sale and let go of the rest.

I cannot avoid going through the things in the attic forever. But I can let someone else do all the unpacking; laying things out on tables in an orderly way, then giving me the final say about what I will pull out to keep.  Dear Lord, what a concept! I am almost breathless from the freedom of it. The thought of someone else coming in and doing all that work makes me positively giddy. The sale itself would probably feel about like chopping off an arm, but at least it would be fast and then I could get over it and get on with other things. This idea fills me with a sense of relief that is palpable and that makes me know that it’s the right direction to go. If the feeling is of relief, then the soul has spoken.

This display in our living room is filled with family history from both sides of our family. There is just no way I am getting rid of all of these things. Some, but not all.  We will find a way to store them while we are gone.

As the idea began to take shape, I found that removing the emotional and physical burden of the continual exercise in mourning that is stored in our attic allowed other ideas to take root. Selling the house and buying land we could leave to our children, for instance. I have always wanted to leave land for my children.  Perhaps designing and building a small house on that land in the future, a house that would be easy to keep and that would take us safely into our old age when we are finished with the sailing. Removing the burden of the attic gives me room to dream again.

As I began thinking more about it, I discovered that aside from a select few pieces of furniture,  most of the things that bring me comfort in my home are the decorator items that can easily be packed away. My mother’s Cottage Ware teapot, the piece of art pottery Claire brought me from the Scottish Highlands, the small paintings of our boats, the Native American fetishes I collected in the southwest, my father’s lithograph of the seven mortal sins. Specific stones. The cement maple leaf I made. The block print of Skimmers that Mike and I got when we were first married. These are things that will be put away, waiting to be placed in my next house so I can quickly call it ‘home’.

With the burden of constant purging removed I will be able to enjoy the time I have left in our house, this home we’ve created together, with all of the creative energy of our family’s youth still held firmly in its very bones.  I will be able to focus now on what we will take with us from this place into the bold future, turning my face from what we are leaving behind.

I will likely never make another one of these. It took me a year to perfect the formula to make the cement strong yet thin. The casting is of a maple leaf from the tree in our backyard.