Being Home

We have been living in this house for a little over two years, and in Central Florida for 2 1/2. I love being close enough to my daughter and her family to babysit and go to school functions for the grandchildren. I like living someplace where it never snows and palm trees grow. I am also fascinated by alligators. My life is full to bursting and I am happy with this big change. 

However, I won't lie. In the past 3 years I retired, gave up my work persona, moved from the liberal north to the conservative south, and left our old home with acreage, dark forests, and beloved perennial gardens. In Florida we became strangers in a strange land. We adjusted to a different climate, learned about different flora and fauna, and started living in a freakin' neighborhood in a subdivision, dontcha know! 

Happy or not, I had a hard time adjusting to all these changes. Change can be traumatic. T and I had too many big life changes in a relatively short amount of time. He can roll with the punches, but it takes me a while to recover AND I want to hit back. It was probably not the best way to manage the first months of retirement. Still, it has been worth the struggle.

I expected it to be hard. I have been through big changes before. The knowledge of what to expect helped me prepare for and cope with this move. From experience I knew the unfamiliar would eventually become familiar if I just waited long enough. I did. It has. 

Like almost everyone else in the U.S.A., I descend from pioneers and immigrants. I recently read that trauma has a generational impact on families. The desire to move far away and start over is probably encoded in my DNA. I crave change even as I fear it. I have moved (or changed jobs) many times, always excited and happy to be starting over. This, in spite of the fact that I always know it won't be easy and will probably push me over the edge.

I grew up in Northern Indiana. My family moved to the Pacific Northwest when I was in middle school, and then we moved back to Northern Indiana three years later. I took off for San Francisco at 18, when that was the thing to do. With a few notable stops and starts in between, T and I, with toddler M in tow, eventually ended up in The Finger Lakes Region of New York State. We settled in, building an adult life and raising our daughter. I am not sure how well we managed the adult thing, but we did manage to raise our daughter. Then we retired and like all good New Yorkers we moved to Florida. I am not convinced this is our last move together.

I just tried to count up all the homes I have lived in during my life. I am only referring to the places I actually moved all my belongings into. I came up with 26. I might try writing about some of these homes. It would be fun, with plenty of social and cultural history.

This is a big country, and the last thing you would call it is homogeneous. It is a country of diverse regionalism. I find regionalism interesting, even though it is complex, often unwelcoming, and sometimes dangerous. I like to imagine having had the experience of living from sea to shining sea gives me an edge of sorts. I want to explore that edge without falling off the end of the world.

At a loss, except for words

My last post, about losing our gardenia, made me think about loss again. It is an interesting concept, loss.  I am going to chew on this for awhile.  If it bothers you then for crying out loud, please do not read it.

What is this potent euphemism, loss?  Can you really understand it if you have not had the experience of losing people, places, and things? 

It happens to everyone, I am not special in any way.  Many people have had more and worse loss than me. I am not feeling sorry for myself in writing this.  I just want to step back for a few minutes and explore this thing called loss.  Why not?

I have moved many times.  Leaving one place for another is a special kind of loss.  I am not only thinking about houses and people, I am talking about the land, the climate, the flora and fauna, the way a sofa might fit perfectly in one living room but not another.  This is the loss of the familiar.  Of course with this kind of loss (moving) you also gain something in the process, so the loss of the familiar is tempered somewhat by the excitement of the new.  There is still emotional pain, but there is also hope.  And, of course, you learn things. 

As an adult I became acquainted with death. In early-middle age it seemed like people I loved were dropping like flies.  That is when I figured if boys could condition themselves to stop crying, so could I.  And I did. It was easier than you might think.

I thought maybe I was starting to get the hang of it after awhile.  I imagined I was becoming accustomed to loss.  I distanced myself from pain. Working and being busy helped.  People in my life continued to die or move away and I handled the losses fairly well.  I started spouting the whole “death is a natural part of life” line - as if that statement isn't just the most obvious thing in the world.  I was beginning to imagine I was well-adjusted, strong even. It was great, too!  I think of those as my glory years.  Yes, I know that is a stupid thing to say, but I am not going to lie.  I am as stupid as the next person.

There are people who read this blog who only know me from that long period of my life when I did not cry and I am quite sure they found me super annoying. I was overly proud of not crying, and when you are overly proud you are kind of begging for a slap down.

Death is uncomfortably personal and indelicate; we come up with alternate words to describe it because it is frightening. It is a little like Voldemort.  We do not want to speak his name for fear that he may show up or exact revenge in unspeakable ways. We do not fully understand what he is capable of, so we fear the worst. Best to keep him at bay.

Losing someone to death begins a process for the living that is very similar to losing a place or a thing. We look for our loved ones but they are gone.  We miss them deeply.  We come to realize we will never find them again. We feel our loss and we mourn their passing. We grieve our loss.  We change. We reluctantly adjust. Truthfully, I find the whole process infuriating.  But whatayagonnado?  I guess that is why it is so fascinating to me.

Since retiring and moving to Central Florida in March 2014, I have been reacquainted with loss.  I retired and moved away, leaving my job, friends, gardens, home. I found myself missing many of the "things" I threw out or gave away when we were downsizing, preparing for the move. I lost things when we moved into our new place. I learned to live without these things and reluctantly adjusted. However, I am happy to report I finally found my black handled scissors!  At least there is that.

The first year and a half after my retirement was fun. Everything was new. I was ready for change. I was happy and energized.  I could not wipe the smile off my face.  Then in March 2015, I "lost" my mother and all bets were off. Holy shit!  Suddenly there was too much change and too much loss with too little time to process it all.  I kind of overdosed on change.  Does that make sense? 

I am reluctantly adjusting to all this change. Reluctantly is the key word, and I think it is a reasonable adverb to use here.  It kind of happens over time. It is fair to say that, more often than not, loss sucks.  Loss is that empty hole, that endless tug, the searing pain, those burning tears pooling just behind your eyes.  I hate losing people, places, and things.  I totally understand why some people become pack rats and others stay in bad relationships.  Change is a bumpy damn road.

Apparently loss must be felt if we want to be healthy minded. Or at least that is what society would have us believe. It seems to be one of those “you can run but you cannot hide” kind of things we hear so much about.  And I (reluctantly) think that is true. 

Shutting down is useful, pragmatic, and effective if you can manage to pull it off, but it is not strength. It is not that.

I never want to get too old to cultivate strength. It is a matter of principle and seems like a worthy goal, which is not to say that I AM strong.  I often fail at being strong, sometimes in notably big and sloppy ways.  I am not sure about you, but I am no Athena and I did not spring full grown from the head of Zeus.  

We all get knocked down from time to time. There is no shame in that.  Of course we all want to pull ourselves up by the count of 10.  Sometimes we can and sometimes we can't, "there's the rub!" There's the humanity.

I am beginning to see that strength comes when we are willing to feel our pain, not in the overcoming of it.  Big *$#@! surprise to me, by the way.  I am not romanticizing or promoting this crap.  I take no pleasure in thinking this is true. I take no pleasure in thinking of it at all.

Demeter, in winter

 

Strip Malls

When you move someplace new you are adrift.  Nothing is familiar and everything involves taking a risk.  This is especially true with food.  It takes a long time to find the best places to eat. 

I guess you have heard there are many transplanted New Yorkers in Florida.  Central Florida is no different.  And yes, we realize native Floridians dislike and resent us.  Apparently we have a reputation for being rude.  Probably because we are hungry and we cannot find good food!  Whoops, there I go with my rude self again.  It takes so little for me to be off and running.

First of all, not every New Yorker is from New York City.  It is a big state.  Secondly, when I meet other New Yorkers the very first thing we talk about is the dearth of good, inexpensive restaurants in Central Florida.  Sometimes we whisper this to each other so that the locals do not hear us.  See, we are not really all THAT rude. 

The truth is T and I live near Disney World, the Land of Mouse, a place where French fries and chain restaurants reign supreme.  The challenge lies in hunting down the Mom and Pop owned restaurants.  They ARE here, they are simply hidden away in strip malls - a place I would never have thought to look for good restaurants before moving down here.

I have not located a bagelry. I miss fresh, crusty bagels. Perhaps if we travel to one of the Florida retirement havens on the Atlantic coast we might find a Northeast style bagelry?  We would definitely make the drive to get there if we knew FOR SURE a good bagelry existed.  I might even abandon the grandkids and move there permanently if I could buy a decent bagel.

The bagels they sell at Publix, our ubiquitous regional grocery store, are soft.  I assume they are made from a prepackaged mix Publix probably distributes to all its in-store bakeries?  Anyway, I see my granddaughter chowing down on one of those for breakfast and my heart hurts.  I feel like we have all let her down on a deep, cultural level. 

Chinese take-out can be found at virtually every strip mall, and there are plenty of strip malls.  In fact, it seems like every few blocks there is a strip mall with a Publix, a hair salon, a liquor store, and a Chinese take-out.  I am only exaggerating the teeniest little bit. 

Unfortunately, the Chinese restaurants here serve a milder version of what is served up north, and without shitake mushrooms.  I guess shitake is too weird?  Needless to say, we stopped ordering Chinese take-out early on.  I mean, who wants Hunan Chicken that has no zing and includes white button mushrooms instead of shitake?  I experience cognitive dissonance over this one. 

Pizza?  Well, we are lucky with pizza.  There is a place where the owners are from Buffalo, NY.  Although it nicely approximates NY-style pizza, the crust is not exactly the same.  The owners bemoan this fact and claim it is because of the water.  I understand.  Hey, the crust is good enough for me and I am grateful for this pizzeria.  The sauce is flavorful.  Thankfully they do not serve pizza with raw, chopped green peppers on top. Good thing, too, because my rallying cry regarding green peppers on pizza is: "Give me greasy roasted green pepper strips or give me none."

Happily, there is a lovely Thai Restaurant in town, and they are not afraid to spice things up. I have no complaints there. There are lots and lots of really good Mexican restaurants everywhere. And at a new strip mall down the road we discovered a Cajun place that makes a mean shrimp and grits. Yum.

There is a barbeque joint downtown that we like.  Part of what I like is that it is downtown instead of in a strip mall.  Of course their BBQ is not half as good you might find in South Carolina, but hey - half as good as South Carolina BBQ is pretty darn good. I hear there is another good BBQ place at one of the local strip malls, the one with the medium-sized Publix.  We need to check that out.

South Carolina style BBQ with collard greens, stewed tomatoes, coleslaw, and sweet potato

We found several interesting Cuban restaurants in the area. We frequent a Cuban place in a charming tourist town less than a half hour north of us. The picadillo is sublime.  

Picadillo with fried plantains and yellow rice

As far as the Greek experience, I live in hope. We may have to drive to Tarpon Springs on the Gulf Coast for an authentic Greek food experience. Tarpon Springs has the highest percentage of Greek Americans of any city in the US because of their sponge diving industry. I am looking forward to going there soon.

I am grateful to the Ancient Greeks for all the things they did well including democracy, philosophy, medicine, theatre, sculpture, and architecture.  But I think they reached the apex of their ancient civilization when they adapted baklava from the Ottoman Turks and made it their own.  Without the Greeks we may only be eating syrup with pancakes! Think about the perfect baklava, oozing honey syrup and melted butter with each bite.  It is so moist, almost like eating and drinking at the same time.

We stumbled upon a fabulous Greek Restaurant with our granddaughter the last time we went to St. Augustine.  She had avgolemono (egg and lemon) soup for the first time and fell in love with it. Of course the restaurant was in one of those homogenous strip malls that have no distinct sense of place, so I am not sure I can find it again.  The other two Greek restaurants we found are both about 30 minutes away in opposite directions.  Also in strip malls...  Neither of these two restaurants make their own baklava, they use the same pre-packaged variety they must purchase from their distributor.  I was disappointed, but I still ate the baklava.   

Anyway, the good, cheap restaurants we have found to date are only the tip of the iceberg.  They are out there and they are in strip malls.  The search continues.

Affinity as a euphemism for belonging

A friend sent me the following poem. She knows I miss the trees that grew on our land when we lived in Upstate NY. 

The Mangroves
by Mary Oliver

As I said before, I am living now

in a warm place, surrounded by

mangroves.  Mostly I walk beside

them, they discourage entrance.

The black oaks and the pines

of my northern home are in my heart,

even as I hear them whisper, “Listen,

we are trees too.”  Okay, I’m trying.  They

certainly put on an endless performance

of leaves.  Admiring is easy, but affinity,

that does take some time.  So many

and so leggy and all of them rising as if

attempting to escape this world which, don’t

they know it, can’t be done.  “Are you

trying to fly or what?”  I ask, and they

answer back, “We are what we are, you

are what you are, love us if you can.”

I think about trees a lot.  I am thinking increasingly more about Central Florida trees.  I love the big shade trees that provide the forest canopy:  American Sycamores, Live Oaks, Laurel Oaks, Cabbage Palms, Southern Magnolias, Bald Cypress, and whatever the hell kind of pine trees those are.  There are many more. Unfortunately, I do not know what most of these native trees are called and it is frustrating to not know their names. 

I also think about the understory in natural areas; the smaller trees, palms, and shrubs that grow below the canopy trees providing the deep, dark, wild feeling to the woods.  Without the understory there would be no snakes, no lizards, no fairies!  Anyway, I especially want to thank who or whatever is in charge of creation for Saw Palmetto, Beautyberry, and Firebush.  Nice job!

We live near a really nice, long bike trail.  My husband, T, and I both have Electra Townie bikes.  I have heard them referred to as city bikes, or cruisers.  You can sit up fairly straight as you ride.  They are oldster bikes, and we love them. Mine has black and tan Hawaiian print plastic fenders.  I also have brown leather hand grips and seat, and a black mesh market basket for the front.  The basket comes off easily when we go to the Farmer's Market.  My bike is très chic! 


The younger bikers speed past me on the left, hunched over on their sleek, fast bikes with uncomfortable seats.  They are going places, I can see that.  I am simply meandering along with the trail. 

At what point did I go from being a dynamic youngster to a daydreaming oldster?  I don't remember.  Age snuck up on me.  However, by the time I noticed, I was ready to slow down.  So far I am reasonably happy with aging, except for this unfortunate thing that has become my neck.  I am definitely happy with retirement.  I do not miss being in a hurry.  I enjoy having time to think.  As long as we both stay healthy and active it is a pretty good gig.

Occasionally someone on a fast bike will yell "nice bike!" as they whizz by.  I have to confess; sometimes I wonder if they are laughing at me.  That's OK, sometimes I laugh at what they look like in their biking costumes.  Nevertheless, I admire their energy.  I hope they get wherever they are going on time and I send loving and encouraging thoughts their way 'cause, you know, they are the future and all that.  I prefer to believe they are happy to see older people still active on the bike trail.  If they are lucky, someday it could be them on the trail riding an Electra Townie with Hawaiian print fenders.  Maybe they are lusting after my bike!  Yeah, that's probably it.  Bikers, for the most part, seem like a pretty decent bunch.

On our morning bike rides we go through beautiful natural areas that are being bulldozed and razed for new housing developments.  There are more and more of them.  It scares me.  I fear someday there will no longer be a canopy or an understory surrounding any part of the trail.  The large, old trees are the first to come down.  They once shaded the trail. Now more and more of the trail is open to the blazing sun because of the developers' lack of vision.  It is hotter than hell down here, we NEED some shade.  I do not understand people who only care about making a profit.

I guess a developer can make more money if s/he eliminates all the mature trees on the site.  That way they can lay out the ever bigger houses closer and closer together, without regard for trees or tree roots, which are just an obstacle to development if you think about it... 

The newer subdivisions have huge houses that are unbelievably close together with virtually no back yard.  There is no way they can have pools, or trampolines, or swing sets out back.  There is no room.  Oh Gee, now I am filled with anxiety about the future of humanity.  I need to take a pill, and quick.

When you have a very tiny yard you cannot plant large shade trees to replace the ones that were destroyed when the house was built. Not only is there not enough space for them to grow, it would take 20 - 30 years for them to reach a decent size.  Instead, the developers "landscape" by sticking in spindly palms here and there.  I like palms but a single palm tree provides virtually no shade and anyway, most people trim them to look like trees that belong in a Dr. Seuss landscape.  I would laugh if it didn't make me want to cry.  It cannot be good for a palm tree to be over-manicured like that.  They are trees, too.

If only it WAS mangroves I was seeing when I walked outside my house in this damn Central Florida subdivision! Mangroves are seriously interesting trees. Why couldn't our daughter, M, and her family have moved to the Florida Keys so we could have followed them there to be near the grandkids?  I could have passed as normal in the Conch Republic.  Plus, I always figured retirement would be my last chance to be an outlaw.  Yet another dream deferred.

When You're a Stranger

It has been a year and a half since I retired and a full year since we sold our house and moved to Central Florida.  T and I gave up many things during this time period.  We gave up our jobs, our friends, our gardens, Wegmans (!) and more.

The people in my NYS life knew me and what I was capable of.  I was respected, appreciated, sometimes disliked, occasionally loved.  I was someone specific and unique. I was not a stranger.

In considering retirement it is important to know giving up your job means giving up your identity.  Be forewarned so you can be prepared.  For our entire adult lives we define ourselves by the titles we hold and the work we perform.  Like many retirees, not only did T and I retire but we moved to a strange, far away place where no one knew us, where there was no external memory of who we had once been.

It is true that we live close to family now. That was the purpose of the move and the biggest joy of my post-retirement life.  Living near family provides roles to perform rather than a personal identity.  Our daughter and her family have a vague idea of who we are and the work we once did, vague being the key word.  We are their parents, in-laws, grandparents.  I love having those roles.  They suit me well. 

We are also a husband and a wife.  So yes, we still have a variety of roles to fill, and they are satisfying and enjoyable roles.  However, I have yet to redefine myself for myself.  I once knew how to do that.  I am not quite sure how to do that in retirement, but I trust it will happen over time. The fun comes in wondering who I will end up being.

What I learned from experiencing change is this: if you keep going eventually life settles in and evens out. I trust in that notion because in spite of some initial discomfort, I have always acclimated to the cultural norms in each new situations.  In the course of those struggles I developed new ideas and learned to adapt and become flexible in my views of what normal might be. Those were valuable real-life lessons.  In spite of the underlying sadness and very real loss brought on by each change, I learned to trust my abilities to rise to the occasion. But in my work years, I did not have to be particularly pro-active.  Life came to ME.  You take a new job and stimulating challenges happen all around you.  The outer world takes charge of you.

The difference in retirement is that there are no ready made communities provided by the job you are taking on.  Sure, there are institutions I could join and places I could go to build a community, I just have not wanted to "go there" yet.  For now I savor the freedom of being an outsider, of being a stranger.  In theory, I guess it seems too much like work to join or belong to an institution. In practice, it would take some effort on my part.  For now, a day that I have something I must do still seems like a day that is lost to me. I guess the identity one cultivates in the post-retirement years is more personal and private.  As we age, it makes sense that we exert more energy exploring our inner life rather than our outer life?  There are fewer distractions.  That's a thought.

Picking and Choosing

Some people like change and others avoid it at all costs. I am not writing this because I have an agenda to push.  I do not subscribe to a one-size-fits-all life model.  It really comes down to who you are and what you need to be happy.  I am absolutely not comfortable with change, but I seem to need it periodically. I get antsy when things remain the same for too long.  I get bored easily.  I court change knowing full well the process of changing will likely be unsettling for awhile, and may even turn out to be a mistake; but I still want the change to happen.  I cannot help myself.  I come from pioneer stock.  Every so often I feel the urge to move on and reinvent myself.  It is called “throwing caution to the wind.”   It is my forte.

Retiring was a piece of cake, except for that unfortunate reduction in discretionary income.  It has been almost a year (I retired last Halloween) and I have never regretted the decision to retire.  Not working has been a pure joy.  We have always lived a fairly simple life, and we have adjusted to a limited income.  Still, I have not ruled out getting a part time job at some point for extra money.   I do not want to, but it would be nice to have some extra money to replace the sliding glass door to the pool area.  The door sticks.  I huff and puff and swear when I struggle to open it.  Plus, I would REALLY like to get my neck done…  I am almost serious about the neck thing.  Plastic surgery is definitely not in our retirement budget, but the neck is not pretty and it is getting worse.  I am not sure I can go through the rest of my life with my current neck. 

Moving, on the other hand, has been the real kicker.   Six months into it I can report that although I am surprisingly happy to live in Florida, I am not yet on the other side of the “process” of changing.  Changing residences interstate kicked our asses and we are both exhausted.  Part of that exhaustion was caused by bad luck, specifically the long delay in buying our house once we got down here last March.  The travel trailer era was a bit mindboggling to live through; however, in retrospect I am glad to have experienced it.  We rose to the occasion, and that is always satisfying.  Still...it sucked all the joy out of our initial move.  It would have been nice to feel excited about moving into a house instead of just feeling relief.  In addition, we moved from a 4-season, often cold and overcast, but devastatingly beautiful Northern blue state to a relentlessly hot, sunny, overdeveloped, and flat Southern red state.  In NYS we lived in the country amidst rolling hills and endless forest.  In Florida we live in a subdivision.  This all requires some adjusting.  I am not really complaining.  I was looking for change and these challenges certainly keep the old brain cells/sparkplugs igniting.  And I get to see my wonderful grandkids almost every day.  I cannot tell you how much I love that.  However, just selling, sorting, packing, moving from, and buying houses is a stressful process.  That was a LOT of work, for a long time.  I am tired.  I would really rather not move again until my daughter has to put me in the home, and then she can do all the heavy lifting.  I am not above faking dementia in order to get out of hard work.

There are significant cultural differences I notice whether I want to or not.  Some of the cultural norms in Florida are unfamiliar to me.  There are days when the differences are interesting and fun, and there are days when they are overwhelming and threatening.  This morning, for instance, I woke up at 5 am and got up in the dark house to look out the front window.  As you might remember from my last post looking out the window is one of my new pastimes, apparently even in the dark.  Today is garbage day. Everyone puts the garbage cans and recycling cans out on the street the night before.  Imagine my surprise to see a scruffy looking older man flying by on a bicycle down our darkened street.  He went from garbage can to garbage can, opening the lids and using a flashlight to see what he could see.   He held a big trash bag in one hand as he piloted the bike.  I saw him stuff something into his bag at the house down the street and then he drove away.  Yes, I saw a real live garbage-picker.  Things like that never happened in the hamlet we lived in up North.  The only person who came to our NYS house that early in the morning was delivering the paper.  

Proximity Poisoning

The house is less chaotic now and we are working hard trying to turn it into a comfortable home.  We both love this place.  Eventually it will look presentable.  In the meantime I am drinking lots of coffee attempting to generate the false energy required to overcome my lingering inertia.  T is a self-propelled man machine, doing things all the time. He is constantly putting together shelves, fixing this and that, shelving books, moving boxes, driving hither and yonder buying things.  He mows the lawn an awful lot!  I am not even sure it needs to be mowed, but if it makes him happy to start up the mower and move it around the yard, who am I to judge?  I only know he is one happy man to have a home again. And if T is happy, I am happy.  Thank God for testosterone. I have a couple of work friends who have transitioned from female to male in recent years and they both said how energetic and happy they became once they started getting testosterone in their system. Not fair!!!!

We spent so much time trying to maintain our sanity and keep ourselves sedate (if not sedated) while we were in the trailer.  Now that we are in the house I think the dam has broken because emotions abound.  I know I have been a raving maniac for at least part of the past three weeks.  Anyway, the worst is over and we are doing well. AND we are still married. Amazing. We are both so happy to have our own spaces once again.  It makes me wonder how pioneer couples could stand each other living in one room, dirt floor log cabins with a bunch of kids.  I am quite sure they were all driven mad by proximity poisoning.

We finally got the pool fixed and operational yesterday.  Yay!!!  Today our new washer and dryer will be delivered.  Yay!!! 

T just got done mowing the lawn (!) and then left to drive to a hardware store to get some “stuff.”  I will confess that I forgot what he said he was going there for.  Not that I wasn’t listening.  Anyway, I really should get off the computer and start unpacking a box or two. As all you ladies know, in the absence of testosterone GUILT becomes the great motivator.

Closing Thoughts

Yesterday we received the final paperwork clearing the way for closing on our house tomorrow, Friday, June 27^th.   Today I am a whole body pretzel with all my fingers, toes, and appendages crossed.

This closing will take place 4 months after our original closing date was cancelled for the same exact house, and 3 months after the subsequent closing date was also cancelled and the contract terminated by Fannie Mae.  As you may remember, we had already sold our NYS house so we had to move down here anyway within days after the termination of the Florida house contract in late March.  It has been a challenging adventure.  The inconvenience of not having our belongings and practically living on top of each other in a travel trailer out in the boondocks will come to an end.  I still fear Fannie Mae will cancel at the eleventh hour and leave us high and dry, even though I rationally know all will be well.  I cannot help it.  Stuff happens.  I have some trust issues now. When you do not own a house or have a permanent home the world can be a scary place. Being at the mercy of landlords, government agencies, and bankers is an invitation for heartache and dehumanization.  I will not forget the lessons learned here. 

The movers are scheduled to bring our furniture and millions of boxes out of storage and to the new place on Monday.  We also have a delivery scheduled for new appliances. Utilities are being transferred.   TV/internet/land line phone services are scheduled for next week.  If I had a brain in my head I would have contracted with a cleaning service to clean the place before we move in, but I did not because when I shake my head nothing rattles, so I guess that means I am brainless.  Perhaps part of me wants to get in there and clean the place from top to bottom myself, making it my own, getting to know it up close and personal?

I am astounded to find I am a bit sad to leave the trailer.  Quite seriously, I am more sad and nostalgic about leaving this trailer than I was in March when we left behind our NYS house of 24 years.  What the hell is wrong with me?  I guess it is because the past 3 months have been hard for us.  This little trailer was a home when we had none, a sanctuary that served us well when we needed one. 

I will be without internet for a few days after we move, so I probably will not post again for a week.   If all goes well, it will be a very happy post. I think I can remember how to pull that off.

Right or wrong, here are my "closing thoughts" on our recent circumstances:  We were fortunate in many ways.  For one, we could afford to find a short term rental situation that was safe and private.  We knew we would eventually buy a house.  We have family near by, and friends a phone call or email away who gave us emotional support.  I am painfully aware that many people who do not own a home do not have resources or options.  The truly homeless are the saddest of all.  They are vulnerable beyond belief.  Can you imagine how awful it would be to end up in a homeless shelter with no money and little hope?  Like I said, stuff happens and sometimes you do not see it coming.  It can spiral outside of your control.  In some cases people lose their jobs and then they lose their house.  This is why so many of these houses for sale in Florida are foreclosures.  These former homeowners are not slackers or the mythic welfare cheats.  They are middle class parents with children who bought houses when the market commanded ridiculously high prices, thinking they had secure jobs and a safe, secure future.  They did not, and it was not their fault.  Someone once pointed out to me that, contrary to popular belief, it is actually physically impossible for a person to pull themselves up by their own bootstraps.  Sometimes you need help.  The banks did not always work with the owners to help them stay in their houses until their finances recovered.  It can be a cold, cruel world when money is the driving force.  During our house search I saw willful damage some of the people did to their homes before they were forced to moved out.  I was both shocked and moved.  Shocked because I could not condone their actions.  Moved because I could understand the anger and frustration that drove them to do it.  I am hyper aware that we are getting this house because someone else had to give it up.  Perhaps our recent (and in retrospect, mere) 3 months of struggle was a means for us to fully appreciate having a home.   I am grateful to our realtor and our lending agent for the kindness they showed and the help they gave us.  Compassion without judgment is the greatest kindness.  This is the lesson I have recently learned.

Big sigh…

Some Good News at Last!

The movers came yesterday and brought all our household stuff and furniture to the storage unit.  All went well!  You should have seen that monster moving van make the 90 degree turn.  Terrifying.  Well, I actually kept my eyes closed, but T was enjoying it.  I have been filled with anxiety for a week fearing that truck would not make the turn and then we would have to deal with finding another unit that could accommodate a 75 foot moving van while the movers waited on the highway.  T kept trying to get me to look, but I was on the verge of hyperventilating and just could not watch.   I did watch it back up, turn around, and make that turn onto the highway again when all was done and they were leaving the lot.  Those guys are amazing drivers and hard working souls.  Of course, then T wanted me to stop watching the van so we could leave.  I have learned that you just cannot make a man happy! 

I am glad to have that behind us and to know where all our "stuff" is.  It is in a climate controlled unit inside a large secured building, so we do not have to worry about everything melting in the Florida heat.  Oh yeah, no one told us that they expected a certified check upon delivery.   After a few tense moments they agreed to take our credit card.   Just another stressed out moment we did not see coming.  We are learning to take it on the chin, get back up before the count of 10, and live to fight another round.  Luckily, boxing is our favorite sport.   In fact, I would love to beat someone up right now with a whole room full of people watching and get paid for it.   I could'a been a contender.   

Yesterday the bank accepted our offer on the house we now want to buy.  Now we have to start scrambling for lender approval on that.  We also have to quickly get the house and pool inspected because we are shooting for a closing at the end of April.

We are moving from the Red Roof Inn to a travel trailer in a RV vacation resort today.  Should be there for up to 2 months, depending on when our house closing is and what work we have to do to the house before we move in.  Most of the other people who are staying at the resort are on vacation, so I think maybe we will pretend we are, too.  They gave us a great deal and they were the only place we found to rent to us month by month, so we pretty much had to take it.   The monthly rent is 1/4 of what we are paying at the motel.  That makes me so happy.  The travel trailer seems GREAT in comparison to the motel room.  Although, the Red Roof Inn was not as bad as you might think.  Anyway, we are now off to live in sunny, concrete vacation land. 

STILL haven't closed on our house up in New York.    Getting nervous about that.  

Moving

The movers came and packed everything up on Monday morning.  We cleaned and then left the house mid-afternoon.  That was very stressful but went well.  It was also all consuming, which was probably for the best.  We did not even notice we were leaving the house for the last time when we drove away because we were too busy fighting about which direction to go in.  Typical “us.”  We decided to let the GPS make the final decision, and the damn thing chose T’s route.  That was annoying.  Consequently, the fact that we had left our home of 24 years for the last time did not hit me for about 20 miles.  Truthfully, it was much easier that way.

We drove about 8 hours and stopped for the night in Staunton, Virginia at a Comfort Inn.   Buddy was zonked on cat downers and was remarkably good.  

The next day we stopped at a rest stop outside of Savanna and noticed that the Stella d'Ora day lilies were just about ready to bloom.  I was so happy and then I remembered that I no longer have any flowers.  Sigh.  Hope the next few weeks are happily productive.  It is a strange time. Still I am excited.

Oh yeah, the Florida house fell through.   The realtor called us in tears two days before we left and she let us know Fannie Mae was canceling the sale because they couldn't get the deed in lieu of foreclosure from the previous owners.  That means the previous owners still own it and Fannie Mae will have to go through the foreclosure process to get clear title to the house. It will take months and then they will have to open it up for offers again.  They said we could bid on it when that happens, but obviously we are done. So we are going to have to start over.  Unbelievable.  We are in good humor, though, and are determined to make the best of this chaotic transition without losing our minds.   There is no acceptable alternative.  

Sheesh

Well, I am not sure how to say this without sounding overly dramatic or even pathetic - but we are moving on Monday, March 24 and when we get down to Florida we will be checking into the Red Roof Inn for God knows how long with our cat, Buddy in tow.  We may be there for a couple of months.  Homeless.  Can you believe it?  

The movers will move all our earthly belongings into a rented storage unit in our new “Florida home town without a home.”  We are absolutely at the mercy of Fannie Mae, and they could not care less. They refuse to let us rent until they resolve the damn "deed-in-lieu of foreclosure" issue.  They cannot give us any indication whatsoever about when the closing will be except that "It could be this week, it could be 2 months from now."  Unless we want to cancel the offer the next time they ask for an extension, we have no choice but to wait. We have no choice, no control, just seething anger and dismay.  The feisty old dame in me wants to tell them to shove it (with great force); however, cancelling the offer means we will have to start the house hunting process all over again, which would also take a couple of months. We really like the house and have painfully negotiated a good deal.   Call it denial, desperation, bad decision, but we are not ready to cancel and are going to wait it out at least for another month.  In Florida, in a motel room with T, cat Buddy, and me.  I can hardly convey this information without laughing hysterically.  I feel that instead of writing a blog, I should be writing a screenplay about our life.  Or a pilot for a situation comedy.  And the TV show could easily be called The Aging Female Baby Boomer, because I am aging REALLY fast these days.

As indicated in an earlier post, this sloppiness and continued requests for delayed closing is all too common with Fannie Mae foreclosures since the housing crisis started a few years ago.   It is, as my Mother would say, “A sin and a shame.” 

Stay tuned for the continuing adventures of T, C, and Buddy makes 3.   We are determined to both maintain our sanity and have a good time, assuming our marriage lasts.  Buddy is going to be miserable.   Bless his heart.  

More of the Same

New York house:
We talked to the lawyer yesterday and he is fairly confident the closing will be in the last week of March.   So far all "seems" well with that closing.  Of course, anything could happen at any minute.  I am vigilant and prepared, positively dripping with anxiety.  I have not closed my eyes or turned my back for weeks.  I SO want to leave this old house before the snow melts so I will not be reminded about the perennial beds we are leaving, nor be tempted to start weeding and mulching.   We threw away our wheelbarrow, so would not be able to start mulching anyway.   I am not sure what I think about living a life without a wheelbarrow, by the way.  It is disconcerting.  It will be one of our first purchases in Florida.

Florida house:

Talk about annoying... Fannie Mae does not seem to care about the house or our predicament.  As I mentioned in an earlier post, it seems they "misplaced" the deed-in-lieu of foreclosure from the previous owners and now have to track them down and get it.  In the meantime, we are at their mercy.  Because they are a mindless government bureaucracy, they will NOT let us move in and rent before the closing can take place. "Not their policy." It is like talking to a machine. Our Florida realtor has been valiant and proactive trying to get information and push them along.  So has our lender's agent.  I now have close personal relationships with both those women!  I love the Southern girls.  They are kind and friendly and hardworking.  However, if my realtor tells me "Everything happens for a reason" one more time I may say something I will most certainly regret. 

Moving:

We have rescheduled our move date with our movers three times...   It is embarrassing, and if the closing on this house is March 28th, then we really need to get out of town soon. Yesterday we made the decision to have the movers come early on the last week of March.  We will then hit the road (with our cat Buddy) later that week - depending on how the cleaning goes.  We found a pet friendly motel in Rocky Mount, NC.  If we have not closed on the Florida house by the time we arrive we may have to put poor Buddy in a kennel until we find a place to stay.  We are asking the movers to wait until after the 28th to deliver our stuff in Florida in hopes that we can take possession of the house by then (we live in hope).  If we have not closed and there is still indeterminate bullshit going on with the closing we will have the movers put all our earthly belongings in storage down there. We will then find a place to rent on a short term basis that allows pets and rent month by month until either we close on the house we want, or we find another place to buy.  Un*&^$@!#believable! We probably could negotiate with the new owners to rent back our current home for another month, but we decided not to.  We are tired of waiting. We want to leave before the spring gardening season hits.  And if all falls through and we are forced to start looking for a new Florida house, then we want to be down there to do it.  In the meantime, the key word is "adventure." 

We are still packing, still hauling junk to the curb, still taking bits and pieces to the Salvation Army. 

This is not fun.

That Nagging Bright Side Thing:
However, in spite of everything, I must admit there is still this spark deep inside me that promises everything.  It is the same spark that used to ignite when I skipped school in high school.  It is that "run away" spark that promises escape, excitement, and fun.  It keeps me going.  That, and knowing I will soon be playing with my grandchildren on a regular basis.  Playing can be done whether we are in a house with a pool or stuck in a seedy motel.  Of course, their parents probably won't let them come to the seedy motel.   Not to worry, they have a house with a pool.  Darn it Bright Side, you think of everything!

Once this buy/move/sell thing is behind me I really have to write about the joys of skipping school.