August 29, 2015
Rock Shopping
For the last year, I've been thinking about what I wanted from the mammoo's house. I had strong feelings, and I had dustups with my siblings, they had dustups with each other, all about stuff. You think you'll never have hard feelings about anything, and then you do. Boo!
After living with all of my mom's stuff and moving much of it to our garage, thinking about it, working with auction houses, tossing lots of it out...the closer I got to owning some of this stuff the less I wanted it. Even the stuff I was really attached to.
And our garage is now the baleen of the guy family. There are items (some large) that I'm holding onto until people can pick them up. There is all the good china and crystal that will live here while we continue to host Christmas. There are linens that I brought over so we can sort and iron and divvy them up.
But this is what I really wanted and put aside: Pop's crowbar, the lucky horseshoe from over the garage door, granny's fancy hangers, and all my mom's rocks. Back in the day, when Pet Rocks were the rage, my mom wouldn't buy me one. It was, after all, a rock. We had rocks and I could choose one. So I did, and I named it Camilla after Camilla Hall, a member of the Symbionese Liberation Army. If you grew up where and when I did, you were likely to be obsessed with the SLA. Eventually I returned Camilla (the rock) to her native environment in the suburbs.
She was the first rock I took from our house. Now she's hanging out on the front porch:
And last week I liberated most of the rest of the mammoo's fine rocks. She, her caregiver and I took a road trip and looked at our empty house. The painters were still finishing up. Mom puttered around and I dug up rocks. I warned the ladies that they'd have some rocks at their feet on the ride home, because I needed to spread out the load.
Then I drove a different way home, because the road to our house is so steep that on a good day I have to pull my weenie car over to let others pass.
Here's the haul:
And here they are around the lemon tree. When I look down from the kitchen den I can see this little piece of home.
After living with all of my mom's stuff and moving much of it to our garage, thinking about it, working with auction houses, tossing lots of it out...the closer I got to owning some of this stuff the less I wanted it. Even the stuff I was really attached to.
And our garage is now the baleen of the guy family. There are items (some large) that I'm holding onto until people can pick them up. There is all the good china and crystal that will live here while we continue to host Christmas. There are linens that I brought over so we can sort and iron and divvy them up.
But this is what I really wanted and put aside: Pop's crowbar, the lucky horseshoe from over the garage door, granny's fancy hangers, and all my mom's rocks. Back in the day, when Pet Rocks were the rage, my mom wouldn't buy me one. It was, after all, a rock. We had rocks and I could choose one. So I did, and I named it Camilla after Camilla Hall, a member of the Symbionese Liberation Army. If you grew up where and when I did, you were likely to be obsessed with the SLA. Eventually I returned Camilla (the rock) to her native environment in the suburbs.
She was the first rock I took from our house. Now she's hanging out on the front porch:
And last week I liberated most of the rest of the mammoo's fine rocks. She, her caregiver and I took a road trip and looked at our empty house. The painters were still finishing up. Mom puttered around and I dug up rocks. I warned the ladies that they'd have some rocks at their feet on the ride home, because I needed to spread out the load.
Then I drove a different way home, because the road to our house is so steep that on a good day I have to pull my weenie car over to let others pass.
Here's the haul:
And here they are around the lemon tree. When I look down from the kitchen den I can see this little piece of home.
August 20, 2015
Bucket List
If I had thought hard enough, this would have been on my bucket list.
They say money can't buy happiness, but this was one of my best fifty bucks ever.
August 9, 2015
You love your Grandma? You love Asian art? You love waffles?
I sent an email with that subject line to oldest and youngest nephews, who were on their way to being the new owners of antique lacquer panels with semi-precious stone inlay. Their payment? Some labor, as well as removal of frozen items from the domicile.
First the labor. Their task, should they love the grandma and waffles, was to remove the solid oak desk from the office. I have lived in terror of this moment from the time the desk entered the office, because my pop had said that it could only leave in halves. Youngest neph brought his Sawzall.
But the local garbage folks' "bulky item pickup" rules consider two halves of a once whole desk to be *two* bulky items, so mrguy vetoed that plan. And given that mrguy's other name is pack-man, he and two nephs were able to get the desk into the patio without a hitch.
Then came Operation Empty The Office. Out went some cool weird furniture and some future landfill.
Then came Operation Empty Freezer. Despite the removal of 28 frozen bananas (and the 8 or so my brother-in-law also found), the chest freezer was really full. Cream puffs, frozen waffles, meat, milk, butter, lots of plums from the tree (so happy). And yes, 5 more frozen bananas. I knew someone would forget a cooler, and a styrofoam cooler appeared on the free table at work this week. Kismet. I filled it with meat.
The vegetarian nephew got the cream puffs. The non-vegetarian got all of the meat and the ancestral bait (two kinds). The estranged nephew gets bupkis (no art, no bait, no love) and his brother gets the admonition that none of what he's taking can go to his brother. Sadly the vegetarian is undeserving of having to pass on this message, but that's how it is.
While I was cleaning out the fridge, Coco came to visit. I'm sure that I've said this before but I'm not sure I could have gotten through this final stretch at mom's house without the affection of sweet Cocodee, who appears in the middle of the house at the most random times. If you're her parents, doing a Google search on your cat's name, I apologize for monopolizing her time during this spring and summer.
The boys got their art and sent another neph, his wife and our grand-nephews, who arrived a few hours later. That neph walked away with a chest of drawers, some Indian wool rugs, the pop's old fishing kit with real tin cups and stuff, and on a later date mrguy will deliver the jade panels that didn't fit in the truck.
I emptied the toy drawer of its mix of late 60's (mine) and early 80's (the nephs') toys.
And that was almost the end of it. The garage is filled with garbage bags, the garage cabinets are empty, most of the furniture is out of the house, and our entire mr and mrs guy garage is filled with the things from the house that the greater guy family cares about.
Wow.
First the labor. Their task, should they love the grandma and waffles, was to remove the solid oak desk from the office. I have lived in terror of this moment from the time the desk entered the office, because my pop had said that it could only leave in halves. Youngest neph brought his Sawzall.
But the local garbage folks' "bulky item pickup" rules consider two halves of a once whole desk to be *two* bulky items, so mrguy vetoed that plan. And given that mrguy's other name is pack-man, he and two nephs were able to get the desk into the patio without a hitch.
Then came Operation Empty The Office. Out went some cool weird furniture and some future landfill.
Then came Operation Empty Freezer. Despite the removal of 28 frozen bananas (and the 8 or so my brother-in-law also found), the chest freezer was really full. Cream puffs, frozen waffles, meat, milk, butter, lots of plums from the tree (so happy). And yes, 5 more frozen bananas. I knew someone would forget a cooler, and a styrofoam cooler appeared on the free table at work this week. Kismet. I filled it with meat.
The vegetarian nephew got the cream puffs. The non-vegetarian got all of the meat and the ancestral bait (two kinds). The estranged nephew gets bupkis (no art, no bait, no love) and his brother gets the admonition that none of what he's taking can go to his brother. Sadly the vegetarian is undeserving of having to pass on this message, but that's how it is.
While I was cleaning out the fridge, Coco came to visit. I'm sure that I've said this before but I'm not sure I could have gotten through this final stretch at mom's house without the affection of sweet Cocodee, who appears in the middle of the house at the most random times. If you're her parents, doing a Google search on your cat's name, I apologize for monopolizing her time during this spring and summer.
The boys got their art and sent another neph, his wife and our grand-nephews, who arrived a few hours later. That neph walked away with a chest of drawers, some Indian wool rugs, the pop's old fishing kit with real tin cups and stuff, and on a later date mrguy will deliver the jade panels that didn't fit in the truck.
I emptied the toy drawer of its mix of late 60's (mine) and early 80's (the nephs') toys.
And that was almost the end of it. The garage is filled with garbage bags, the garage cabinets are empty, most of the furniture is out of the house, and our entire mr and mrs guy garage is filled with the things from the house that the greater guy family cares about.
Wow.
August 4, 2015
Polka Party
Tonight my mom asked me if I was going to get straight into my jammies. I told her I might.
After jury duty last Tuesday I spent all weekend at the Ancestral Manse, packing and sweating and eating at Mr. Pickles. I can't tell you how much pleasure Mr. Pickles gives me. The dewy-fresh youngsters who make my sandwich just right are adorable. Being there in their midst transports me to the restaurant where I worked during my senior year in high school. Life seems so simple when I'm there listening to heavy metal and waiting for my sammy. The last thing I will do when I leave my home town is to get a sandwich at Mr. Pickles, eat it, and walk over to the church across the street and ask about its architecture. More on that later.
Over the weekend I clarified what was on offer to the auction house. My family had decided to keep the Asian art because it's not worth what we've been insuring it for all of these years. When I notified the auction house that we were keeping the Asian stuff, they politely gave us the finger, which caused certain persons to say that we should put the stuff in storage. Argh. I get that my house is the baleen of the family now, but I'm so pooped and have so little time left. Oh man.
By this morning I was allowed to offer some Asian art to the auction house and we're now back in business. omg. This is my life now. And I really want to be working and playing with my mama.
Anyhoo, back to my sweet mama's observation. My current relaxation is to sit in the chair of my father and grandfather and listen to records from our Tribunal list and reject, reject, reject terrible ones.
Finally, some control.
After jury duty last Tuesday I spent all weekend at the Ancestral Manse, packing and sweating and eating at Mr. Pickles. I can't tell you how much pleasure Mr. Pickles gives me. The dewy-fresh youngsters who make my sandwich just right are adorable. Being there in their midst transports me to the restaurant where I worked during my senior year in high school. Life seems so simple when I'm there listening to heavy metal and waiting for my sammy. The last thing I will do when I leave my home town is to get a sandwich at Mr. Pickles, eat it, and walk over to the church across the street and ask about its architecture. More on that later.
Over the weekend I clarified what was on offer to the auction house. My family had decided to keep the Asian art because it's not worth what we've been insuring it for all of these years. When I notified the auction house that we were keeping the Asian stuff, they politely gave us the finger, which caused certain persons to say that we should put the stuff in storage. Argh. I get that my house is the baleen of the family now, but I'm so pooped and have so little time left. Oh man.
By this morning I was allowed to offer some Asian art to the auction house and we're now back in business. omg. This is my life now. And I really want to be working and playing with my mama.
Anyhoo, back to my sweet mama's observation. My current relaxation is to sit in the chair of my father and grandfather and listen to records from our Tribunal list and reject, reject, reject terrible ones.
Finally, some control.
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