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  • Making the Right Choice Requires Asking the Right Questions

    There are some lessons that just seem not to stick, that I have to keep learning over and over again.  I seem to have relearned one of those lessons this week, and it revolved around that issue of a desk and a chair.  Such a simple thing isn't it? Or at least it should be.  It seems however, that for me at least, sometimes the biggest lessons are learned from the smallest things.

     

    I was looking for a desk through the eyes of I-as-part-of-a-we, or through the mindset of my former life.  I recall that during the first six months or so following George's death I was struggling with identity, and it was a puzzling experience for me.  I had thought that I knew who I was.  I had strong opinions about many things, and generally  knew what I liked and what I didn't.  Or so I believed.  

     

    In retrospect I see that it was not so simple really. I could see that during those years I was caring for George, I was also struggling with my own frustrations and, sometimes, animosity toward the role of caregiver. I was struggling with how to fit this new perception of my place in the world with my prior perceptions of myself as seen through my marriage, my career, and my role in the world prior to this great reversal. Although George and I shared a sense of the importance of steadfast responsibility and loyalty, there were times when I struggled with having to always be the strong one, the rock, the protector, the comforter.  I wanted to be protected again, to be comforted, to be understood, and there were days, weeks, months even, when the protection and comfort and understanding of God seemed far, far away. Yet although I craved comfort, I was afraid to be vulnerable, afraid that if I opened my heart I would fall apart and not be able to live up to the responsibilities that bound me.

     

    It is apparent, to anyone who has followed my blogs over the years, that during that time I was struggling to define and understand myself, and that I was not quite ready to accept the need to do so.  I was clinging to the known for fear of getting lost in the unknown. In retrospect, perhaps I was not asking the right questions. I was struggling from a position of "I want" and "I can't" rather than a position of "I can" combined with "I need".

     

    Although I did eventually let go and let vulnerability and faith back in, and I was beginning that process of transformation and rediscovery before George died last May, I was still very much in in a place in-between.  And yet I thought I was firmly established on a path toward my future self, even while still acknowledging that my life was in many ways a precarious balancing act between a past and a love that was rapidly fading into the mists and a future life that could not quite be achieved. I was not prepared for the way that George's death would plunge me even deeper into that act of questioning.  I was unaware that this one great loss could wrestle up from the depths all those past losses I thought I had resolved, but in fact had only shelved. I had not realzed that this questioning, this becoming, would force me to face my life and see how the world as I experienced it had shaped and altered that person who I was born to be into the person I had been. Nor had I realized that if I truly wanted to move forward, rather than opt out and rest upon some shady bank along the way, I needed to resolve and reintegrate these various aspects of self: the self I was born to be with the self I am in the world.

     

    So how does this affect the choice of a desk, you ask?

     

    Each thing we do in the world, each choice we make, even the choices we refuse to make are a reflection of the complex mapping of ourselves, our history, our place, and our time.  We exist in the world, and although we are unique, we are also complexly shaped by the world in which we live.  Of course, most of the time, we simply live in the world and do what we need to do with little angst.  But occasionally we stumble, and although sometimes we simply right ourselves and move on, sometimes we manage a glimpse of something more.

     

    My search for a desk helped guide me to a few basic realizations:

    • First I should not chose a desk because it was one my husband would have also liked, because it would have fit our life, our style, our place in the world.  
    • Nor of course should I take the reactionary "I always liked x, but he hated it" tack which I see as the foot-stamping, temper-tantrum induced I-want-what-I-want-and-no-one-can-change-it stage, a stage that is not necessarily true to the self but a reactionary, oppositional choice.
    • I had to address the WHY of my search for a desk, a question that proved far more complex than I had imagined, tied up as it proved to be with my own definition of who I am now.  After all, although my current desk is not ideal, I have been using it for several years. So the question was begging to be asked:  Why do I need a new desk?
    • When I was working with computer clients, going to grad school, and designing databases and computer systems I used a large desk that basically consisted of a door atop a couple of file cabinets.  I could spread out my books, printouts, and ages of materials perfectly happily.  But  although I loved that career, and at times I have struggled with wanting to update or refresh a few programming language skills or application skills, and although I've often considered looking into reinstating my IEEE and ACM memberships because I miss the connections and learning opportunities they provided, I realize they do not reflect a career path I wish to resume.  They are a part of who I am but they do not define where I am going.
    • When I first worked in medical billing, and even as an office manager, I had a very small desk, not much bigger than a student desk. It was too small.  I was surrounded by piles. When we moved the practice and I moved into a more comprehensive administrative role, I needed a larger desk.  But, once again, although I loved my work, loved learning new things and mastering skills I had not appreciated I possessed, I am done with medical practice administration.  I have no desire to go back.
    • I bought my current desk when I retired to care for my husband. In many ways it is a desk that seems like an afterthought, something I needed, but which did not warrant much space, or thought.  I needed a place to put a computer, to pay bills, to write. But although I had published a couple of poems in minor journals while I was in my twenties, and an essay around the same time; although I journaled extensively and wrote a couple of blogs,  I did not consider myself a writer

     

    It seems it has taken me this long to accept that this is who I am today, and that accepting who I am means accepting that I need a space that works for what I do.  I am a writer.  It may not be all that I am.  The majority of what I write may be only for myself but that doesn't matter.  I don't need external reassurance to prove that I am who I am.  I accept that I write.  I accept that if I don't give myself time to write I become grumpy and small and cannot be generous with other people because I cannot be generous with myself.  I need to accept that I will always spend a lot of time at my desk.  I need to accept that this is a part of who I am and it is deserving of attention.  

     

    So,I simply went out and bought a desk.  It will not be here for two weeks.  It is not either of the desks I showed you in that last post.  I could ask what I was I thinking, but it is apparent I was not thinking as myself.  

  • Dreary Monday and the Search for a Desk

    Well, truthfully I don't know if it is dreary yet as the sun is not yet up.  It may prove to be a glorious day.  But at the moment I feel dreary.  Yesterday was a busy day and I didn't drink enough water or go for a walk, opting instead to curl up on the sofa with a cat and my knitting.  This morning I have a fair amount of sciatic pain, am plagued with a mild cough, congestion and a sinus headache and am generally dragging myself around the house without enthusiasm.  This is the opposite of my normal state of early morning energy and efficiency. 

    So what measures can be taken to improve the situation? A hot shower is always a good start and gauranteed to open up the sinuses.  After that, I would say that I spent too much time at my desk last week, and I should be doing other things today.  

    What kind of things?

    A4ed59705a21957c560dc8199e9d113dWell, I could go buy a new desk chair, since the one I am using is uncomfortable and surely is not helping my back.  My Aeron chair moved upstairs for use at the sewing table, perhaps prematurely, as I am spending more time at my desk than at my sewing machine, and it is too heavy for me to move it back down.  The chair I am using is something I let a salesperson convince me would fit my back better, and it was significantly cheaper.  I suppose it is remarkable that the salesperson tried to sell me the cheaper chair, but it was a waste of money because I still have to go back and buy the Aeron, which is the best desk and sewing chair that I have ever owned.

    So, if I can run downtown and pick up a new chair, why haven't I done so?

    I was prepared to run right out and buy a chair in early January. But I also need a new desk.  My current desk is too small.  It is the perfect length for my use, but at a mere 18" depth, it does not quite offer enough surface space, especially on those occasions I must share my workspace with a feline companion.  

    Bddfdff1947ba5651b59101284ef2315Since I know the chair I need, it makes sense to buy it first and get a desk that works with the chair. But then I saw the Elizabeth Writing Desk by Redford House, which can be made in a tarnished silvery-gray color, and it occurred to me that a grey desk with a light grey Aeron chair would look lovely in my office, which has white bookcases on three walls.   

    This desk fits my requirements. It is exactly the right size.  It has drawers, which I am currently lacking.  And I like the cabriole legs, which will look pretty with the molding and trim in my office.  

    So I was stymied over the question of color.  Which color Aeron chair should I purchase?  Dark or Light? All would have been simple if I could purchase the Elizabeth Writing desk locally. But I can't. I would have to buy it online or through a decorator.  It will take time.  I don't know enough about furniture manufacturers. I can't see it or touch it first.

    So doubts began to set in. 

    5b5c6e492f25c11a64ab4d1cbab9535dThose doubts were confounded because I also like this desk by Julian Chichester, which I discovered last fall.  At that time I was thinking of putting my office in a larger room, and I thought it might be too dominant in the small office.  But it is available through a local store and I am more familiar with the manufacturer's other pieces (although I want the smaller version which will have to be ordered).  

    Plagued by indecision, I simply buried my head in other things and avoided the issue.

    Perhaps today I should go out and look at actual desks in local stores, to see if I find something that I like as well or better than either of these choices.  If not, I need to make a decision.

    Daylight. Time to get going. Procrastination gets me nowhere.

     

    photo credits:

    1. Aeron Chair from the Herman Miller Website: Here.

    2. Elizabeth Writing Desk. Redford House. Here.

    3. Julian Chichester Cortes Desk. Here.

     

  • A Peek Inside The Vanity

    Sometimes it is the simplest things that bring the greatest joy.

    IMG_0547For example, the other day I found myself stopping at JoAnn Fabrics.  I wasn't planning on stopping at JoAnn, but there I was and stop I did.  While wandering around, for no reason other than that I was there, I saw a package of small plastic pots meant for storing paints.  It occurred to me that they might solve a problem I was having with lipstick storage.  

     

    Actually, they worked better than I anticipated.  I had expected that I would need to glue the cups to some sort of backing to keep them stable, but they just fit tightly between the dividers already in place.

    Photo-1Everything is easily at hand and exactly where it is supposed to be.  My lipsticks don't fall over when I open the drawer and I can easily see each one.

     

    It may be a sign of some kind of neurosis, but I like being able to see things and find them easily.  I hate rustling around in drawers that are too full with too many unneccessary things.

     

    Or perhaps it is just that my idea of what is necessary is changing. I've come to the point that I don't want to keep a bunch of stuff around, even the kind of stuff that tends to clog bathroom cabinets and drawers.

     

    Of course I am not so evolved that I think 8 lipsticks is at all excessive, not to mention the pile of glosses in the cubby to the left.

     

     

  • Eyes Wide Open

    I raised the shades the other day and I've been enchanted with the light and the view ever since. (pardon my inadequate late-afternoon cell-phone photo.)  Its not that there is anything particularly lovely outside (there is not) but just that Ilike the light, and the fact that the shades are up and the house is open rather than shaded.

    IMG_0451

    The windows in this room, and the screened in porch beyond it, were one of the things that sold me on this particular house but for the last year, the blinds have been primarily kept closed.  George grew so he hated the feeling of the sun on his skin, and became increasingly paranoid about being in the light so we installed blinds, not opaque blinds, translucent ones, and the light was always filtered.  Granted, George would sit in the brightest corner, a point from which he could see everything going on in the house around him, that same bright corner currently occupied by the caramel-colored barrel chair.  That corner was formerly occupied by George's reclining chair (photo here), which he called the elephant, and which I had to remove as its presence became something of an elephant in the room after his death, where it seemed concentrate all the emptyness and lonliness of the house.

    The elephant chair, and the closed blinds, were, in some ways, physical representations or symbols of the closing in of George's world, the way the world as a whole was falling away and the present was becoming smaller and smaller.  I recognized the need to eliminate the elephant immediately, although it took me a few days to find the right arrangement of furniture to fill the void left by its absense.  And yet, it did not occur to me to open the windows until last week.  I simply floated around in that filtered light, cocooned until it occurred to me that the goal was not to fold myself inward, but to open my eyes and look outward.  It was time to let in the light.

    Now, I love to sit in that corner in the afternoon with a cup of tea and the mail, reveling in the light, often with a cat on my lap.  Sometimes while I sit I think how happy I am, sitting in this corner in this chair, and I recall, with some amusement, that these two chairs barely made it from New York.  I wanted to leave them behind and was talked into keeping them at the last minute.  Once here, they didn't seem to fit anywhere and I was constantly fretting with them and shifting them hither and yon, until now, where they seem to have found the perfect spot.  

    How much of our move has followed this same pattern? Indeed, is this not true of much of life?  We are always moving forward, and yet we try to shape the world to our preconceived notions of what we think we want.  And yet past experience is not necessarily predictive of the shape of future events.  Different places, different people, different interactions, allow the light to reflect off different facets of our complex and multi-faceted personalities.  As we grow in experience we can allow ourselves to be open to the new, to let go of expectation.

     

    At least this is what I hope.  I'm still working on that one.  I tend to be the fruit that clings to the tree, and yet I don't want to cling until I am too soft to bounce once I do fall. 

  • The little matchbox girl grows up.

    6402303Once there was a girl who liked to build furniture for her Barbie dolls.  She started with match boxes but then her repetoire grew and included all kinds of bits and pieces from around the house, including empty thread spools and scraps of fabric.  She started counting her pennies and saving bits of her allowance to go peruse the aisles of the local art store, as well as the Ben Franklin, where her head would be filled with dreams and she would find many treasures.

     


    Screen Shot 2013-07-17 at 10.20.35 AMAnd then she grew up and went to college, met a man, fell in love and got married.  But the husband came with a house, a house imbued with the history of a family lost.  The old, the dated, even the broken and nonfunctional was caught up in this dysfunctional history, a history that, she was to learn, was long and convuluted.

     


    BIL_CRYSBALLThat girl, a woman now, was me, of course.  And for a long time that little girl who built matchbox furniture was lost to me.  But the story of how she was lost, for how long, and why is another story, not the story I wish to tell today.  Today I am simply happy because she is back.

     

    However the world has changed and I am no longer playing with matchboxes.  Rather, realizing that I was floundering somewhat, and didn't quite know what I was looking for, much less where to start, I been virtually shopping on the world wide web and gathering my ideas on Pinterest.  Internet-shopping and pinning was a great way to pass the downtime while I was in Dallas at my mom's for a couple of weeks, and it also helped me to focus, both in a broad general sense, in terms of what appeals to me now, and eventually in a more focused way in terms of what I want to do with the house in Moss Creek and where to look when I actually start shopping.  I'm not the worlds busiest pinner.  And the way I look at the world, and the things in it, is very context driven, but I still can't say that my style fits in any particular category.  

    8WnXO7TnvJOvIHD1July is my play-time month. I seem to be traveling half the month and running around the other half with little time to work on projects.  But I do have fantasy time and this play time is helping me refine ideas and organize what I need to do next.  I don't quite know what the results will be the process is a lot of fun.

     

    Photo Credits:
    1. Diamond Match box from menards.com.

    2. Holland and Co. Dandy Console from Lee Jofa.

    3. Crystal Ball Pendant Light from Circa Antiques.

     4. Table by Jeff Johnson. 

     

    You knew I'd have to throw something modern in the mix, didn't you? I'm just ornery that way sometimes.  Too much homogeneity dampens the spirit.

  • Little by Little

    A lot has been accomplished in the last month.  Oddly enough most of it calmly, without stress, although I have had my moments when I have reverted to my previous self-stressing mode of existence.  In July I experienced a moment of clarity and since then I have tried to find calm, tried to create a feeling of calm in my life and my home.  Not surprisingly once I stopped struggling with myself, everything I was fighting for came more easily.

     

    I am really not sure where I am going at the moment, but at the same time I am not worrying about it. And I certainly don't know how this blog is going to evolve and it seems strange to admit to that I will continue writting but I don't have a plan or a purpose or a goal.  Aimlessness seems so anti-modern and yet  I know I will get somewhere.  But I am tired of struggling with what I think I should write, tired of struggling with the persona I think I should project.  I am willing to evolve.  There, I can't believe it took me four weeks to get up the nerve to write that.

     

    On the practical side, I have finally wrested my office into a manageable space even if I am still not completely unpacked.

    IMG_7591

    I put cat perches up on the wall. Sometimes Moisés likes to perch up on the high curve and stare-down at me, Garfield-like, while I type here at my computer.  More often though he just lounges in the lower curve content to have his own space high above everyone else. I like that they add a sculptural quality to the room, filling in the empty space and making it feel more finished.  

     

    As you can see, I still have boxes of unpacked paperwork on the floor, waiting to be sorted, scanned, and filed.  There is another box on the opposite side of the sofa, at least adding a bit of symmetry. But this is manageable. I like things to have a place to live, even if it is a basket in my desk or a box on the floor. It annoys me that  I don't really know what to do with the large blue triangular pillow standing in the corner.  G needs it for his physical therapy which he does on the office sofa, and truthfully, I find it a nice place to rest my head while I peruse a magazine and sip an espresso on those days I am felled by the 4 o'clock slump. Perhaps I will like the pillow more once I cover it in something more appealing than hospitaliesque blue cotton.

     

    Which may happen soon.  My goal is to have a small working studio set up in one of the upstairs rooms by the end of the week.  I have to assemble the shelves so I can start unpacking fabric.  I at least have to move the fabric boxes once the shelves are assembled so that I can put up a table and a sewing machine.  Maybe even an ironing board.  I can sew amid boxes but I can't sew if I can't press.

     

    I might be too ambitious.  It may be early next week before the sewing room coalesces.  This week I am exhausted.   I finally decided I needed to join a gym.  Specifically, this is my third week of cross fit and it is the most difficult and rewarding thing I have ever done.  I am stronger already.  I stand straighter.  Yesterday, on September 11, we did a hero workout in honor of Navy Chief Petty Officer Mark Carter who was killed in Iraq on December 11, 2007.  Even the beginner modification was tough for me but I did it and when I began to lose focus I pulled myself together thinking of all the people who work harder than I can imagine working and sacrifice so much that I can live my safe little life.  Somehow by putting a name to the effort I felt I had to do best I could.  I pushed myself so far I thought I would throw up before I finished, so I pushed further and I did finish.  When I was done I discovered a moment of pure joy as I stood in the parking lot watching the sunrise.

     

    On the other hand, I think I can get that sewing space set up this week as planned.

  • Well Hello There

    Hello blog.  I haven't forgotten you.  I have thought about you.  But alas I seem to have a problem making that transition from intention to execution.  I hereby announce that I intend to work on this very problem, even I just type drivel until I get my blogging legs back.

     

    So here I am.

    IMG_7491

    In between writing my last two posts I was working on redoing two closets in the new house, transforming them from the standard single pole, single shelf  basic builder's closet into something more useful.  I redid the guest closet and got piles of boxes off the guest room closet floor, and turning the guest room into a comforting and welcome place just a day before my step son and his wife arrived for a week.  Don't worry the guest room is still nice.  I am intentionally not turning it into a storage center but keeping it as a guest room.  We will have house guests again in a little over a week, and I look forward to many more visits from family and, hopefully, friends in the future.  

     

    The closet shown above is actually in my office, which can also double as an extra guest room should the need arise, although it has less available space for the guests to actually unpack.  You can see my new purple purse on the shelf a little to the left of the basket drawers.

     

    It tickled my fancy that I happened to be installing the closets just as I was reading Eric Abrahamson's book, A Perfect Mess.  Truthfully I had already ordered the closet materials when I picked up the book, and although I am a firm believer in organization, I am not one who thinks that everything should be neat and tidy.  Well, truthfully sometimes I walk a fine line.  I do like things put away neatly.  And I admit that all my spices are in identical jars, neatly labeled, although I don't particularly worry about the labels being neatly lined up.  I like spontenaity.  I've learned that a bit of mess is more productive than a sterile environment but at the same time, I tend to think that if the underlying architecture of a system, whatever it is, has some structure to it, some organization, then everything can go crazy for a while without the whole system falling apart.  I've also learned that worrying about doing everything and organizing everything and scheduling everything is just another face of fear, a way to close a door, a way to justify not tackling some particular challenge for fear of losing or getting hurt, a way of building walls.

     

    Or that is what I tell myself.  I am sure this is just another one of my personal myths,  the stories that we as humans tell ourselves to get through our days.  But I'm not quite ready to give up my personal myths yet.  

     

    Anyway the book is good.  It is interesting.  It is not going to tell you how to organize your life.  Nor is it going to tell you that total disorganization is the greatest things since sliced bread.  Abrahamson might say that disorganization may be more efficient than hyperorganization, but then again it may not.  Either way it is an interesting read and lead this reader to think about when organization has worked and when it has failed, sometimes in interesting and spectacular ways.

     

    Otherwise, since all that building and fretting I wrote about before I have been busy entertaining, and recovering from sinuses or a cold or a whatever-it-may-be-dragginess-congestion-and-intermittent-fever thing.   I would sit down with G to watch the Olympics only to wake him from a deep slumber and bring his caregiver running in from the next room when I would fall asleep and my head would fall back against the wall with a resounding thud. 

     

    I am better now.  And I am more determined to try to pick up the little threads of my interests and activites and knit them into something more coherent.

  • Returning to Normal

    I seem to be winning the battle against the ants, and therefore a small bit of calmness is taking hold.

     

    I have also rearranged my office, moved this bookcase to the guestroom and put shelves up on the office wall.  Unfortunately I made an error the first time and the shelves came down and had to be reassembled but all is in order now.

     

    Posting shall resume shortly.

  • Vodka as household necessity

    IMG_7211

    When I was in Texas back in February, G was not the only member of my family who was unhappy that I had gone away.  Sam too expressed his displeasure by peeing on the sofa in my office.  He had done the foul deed before, and I was fit to be tied, and one of my first tasks upon my return was googling such fascinating subjects as "cat pees on furniture" which proved to be worthwhile as I learned about the usefulness of vodka, to whit:  

        Cats don't like the smell

        It removes odors

        It removes stains

     

    After I poured vodka in a spray bottle and liberally dosed the scene of the crime, I was shocked at how good my pale gray sofa looked, all the rings and pee stains almost magically disappeared. I put the vodka aside and forgot about it. 

     

    Until last week when I was despairing over stains that were not coming out of linen napkins and thoughts that I might have to resort to special actions such as:

            using only paper napkins

            keeping two sets of napkins, one marked G,and one for general use, or 

            using linen napkins myself and giving G only paper napkins, further stigmatizing him,

    when it occurred to me that I still had a bottle of vodka in the house, and if it worked on a sofa it might just work on badly stained napkins.  After all, what did I have to lose (except some good vodka).

     

    So I doused the stains with the vodka and allowed them to sit.  Then I put the napkins in their normal pre-treat enzymatic bath for a few hours, then washed them.  They came out mostly stain free, and they ironed beautifully as well.  Well linen usually irons beautifully and perhaps they just seemed special because I was so happy, but I do think they ironed up just a little more crisply than usual, but not at all as stiff as if I had starched them.

     

    Now of course, I used good vodka in this experiment because that is what I had in the house in the mistaken idea that I should have vodka that I like to drink.  This sounds good except that I really don't drink vodka.  I would be surprised if I drank vodka twice a year, and then probably only when I am out, not at home.  So the next bottle will be your basic cheap vodka.  I am sure it will work just as well.

     

  • Reflect, Reflecting, Reflection

    Yesterday I actually managed to cross more items off my list than I added, enough that the list seemed visibly shorter.  Today not so much, although I did managed to cross off three items while I adding only two

     

    IMG_7126One of those items was finally getting a mirror, which is now leaning against a wall in the guest bedroom, still in its box, although fully functional. Here I am checking it out immediately after bringing the mirror into the house wearing items that have become basics in my wardrobe since moving to Knoxville.  Although I had a couple of these pieces before moving, I probably wouldn't have worn them together before, I don't know why. Perhaps  I just fret less now. 

     

    Elieen Fisher tee (2012)

    J Crew Skirt (2011)

    Michel Kors platform sandals (2011)

     

     

     

    I am not convinced that having the mirror will change  much in terms of how I am dressing. I feel like I have explored style and expectation and now I just want to get dressed.  Sometimes I'll get it "right" sometimes I won't, although the mirror will help me discern when things are way off, not that anyone else would be as critical as I myself tend to be.

     

    Having a mirror will certainly make it easier to take a full length photo, even with stacks of paintings still stacked up against the wall in the background.  I still think I find the camera more telling.  Something about the flattening and two-dimensionality of the photographic image, even a photo of me looking in a mirror, seems to impose a layer of separation between me and the image of me.  In the mirror I am far too prone to see my expectations of myself.  It will be useful however, when I start looking at the various items in my closet that I am not yet wearing, trying to weed out the keepers and the losers.