Some years back when James and I had purchased our lakeside dream home, we decided to splurge on a new bedroom set.
When he met me, I was still using the dresser my parents had bought for me when I was in high school, and then we used his late parent’s set. It was one of those blonde wood sets, and not really my taste. Our new set was very ornate: think Italian Renaissance/bordello. I liked to think even the very picky Borgias would have approved! And since it took a few years to pay off, I was not going to part with it easily once I moved.
Fast forward to my new life here in Virginia where I have a much smaller house. When the movers delivered my bedroom set from the storage unit, it quickly became apparent my king-sized bed, with the lush leather padded headboard, would not fit up the narrow stairs of my foursquare, never mind in my tiny new bedroom.
So I found myself shopping for a queen mattress set. I settled on a simple bed frame – not ornate but that was OK in my new world order where “bordello” or anything even remotely sexy in connotation would never be the order of the day. I managed to get the other bedroom pieces crammed into my room and into the guest room. Sometimes, the fecund lushness of the pieces seem to mock my solitary existence, but screw it.
As I was laying in bed this morning, I was thinking about how I went from a king to a queen – thanks to my husband’s untimely death (is there a timely one?). No longer do I roll over to see my husband, already awake and smiling at me (not sure if that was due to fondness…my snoring or both).
So this morning as I am want to do, I shed a few tears thinking about where my life has brought me since he died. My rational mind nibbles at me like a rat: “You are a lucky girl!” Lucky to have a nice home in a wonderful new town. Lucky to have family nearby. Lucky to be starting a new job next week, after almost a year of unemployment.
But my emotions (I see these as a soft, fuzzy hamster) keep me pining for that king bed and the life it once represented as a married woman. A person who used to wake up with the self-satisfied assurance that she would not be alone. Never alone.
They say (whoever they are/is) the grief stricken should wait at least a year before making any life-changing decisions. I agree with that thought as long as finances are not in play that would hasten someone’s decision to say, downsize and sell the family home.
My time these past few months has been eaten up with listing and selling the home James and I purchased about 4 years ago. We only had a short time here together and were just getting into a rhythm which frankly, was true of our marriage as well. We’d started to work out the kinks and make peace with the minor annoyances that crop up in any committed relationship (emphasis on committed!).
About a year ago my sister Mary and I made a pinky swear to move to a smallish town in Virginia once we sold our homes. My house has sold almost immediately, and I am left swirling with even more decisions such as finding an apartment while I house hunt, where to store a house full of belongings and a million small details in between.
Mary and her husband live in rural Tennessee and may have a long slog getting to the home sale finish line. My journey has started. UGH! I have decidedly mixed emotions about leaving New England for the Shenandoah Valley. My heart is here with my friends, but I also miss being near my immediate family and look forward to more time with them.
I’ve already learned a butt-ful in a short amount of time about the ins and (mostly) outs of planning a move and so will on occasion, share a few tips I hope others find useful. Perhaps like me, there are late night trawlers of Google search on topics such as: “Should I get a storage unit that is climate controlled or not spend the extra dough?
“Cinder block or metal storage unit walls – which is better?”
I’m also leaving an area where I could easily call 40 people to drop over for a dance party, to move to a town where I know exactly one person – my Virginia realtor. This should make for good blog fodder, right?
I recently watched a few episodes of the new Netflix show, “Tidying Up, with Marie Kondo.”
The show is based on the popular best-seller by the same said Japanese declutttering expert, who goes into people’s homes and helps them “find joy” with the objects within.
Continue reading “Closet case”
My sister sent me a text the other day that said she had a “cat question” for me.
I have earned the unofficial title of “the widow lady who lives alone with her cats” much to my dismay, although I do love my little charges as evinced in the Joey on the Lam debacle I posted about this summer. Continue reading “Saint Prances”
One study reveals that almost two-thirds of people who resolve to get healthy and fit in the new year give it up.
I’m not surprised by that at all. Following the excesses of the holidays, there is a certain “buyer’s remorse” over all of the bacchanal behavior we gave no thought to while immersed in the season of oversharing, overeating and overspending.
Continue reading “Stag nation”
When I was a kid my dad had a 1960’s white over green Volkswagen bus.
It certainly came in handy with four kids (I don’t count my oldest sister Anna, who had run off and eloped at that point). Continue reading “View from the back seat”
My job calls for some cross country travel.
It has been difficult this year, not just because flying is such a pain in the ass, but because of the compounded loss of my husband.
Continue reading “A reason to believe”
In ancient Egypt, tombs were a necessary part of the culture to prepare the dead for living in the afterlife. Depending on how rich you were they could be very well-appointed indeed, stocked with your possessions to ensure a comfortable existence in the next world.
Continue reading “Home is where the hard is”