Off Kilter - But Who Cares?

It’s no surprise that my schedule (schedule? I have a schedule?) is awry. Moving has a way of throwing all of one’s best laid plans into a tizzy. My grand plan in consolidating my three blogs was to write about Life in General on Mondays and Fridays, leaving Wednesdays for Write On, and Sunday’s for The Sunday Salon book talk. Last week, none of that really happened.

Oh well.

I’m seriously unflappable these days. That's surprising considering my life is about to go catty-wumpus with the final move about three weeks away, followed closely by my Grandson’s first visit to Michigan.

But just when I’d expect myself to be frantic, I’m feel like I’m floating -  simply doing what I can do and not sweating the rest. It’s a little bit like being on anti-depressants. Everything feels pretty darn good, and I want everyone I know to be there with me.

This is such a big departure for me, and I’m almost afraid to say it out loud lest I awaken the sleeping giants of anxiety and depression that usually haunts me whenever a big change is in the wind. For the first time in my life, I’m allowing myself to believe in signs, to follow my instincts.

And this overall sense of well being has to be a sign that everything we’re doing is right.

My presence on these pages is likely to be amorphous for the days and weeks ahead.

Just think of me - not with my nose to the grindstone - but wafting through cyberspace on a cloud of pleasant anticipation and contentment.

I wish I could beam you all up here with me.

The End of Summer

  In my mind, Labor Day weekend always marks the emotional end of summer.

The first imprecations of autumn have already begun creeping in. Though there will still be plenty of hot days, still be plenty of occasions for wearing shorts and sandals, there is an undeniable hint of chill in the morning air. Dusk falls faster and earlier. Clothes take longer to dry on the line.

Things are changing, friends.

This weekend I will put up my summer purse, lay aside my white sandals and shorts.

I will place mountainous pots of yellow mums on the front porch at Brookwood Court.

I will search out t-shirts and blouses in colors like sage and cranberry and ochre.

I will open a brand new spiral notebook, take out a shiny new pen for new stories to write.

Soon I will also cut back the dried hostas and daylilies for the very last time.

Wind up the backyard clotheslines, perhaps forever.

Put the old back porch chairs out front on trash day.

The emotional end of summer this year is also a rather emotional end of my last full season in this house. I am mindful now of all the things I do for the last time. There is still a sense of unreality to it, this moving business. Even though this week I emptied all the drawers in my writing room desk, transferred the clothes from the winter closet to the new house instead of to their home in my bedroom here. There are bags and boxes scattered throughout the rooms here, separated for trash, for donation, for re-homing to Brookwood Court.

When people ask me if I’ve moved yet, I keep saying that “it’s a process.”

Like the changing of the seasons, little things are happening which herald the big change to come.

Emotional endings, all around.

Distraction-less

This week I’ve been working at The New House while a very artistic friend (and neighbor, as it happens!) works her magic on the first floor powder room. She’s changed the walls from a shocking persimmon color to a very relaxing oceanic green. So when you open the door now you can sigh in relaxation rather than thinking “AWK!” and stepping backward. Anyway, while Ellen paints, I work upstairs in my new writing space.

And I love my new writing space.

But there is no internet in my new writing space.

And I’m beginning to love that about it even more.

This morning, in just about two  hours I completed a significant section of a work assignment, wrote a short piece for All Things Girl and prepared some interview questions for a Conversations Over Coffee I’m doing with one of my favorite blogger friends (nope, not telling who just yet).

PLUS, I did some clerical work for the theater company.

That’s right, in just about TWO hours.

You know why, don’t you?

There is no internet in my new writing space.

Granted, there was some information I needed for the work stuff that I couldn’t research without the internet. And I couldn’t email the interview questions, or type my article into the website for ATG without the internet.

Still, those pieces are easy enough to add into the puzzle later on.

I was able to accomplish SO much more without the internet to distract me.

Plus, I felt more calmer, more in control, more focused.

In fact, I think having the internet in a room is something like having the walls painted persimmon. It automatically sends you into a bit of a tizzy.

Rooms that have no internet are soft and relaxing, like the lush blue-green-grey tones of the ocean waves.

Tomorrow, while some very beautiful hand-painted stencilling will complete the look of my beachy powder room, I will have one more day to work free from the distractions of the internet.

And I will try to make the most of it.

The Sunday Salon: School Days

School days, school days. For me, school meant slick new notebooks and paper folders in all colors. Boxes of flinty pencils I could sharpen into lethal points. Backpacks in stylish colors and prints.

And books. Lots of books.

I didn’t even care that most of them were textbooks. I loved them all - the battered, well-thumbed history books passed down from year to year, the shiny new workbooks for French with lovely glossy photos of famous landmarks. With only one exception (math books) each tome thrilled me to the core.

Like many adults, I have fond memories of my school days and feel a tiny bit wistful when September rolls around. One of my friends finds herself with no children to send off to school for the first time in about 23 years. “How strange it feels to walk past the back-to-school displays and not need to make a single purchase,” she sighs.

Here’s my secret. I haunt the school supply aisles every year and stock up on notebooks, index cards, folders and pens. This year I splurged and bought colored markers and some blank white paper for drawing  doodling. My biggest bargain were spiral notebooks for 10 cents. I confess to going slightly crazy on that one.

But really, can you blame me?

So - as often happens - when I’m feeling a need for something I can’t satisfy in real life, I turn to books for my vicarious gratification.

Books about school. That should do it.

Book Riot put together a nice list of books about life at school (Six Books for Back to School). Most of these I’ve read, but I may go digging for my copy of Villette (since I’m on something of a classics kick these days) and re-read it.

Here are some other of my personal favorites:

A Separate Peace, by John Knowles, is definitely a look at the darker side of adolescence in a British boarding school, but it’s still a classic and important story about relationships for people of all ages.

Class Reunion, by Rona Jaffe, is the story of four girls who go to Radcliffe in the 50’s and go on to live interesting lives, then meet up again at their 25th reunion. (On a side note, if you go to the Amazon page for this book, you’ll notice that it’s out of print and a resale first edition will fetch a price of $199.00. And my husband doesn’t understand why I save books.)

Goodbye Mr. Chips, by James Hilton, traces a teachers long career at a British boarding school, and although it seems dated in some ways, it’s quite to true to the era in which I grew up, so it’s a nice bit of nostalgia for me.

Admissions, by Jean Korelitz, is a modern tale about 38-year-old Portia Nathan, who has avoided the past, hiding behind her busy (and sometimes punishing) career as a Princeton University admissions officer and her dependable domestic life. This was a fascinating look at life in the “Ivy’s”  from the administrative side.

So even though it’s hot as blazes outside today, I may crank up the air conditioning, put on my school sweater, and pretend it’s fall while I wander back to the halls of academe.

In books, that is.

How about you? did you love school or hate it? do you like revisiting your school days vicariously through novels?

Acclimating

They say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. How about teaching an old dog to like a new home?

We’ve been trying to acclimate Magic and Molly to their new residence by taking them over for brief periods of time and making it a purely fun occasion. They get treated with snacks of their favorite food (Cesar, which I call the McDonald’s of dog food). They find new squeaky toys hidden in various places. They get to go for walks.

We hope to make every experience in this new place a positive one.

But still, they’re nervous.

Especially Magic, who is the eldest.

In years past, they traveled with us to Florida on several occasions and were wonderful travelers, making themselves at home in any of the various hotels we stopped at along the way, and settling into the Naples house quickly and comfortably. But it’s clear they don’t quite get what’s going on here, why we drive over to this strange place every couple of days, why mom and dad are so eager to make it fun and keep using those high pitched “ain’t this grand” voices (like they use at the vet or the groomer’s).

Even I’m aware that I sound a little desperate, trying to cajole them into liking something just because I like it.

Magic wanders around the house with his plume-like tail dusting the floor, dogging my every step (pun intended) lest I disappear from sight and leave him behind in this weird place. Molly flops down on the chilled tile in the foyer, but persistently raises her head and stares at me with a worried expression, panting slightly for emphasis.

Truth be told, I understand their wariness only too well. How am I going to acclimate myself to all the changes that are about to unfold? As much as I want this and feel like it’s the right move at the right time, there’s no denying it’s an apocalyptic change in our lives. In all the packing and planning, it’s easy enough to forget that so many things will never be the same again. And for someone like me, who thrives on routine and safety and sameness, that’s a frightening concept.

I’ve been wearing my optimism and excitement like a shield, keeping my fears at bay. But somewhere inside me is a skittery old dog who isn’t quite sure what the hell is going on or whether she’s going to like it.

Learning new tricks isn’t always easy. But I do have one advantage over the canine members of my family. I have better recall of times when change has worked to my advantage. I have better recollection of my own abilities to overcome temporary hardship and come out happier on the other side.

I have the ability to reason - and so I understand that one moment of uneasiness or discomfort does not spell the end of the world.

And so we will persevere in our journey of acclimation to things new and different.

And look forward to our just reward in the end.