Master of Everything?

One of my personal blocks to achieving simplicity is simply the fact I have way too many interests. Anyone who knows me well knows I have too much I want to learn. My amazing parents instilled in me a sense of wonder and curiosity about the world. I also inherited their pride in a sense of accomplishment and work well done. I don't think I have been very effective in meshing those two ideas into a workable lifestyle.

There are some things I just want to know about because they fascinate me. These involve just facts, and they would require a certain amount of time to research and read about. Some questions, I know, I've bothered various family members with but still can't understand:
How do planes get up in the air and stay up? How do telephones work? How do microchips work? How can Google take one second to research a million sites? How can an ink cartridge in a printer spit out such precise patterns? How can people build such tall buildings? Why can't we predict earthquakes? How do they decaffeinate coffee and tea? How can you freeze human embryos without damaging them? How can telescopes see far into the galaxy? How does an electron microscope work? How do we know what an atom consists of? What is electricity?
How do they get glue in tubes? How do cameras work? How do headache medicines know it's your head that is hurting and not your foot?

Then there are other things I want to learn that are skills. I would like to be able to play the violin, the cello, and a wind instrument. I would like to be able to smock and to knit. I want to be able to do incredibly realistic-looking photo manipulation. I would love to learn to make wood furniture. I wish I could professionally frame pictures, refinish floors, and install carpet. I wish I could garden like my sister can. These too would require inordinate amounts of time to learn - just the basics. What time would I need to master them? Some people practice all their lives to perfect these skills!

The problem essentially comes down to one question. I have asked myself this question for years and cannot come up with a satisfactory answer. Would I rather be brilliantly proficient at one or two things in life, or would I rather be moderately competent in lots of things? Because it doesn't look like I can do everything wonderfully. Such a dilemma for a perfectionist! Such a conundrum for one who is determined to simplify.

Just think - If I concentrated only on quilting and let everything else go - what I could accomplish! The beauty I could create! The quantity of quilts I could make! The creativity I could release! I would be a master at quilting - but I would miss cross-stitching, singing, playing the piano, playing the harp, working with photography, making my own greeting cards, writing poems...

Sometimes I feel that I have made the decision to not make the decision - and that means I default to being moderately competent in lots of things. At least that's where I am now.

And I still don't understand how I can pick up a telephone in Maine and talk to my mother in Memphis. It's just too weird.

Button, button, who's got the button?

It would help us simplifiers if the manufacturing industry came "down" to our standards. I am constantly amazed at how many "bells and whistles" component every technological product has to possess. I realize it is now an old joke about nobody being able to program the VCR, but the pattern is truly insidious.

I have what was in the late 1980s a top-of-the-line computer sewing machine. I still don't know how to use all its features. And I don't sew often enough to remember them when I learn them.
Every time I have to sew a buttonhole, I must take out the instruction manual and look up the instructions. I have presser feet and specialized attachments I not only will never use - I haven't even learned what they are for.

In spite of all the wonderful tasks my serger will perform, I still use it mainly for finishing seams - and for you sewing-impaired readers, that is like asking Meryl Streep to act in a first-grade play.

We bought a new smaller microwave so it takes up less counter space in the kitchen while we are trying to sell the house. Does anyone really use all those features? Sheesh! I was trying to explain to Ed, my resident culinary expert, how to cook bacon in the microwave, and he dismissed my whole lecture, saying, "I don't want to know that stuff. All I use the microwave for is defrosting and heating up food and drinks."

I'm currently on a rampage about how they make remotes. Like most families, we have several remotes - TV remotes, VCR/DVD remotes, stereo remotes...even a remote to turn on a ceiling fan and light. Each remote is different, and each time I have to complicate my life by trying to remember how each one works. I know there are "universal" remotes out there but they are just as bad and I have never been able to get them to work right. Yet these remotes are supposed to be simplifying our life by allowing our lazy selves to manipulate the machine without getting up. I suspect our kids can't even remember the days we had to get up and walk over to the TV and actually change a channel manually.

The cordless phone is another "miracle of technology." What was that Paul said in the Bible? He doesn't do what he wants to do, and does what he doesn't want to do? Yeah, my cordless phone is the same way. It has functions I will never use and never learn, yet the function I use the most, storing numbers in the digital phone book, limits itself to 30 numbers. Let me tell you, I can list 30 numbers I need to store in less than a minute - and have numbers I still want to add - but I'm limited to 30. The rest I will have to look up or memorize, I guess. And this is simplifying?

The cell phone is no better. There are apparently a few buttons on the side of the thing that I am accidentally pushing when I handle the phone. I think one of them turns off the ringer, but I'm not sure. How in the heck does one pick up a tiny phone like that and not push anything on the outside?

The CD player in my Toyota is another wonder of technology. I still can't remember how to skip a track, etc., without pushing several buttons. Not good when I'm driving.

So is technology simplifying our lives or making them more complicated? Are we more productive? Are we less or more stressed?

I will admit here that, with all my recent rants about clocks, it gives me some satisfaction to look on the wall and see basically the same kind of simple clock I grew up with. Round, 12 numbers, 2 big hands, one little hand. It even has the same numbers I grew up watching. I'm so glad they didn't change the numbers. It's nice that some things never change...not yet, anyway.

Time...and time again

Time....I can't escape it, but I can't seem to make peace with it. When I was a child taking piano lessons, I had to play a song about a grandfather clock. I looked up the lyrics today:

Written By: Henry Clay Work
Copyright Unknown

My grandfather's clock
Was too large for the shelf,
So it stood ninety years on the floor;
It was taller by half
Than the old man himself,
Though it weighed not a pennyweight more.
It was bought on the morn
Of the day that he was born,
And was always his treasure and pride;

But it stopped short
Never to go again,
When the old man died.
Ninety years without slumbering,
Tick, tock, tick, tock,
His life seconds numbering,
Tick, tock, tick, tock,
It stopped short
Never to go again,
When the old man died.

In watching its pendulum
Swing to and fro,
Many hours had he spent while a boy;
And in childhood and manhood
The clock seemed to know,
And to share both his grief and his joy.
For it struck twenty-four
When he entered at the door,
With a blooming and beautiful bride;

But it stopped short
Never to go again,
When the old man died.
Ninety years without slumbering,
Tick, tock, tick, tock,
His life seconds numbering,
Tick, tock, tick, tock,
It stopped short
Never to go again,
When the old man died.

My grandfather said
That of those he could hire,
Not a servant so faithful he found;
For it wasted no time,
And had but one desire,
At the close of each week to be wound.
And it kept in its place,
Not a frown upon its face,
And its hand never hung by its side.

But it stopped short
Never to go again,
When the old man died.
Ninety years without slumbering,
Tick, tock, tick, tock,
His life seconds numbering,
Tick, tock, tick, tock,
It stopped short
Never to go again,
When the old man died.

It rang an alarm
In the dead of the night,
An alarm that for years had been dumb;
And we knew that his spirit
Was pluming his flight,
That his hour of departure had come.
Still the clock kept the time,
With a soft and muffled chime,
As we silently stood by his side.
But it stopped short
Never to go again,
When the old man died.
Ninety years without slumbering,
Tick, tock, tick, tock,
His life seconds numbering,
Tick, tock, tick, tock,
It stopped short
Never to go again,
When the old man died.

The idea of a clock tick-tocking someone's life away used to freak me out back then, and I must say it gives me a nervous feeling to read the lyrics again now.

I have previously written about my bumpy relationship with time, but lately I have noticed an exacerbation of one of my worst traits - wishing time away. It is such a horrible thing to do that I hesitate even to admit it. And the worst thing about it is - I must be successful, because every Thursday when I leave work for my weekend of Friday and Saturday, I think, "The weeks are going faster and faster...time is slipping by me." Yet, on Sunday through Wednesday, I spend much of the day watching the clock and getting irritated by the slow movement of its hands.

I have come to the realization that these days I hold the majority of my conversations with clocks. I get to work about 5:30 a.m., so about 8:00 I start wishing the time away. The clock is right over my computer. I am an excellent conversationalist, and I hold my own weight in the dialogue spinning around in my head. (The clock, however, never has much to offer on its end other than its relentless "tick tock.") Isn't it lunch yet? No, it's 9:00. Just 9:00?! It ought to be at least 10 by now! Then when I get home for lunch at 10:30, I start up my conversation with the living room clock. Whoa, there, slow down, buddy! I'm trying to eat lunch here! I'm trying to relax! Why do you have to be so efficient now? At work you were dragging your feet (OK...hands) and now that I'm home for lunch, you seem to finally summon up some energy.

Maybe my work clock is low on batteries. Maybe my home clock takes vitamins.

Maybe it's just me, but I don't like the idea of wishing away minutes, hours, and days of my life.
Sure, I'd rather be home than at work. Yes, I like my job all right, but at times it can be boring and stressful, and, again, I'd rather be home even on a good workday.

I have to keep myself in the moment. I have to realize that every moment is a gift from God. I have to somehow learn the art of being able to look forward to the future without pining for it, and in the process losing sight of the "now." Even when the "now" is uncomfortable, stressful, or just plain boring.

Tick-tock. The clocks are mocking me. They're getting ready to usurp the dandelions.

The Whitten Road Property

Two months and counting and still no offer on the house. Ed is having phone consults with Ritchie from Coastline Homes about every other day regarding the plans for the new house. Ed designed a modular home that will be perfect for our lifestyle and Coastline has taken his ideas and transformed them into architectural scale drawings. It's strange to see a house plan out of Ed's head take shape on paper.

We haven't built the new house yet, of course; we haven't even bought the property. We are "holding" the property - almost 3 acres of land in Hancock. That is where our hearts are, but our wallets can't get involved until we sell this house. This puts us in a kind of limbo. Limbo is not a pleasant place to stay for any length of time - trust me. The state of limbo is not conducive to patience. It instigates arguments. When one is in limbo, one is kept off balance just enough that moods alternate between fear and pessimism. Occasionally limbo will erupt into sheer panic. Gurunet defines limbo in this way:

Limbo in Roman Catholic theology is located on the border of Hell, which explains the name chosen for it.

How apropos, don't you think? Just on the border of hell!

Lately we have begun to call our 3 acres in Hancock "The Whitten Road Property." This may seem strange when you learn that it is not located on Whitten Road. It is not even near a Whitten Road. There's a story behind this, of course.

When we were living in Memphis, we joined a small Episcopal Church in the heart of the city. After we got involved in the functions of the church, we would always hear talk about The Whitten Road Property. It was discussed at coffee hour. It was on the agenda at meetings. It was mentioned in the announcements. We finally learned that this church, located well inside the city limits of Memphis, had several years prior bought some acreage on the outskirts of Memphis on Whitten Road with the intentions of one day moving the congregation out there. They never took specific steps to do that, but the intention was always clear that "in the future" they would build a new church on The Whitten Road Property. With all the talk, though, we got the feeling that it would never happen. It became almost like a joke to Ed and me. Decades - yes, decades later - they still have not moved. We occasionally wonder if maybe they ended up selling The Whitten Road Property. Or maybe that would have admitted defeat, and as long as they owned the land, they would keep hope alive.

Through the years, churches we have attended have blessed us with the opportunity to create countless inside family jokes. This week, it is the Trinity Syndrome that I am reliving.
Trinity United Methodist was another Memphis church. It was a beautiful old building with a graying congregation. The few children who were there stayed in a dingy little nursery in the basement. Finally it was decided that the nursery needed sprucing up. They decided to paint it. This was accomplished speedily with little effort. Uh-oh...the nursery looked great, they said, but did anyone notice how the adjoining hall looked ugly now that the nursery was freshly painted? Well, yes, they did. Something had to be done. So they painted the hall. Can you see where I am going with this story? After the hall, they painted the other basement rooms...and on and on and eventually the church underwent several thousands of dollars' worth of renovation encompassing the entire building including the sanctuary. You have to be careful when you start fixing up. It makes the rest of the area look really drab in comparison.

That's what I'm involved with this week, our 10th week in limbo. I started painting a few places in the house, and I can't seem to find a stopping place.

So I'm stuck in the Trinity Syndrome, thinking all the while about our Whitten Road Property. In the state of limbo, one must keep hope alive!

It's perfect!

I'll freely admit that I am a perfectionist - in some things, that is. Not in cooking and not in housekeeping, where I will ignore defects in the "finished product." In grammar and spelling and punctuation, however, I demand absolute perfection. No apostrophe where it shouldn't be, and its corollary, an apostrophe where it should be - that's one of my mottos.

Excepting grammar, I have come to realize that sometimes it's hard to determine when something is perfect. Other times, I just feel it. When I create a poem for a homemade greeting card, my rough draft is edited many times before it is finalized. I can't put my finger on it, but I just know when it's perfect. Sometimes that perfection is achieved in a few minutes; sometimes it takes days.

As a quilter, I have always treasured the quilter's tradition of having a deliberate defect or error in an otherwise perfect quilt. According to tradition, the error is a reminder that only God is perfect. Of course, I joke that my quilts contain more than the required defects, and they are definitely not on purpose!

Ed told me once the word "perfect" as used in scripture ("Be perfect, as your Father in heaven is perfect") means not the definition we assume, but means to be whole, complete. To be as it is supposed to be.

Caroline was over here on Friday. She continues to fascinate me in everything she says and does. I feel as if I am growing up all over again with her. (If I let myself loose to act as a kid, though, I am painfully reminded that I am an adult. Those climbing maze-like structures at the playground are definitely not made for a 50-year-old body!) Caroline loves this house. She loves the stairs, she loves the bow windows where she can wave goodbye to her mama, she loves the fact there are so many places to explore.

One of Caroline's favorite pastimes is to play with stickers. By "play," I mean she peels a sticker off its sheet of origin and sticks it on another piece of paper. I think she finds the challenge in this consists of being able to peel the sticker off in one piece without a tear and being able to adhere the sticker permanently to the paper and not her finger. On Friday, she found some stickers in her toybox here, expressed her usual joy over the discovery, excitedly accepted the green sheet of paper I offered her, and got down to business. I helped her peel off the first sticker. After she admired its beauty (which in itself made me chuckle; it was a gargoyle from Hunchback of Notre Dame), she transferred the sticker onto the green sheet of paper. Once it was secure, she inspected it, smiled, and said, "It's perfect!" For the next 15 minutes, she repeated the process, peeling each sticker off its sheet of origin and transferring it to the green sheet, and with utter satisfaction, saying, "It's perfect!" Of course, it wasn't perfect. Some stickers were torn. All were placed in a crooked manner. There was no rhyme or reason to the layout. But to Caroline, the whole thing was perfect. It reminded me so much of Genesis, where after creating the world, God looked at it and said it was good.

The scene was repeated in a way later when she sat on the steps to take off her sandals to prepare for her nap. She took each shoe off, then held her little feet out and wiggled them.
"Perfect!" she said. She reached down and pulled one foot close to her face and inspected it closely. She turned it over to look at the bottom. She did the same thing with her other foot. Then she put her feet together and wiggled her toes. "Perfect!" she repeated with enthusiasm. "I LOVE MY FEET!"

We're trying to get the house perfect so that a potential buyer will fall in love with it. Of course, it will never be perfect, and it is truly far from it. There are some things we will never fix because doing so would cost too much money. One room is a testament to the fact that paint has its limits in beautifying cheap paneling. The carpet we bought to replace the paint-stained carpet in the hallway was installed because it was inexpensive, not because of its color. We tried to clean out the dirt-floor basement yesterday, and I dare say that whoever looked at it would be amazed that we had accomplished anything, because it still looks like it needs a bulldozer.

Yes, this house will never be perfect. We can fall back on the old line that its imperfections give it character. We can remind ourselves that, after all, the house is over 100 years old. Every time I walk through certain areas in the house, I see more that we should/could do. Nothing is ever finished. The task of getting the house ready to sell will never be completed to our satisfaction.

Not to worry. Caroline loves this house just as it is. And she has high standards!

Attitude Part 2

I'm a complainer, unfortunately. A lot of it is done inside my head; some of it I actually say.
That has been bothering me recently. I think part of the lifestyle I am choosing to adopt is, as Oprah says, "an attitude of gratitude."

The next time I complain about having to get on the treadmill and exercise, I will be thankful that I can walk when others can't.

The next time I complain about my coworkers, I will be thankful I have a good job with great benefits and good pay, when others are out of work and have no insurance.

The next time I complain about having to clean and fix up this house to sell it, I will be thankful I have a roof over my head when others don't.

The next time I complain about gas prices, I will be thankful I have a car that works, when others have no transportation.

The next time I complain about my hair on a "bad hair day," I will be thankful I have a head of hair when there are women losing theirs to chemotherapy.

The next time I complain about a minor health problem, I will be thankful I have my general health when, as a medical transcriptionist, I see on a daily basis reports of horrible diseases and their effects.

The next time I worry about my kids, I will be thankful I was blessed with such wonderful children in the first place.

The next time I say, "I'm starving!" I will be thankful that is a hyperbole.

The next time I complain about Ed's annoying habits, I will be thankful he quit drinking over 20 years ago.

Life is good.

Simplicity versus kids

I have come to the conclusion you cannot have true peace, contentment, and simplicity if you have children. I'm trying valiantly to let go of my fears; in fact, my e-mail meditation was on that very subject today. What fears are involved in striving for simplicity?

In the first place, we have always tended to hoard. Why? Because we might need it someday!
Aha! Fear of being in want. This is true of my collection of quilt books as it is of my collection of rubber bands and clothes that no longer fit. I can't count the times Ed has told me, "I gave away that jacket two years ago and now I could sure use it." He then tends to want to replace the object, which, of course, defeats the whole purpose of paring down. We are trying to face this specific fear and transcend it.

Fear is closely connected to worry. Now here is where the kids come into the story! I worry about their relationships, their finances, their jobs. I worry about whether they are making the right decisions. I worry about their being involved in a car wreck. I worry about their health, their eating habits, their exercise habits, if they are seeing the doctor and dentist on a timely basis. I worry how loss will affect them, how grief will strike them. I worry that they will move far, far away and I won't get to see them....(Yes, Matt, this is about you, you West Coast dreamer!)

I just have two kids. I wonder if someone has, say, five kids, is their worry compounded? Or maybe my 2-kid worries stretch to fill the available "worry space"?

Then there's the idea of shopping. Buying and accumulating more is against everything we are trying to do for ourselves right now as we are downsizing. But the key words here are for ourselves. There's always a loophole in life, right? And I am the first one to take advantage of a loophole as fast as I take advantage of a cute denim pair of overalls with flower embroidery - on sale - in Caroline's size. I can (fairly easily) restrict things I buy for myself. But my kids and their spouses and especially my 2-year-old Caroline - that's where it gets hard.

My point is that once you have children, you have to work extra hard on simplifying, and I am not even sure it's possible to simplify as successfully as one could simplify without children.

My mother, of course, has mastered the art of simplifying for herself but not for her family. She will joyfully shop at the Goodwill for herself and send me an outfit from LL Bean for my birthday.

I remember that when Ed and I were in Weight Watchers once, some of the women were bemoaning the fact that their houses were filled with treats and it was too tempting for them to resist. The leader asked, "Why are there treats in the house?" One woman's answer underscored what I am trying to say here. She said, "Just because I'm on a diet, I shouldn't punish the children!" I remember at this point Ed turned to me and whispered, "So what is she teaching the children? To grow up as heavy as she is?"

Somewhere in my attempt to rein in my spending (and my effort to consider carefully what purchases I make) I must ask myself if my joy in showering Caroline with gifts may in effect be teaching her that "things" mean "happiness" and that "more things" mean "more happiness." She only a little girl, though! And most of what I buy consists of books - we all know how important those are.

{Sigh} Life is too complicated. Now I have to end here, because I have to get ready to celebrate the 27th birthday of our firstborn! I also have a little surprise gift for Sarah, and I got these cute Caillou books for Caroline...

That's a bunch of garbage!

It is a proven fact that the majority of people who decide to change their lives by living more simply also get more interested in the care and preservation of our environment. That has indeed happened to us. For instance, we bought canvas bags and now use those in the grocery instead of the plastic bags or paper sacks. We already recycle, even though our local town does not do anything, unfortunately, to encourage this practice.

For awhile, however, I have been considering the waste we generate, as a family and as a society. To illustrate: Today Ed and I ate at Wendy's for lunch. He got a combo meal with baked potato and I got a kid's meal and a small Frosty. Between the two of us, here's the waste we generated:

1. 10 napkins (half unused)
2. 3 plastic cups
3. 3 plastic cup lids
4. 2 straws
5. 2 foil burger wrappers
6. 1 small french fry cardboard container
7. 1 kid's meal sack
8. 2 spoons
9. 2 sour cream containers
10. 1 baked potato plastic container
11. 2 straw papers
12. 1 salt packet
13. 2 paper tray liners
14. 2 catsup miniature paper cups

That was just for us - 2 people. I then counted the other people eating in the restaurant. There were 30. Assuming each person had as much waste generation as each of us, it was easy to imagine the amount of trash this group of people generated. But that was just in 30 minutes. Now multiply that by the number of customers at Wendy's in our town today alone. Then multiply that by the Burger King customers, the McDonald's customers, the KFC customers, and every other fast food joint who served meals today in Ellsworth. Then multiply that to encompass the state of Maine - just for today. Then multiply that to encompass every fast food joint in the country today, then the world. And that's just for one day! It is totally incomprehensible to me how much trash that results day after day after day - just from fast food restaurants.

I felt so guilty about the waste. Then I read this:

In the world today more than 2 billion humans are now malnourished, and this is the largest number of hungry humans ever recorded in history (Neisheim, 1993; Bouis, 1995; World Health Organization, 1995)! Conceivably the numbers of malnourished will reach 3 to 5 billion in future decades.

I throw so much trash away without a second thought, and my belly is full. Suddenly I remembered a bumper sticker I saw once: Live simply, so others may simply live.

Living a life of simplicity, with integrity, is always expanded to include choices of how we spend our time, our money, our energy, the earth's resources, and yes, even whether we grab a handful of napkins at Wendy's and only use 5, or whether we only take the number of napkins we actually will use. Tiny decisions, global effects.

For those who are interested in some good tips on environmental responsibility, this is a good site: http://environment.about.com/od/greenliving/qt/ED05_waste.htm

Maybe Ed's not so crazy after all

Back in high school, a friend gave me a copy of The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran. It was a very popular book back then. (I hope I kept it when we gave away so many books!)

I just had to share the the daily meditation message I received in my e-mail today, as the quote is from that book. It reinforces Ed's desire to have a Timeless Room:

And the astronomer said, Master, what of Time? And he answered:
You would measure time the measureless and the immeasurable. You would adjust your conduct and even direct the course of your spirit according to hours and seasons. Of time you would make a stream upon whose bank you would sit and watch its flowing. Yet the timeless in you is aware of life's timelessness, and knows that yesterday is but today's memory and tomorrow is today's dream. And, that that which sings and contemplates in you is still dwelling within the bounds of that first moment which scattered the stars into space....

Kahlil Gibran
The Prophet

The people who send out these daily meditations always make an interpretive comment about the selected passage of the day. Here is what they said:

Time is an imaginary line, drawn by imaginary beings, to note their imaginary position. All that ever has been, or ever will be, is right here, right now, in this timeless moment.

The originators of the daily e-mail are Bert and Christina Carson, and their web site is
http://www.your-inner-peace.com/

A free subscription to the daily e-mail can be obtained here:

http://www.your-inner-peace.com/DI-Subscription.html

Their meditations are always thought-provoking and provide a brief moment of tranquillity at the beginning of my day. I believe they have an impact on my journey to simplicity, if only to focus myself on the direction I am trying to take.

As far as Ed being not so crazy....well, in this he's pretty smart. In other things...I take the fifth!

Family Forever

When we moved from Tennessee to Maine, it was a major ordeal to coordinate. We were moving three cars as well as all our possessions. In my experience, moving has not been fun. In fact, moving is something I dreaded whenever Ed was assigned a new church. When we decided to move to Maine, I made Ed promise me that we would never move again! Content in our eternal housing stability, it didn't take us long to fill up this 3-story house with stuff, more stuff, and even more stuff. It didn't matter - we'd never move again!

Alas, fate intervened. Rachel got married and left. Matt is getting married and has left. We looked around us and agreed that it's time to find a small, cozy home for us old folks.

How on earth did we not think this would happen? We knew our house was huge, and we realized our kids would grow up and move out - at least we realized it on a subconscious level. It was more comfortable (but definitely not realistic) to imagine that it would always be the four of us - because as much as I enjoy seeing my kids fall in love and get married, it is a major source of loss for me. I miss them.

We four have had so much fun in this house! Matt used to play basketball in the driveway. Once he had his whole class over after a school play in which he was narrator. We still laugh about the time he was downstairs and saw a girl walking on the railroad tracks and ran up to his room to get a better view, hopped right up on the windowseat and ran smack dab into the window frame. Ed told him even though his nose may hurt, at least he didn't run into the window pane and fall into the yard two stories down. Matt and I stayed up countless nights reading Pride and Prejudice and The Great Gatsby and The Jungle and Heart of Darkness. This house is where he recuperated from grueling jobs at Dunkin' Donuts and the grocery store. This is where he held his LAN parties - with computer cords snaking everywhere, even up to the third floor. This is where Matt finally grew taller than me. The pencil marks are still on the wall beside the sewing room door.

This house was a respite for Rachel, too. She was away in the dorms in Orono for most of our time here, but when she experienced stress with the College of Education at the university, it was here she could talk about it with us and sometimes cry. It was in this house that she watched countless football games on TV (along with Beverly Hills 90210). Here she played with her beloved Rusty dog, laughing when he climbed up on the couch to get a better view of a cat outside the window.

It was in this kitchen that Rachel proudly presented her new boyfriend, Chris, and I got to shake his hand for the second time (the first time was school open house years ago when he was Matt's science teacher). It was in our Timeless Room that Sarah and Matt excitedly told us their engagement news, after they returned from Schoodic Point where he proposed.

And it was here we continued the traditions for family Christmas. It may sound monotonous to outsiders, but these little rituals are what I will probably miss most. Daddy helps with lights, then leaves the rest to us until it's time for the angel on top. We have the annual argument of whether to use tinsel (Daddy likes it, Mama and kids don't). As we lift each ornament, we reminisce on its significance. Then we have another disagreement over the cardinals. Daddy thinks they are too old and disheveled and need to be thrown away. The kids absolutely adore those little birds and don't care how they look. So the birds manage to perch on the branches, slightly askew. We have another bird that is not a cardinal, and all its feathers have fallen off. The kids insist on its staying too. We humor them. The naked bird never stays upright. It ends up upside down within a few hours. Then before we open presents on Christmas Eve, we have to eat our special dinner of chili, cheese, and hard rolls. Rachel hates chili, but still insists on having it because it's tradition. She takes a few token bites. Of course, that's OK because on New Year's Day we have cabbage or greens and blackeyed peas and cornbread - a meal Matt hates.

I guess I can find consolation in the fact that these traditions started when the children were very young, and I know they will continue in our new house, and their houses as well, as they blend old traditions with the new.

Yes, we knew the children would grow up and move on, but having it actually happen catches us by surprise, in a way. They are our two important treasures. I hope their spouses realize how much we trust them to take care of our Rachel and Matt. I know Chris and Sarah are up to the challenge.

We will always be family. The family is just getting bigger. Now the house is ready for a new family to move in and start making memories. And Ed has promised me, that after this move, we will never move again!

Precious Dandelions

I don't know about the rest of the country, but it has rained here almost nonstop for over a week, and we are all pretty tired of it. I looked out the window the other day and saw the telltale signs - a yard covered with dandelions. Ed hadn't been able to mow the grass, and I was getting impatient. When we put the house on the market, I talked to Ed (OK, nagged Ed) about the importance of mowing the lawn. He hates to mow the lawn, and I can understand that. We have hills and slopes and rocks and sticks and bees and everything to make lawn mowing unpalatable, but with a "for sale" sign in the front yard, the lawn just has to be mowed on a regular basis now! And here he had the best, most valid excuse of all - it had rained and rained and rained.

I did notice how pretty the tulips and daffodils were, so many colors, so many shades. They are really gorgeous.

But those dandelions were everywhere. I think they were mocking me.

The next day 2-year-old Caroline came to visit. I was ecstatic that the rain decided to take a break and the sun was shining for a little while, and Caroline, as always, wanted to go outside and walk around the yard.

I said, "Look at all the pretty flowers!" Her eyes got big. "Yellow flowers!" she said.
"Yes," I said, "and pink, and orange, and red..." She immediately reached for a dandelion.
She pulled one up and clutched it tightly. I steered her toward the tulips. "These are tulips," I told her. "See how pretty the red colors are?" Caroline was not interested. She went back to the dandelions and plucked another one. And another one. My attempts to show my granddaughter the real flowers were met with only a cursory attention. She only had eyes for the little yellow, common, utterly irritating dandelions. I walked all over the yard with her while she toddled from one group of weeds to another, and her bouquet was getting fuller by the minute.

Finally she had plucked all her little hand could hold, and we started back to the house. Of course, as soon as she picks them she gives them away. One for Grammy, one for Pappy, one for Mama, even one for the dog. She presents her gifts as if they were the rarest orchids in the world - because to her, they are.

I receive an inspirational message by e-mail every day, and the one today made me think of Caroline and her precious dandelions. Here is what it said:

What a dawning appears to the man or woman who earnestly inquires, "Who is living life for me? Am I really thinking for myself or am I unknowingly projecting acquired ideas which may be all wrong?"

Vernon Howard
Psycho-Pictography

Why do I value the tulips over the dandelions? I guess society has taught me that dandelions are weeds (OK, my Dad may have had a hand in this idea - he was the weed expert!) which are inferior and tulips are real flowers and thus superior. I have never questioned that assumption. Why did Caroline go for the dandelions? Maybe because she had never seen a TV commercial touting tulips over dandelions, she had never opened a magazine article explaining which flowers were more important or more beautiful, she had never polled the neighbors to see which flower was more preferred. She just saw them, thought they were worthy of obtaining and worthy of giving to the people who mattered most to her.

In my quest for simplicity, when I make decisions over what is truly important to me, I will try to ignore what society might think is important. We tend to accumulate things based on what we have been told is important (it might be the biggest house, or car, or swimming pool, or the "right" designer clothes, or the highest salaried job) and rarely consider the fact that our inner spirit is leading us in a direction where choices are made on a deeper level and come from the inside and not the outside.

I look at Caroline in a different light now. I look at her as my teacher.

Thanks, Caroline. Love, Grammy.

Time and Silence

Time has always fascinated me. One of my favorite books is The Mirror, which is a novel about a young woman looking in her grandmother's mirror and being suddenly transported to her grandmother's body when her grandmother was a young woman. Time travel exchange. So intriguing! My mom is turning 82 years old. My dad died when he was 64. My mom has always been 8 years younger than my dad, and for years now she has been older than he ever was.

Ed says our mistake is in how we think of time - as linear. Even the word timeline denotes a linear route. I used to love to look at history books at the chronological timeline, seeing that first this happened, then this happened, then this happened. What I never thought about was expanding the timeline another direction. OK, so Columbus sailed in 1492 - what was happening in China then? Or Africa? I would love to take one year in history and find out what was happening everywhere in the world - in science, politics, religion, romance, literature, etc. To see the whole picture.

I know part of the simplicity idea is to be still and reflect on our lives and priorities and relationships. It is so hard for me to be still. Ed says I've always been that way. I have to be doing something. I watch TV and then I read during the commercials. He says I have to be still and listen to my inner voice. I tell him it just means I value time so much I don't want to waste it. He says my idea of wasting time is not a waste. Being still and doing nothing relaxes the spirit and revives the soul and gives me "time" outside the physical realm to reconnect my spirit with God.

It's hard for me to be still and do nothing. My mind keeps busy thinking of things I need to be doing.

When we had our downstairs repainted last year, we had to take out everything in the rooms, obviously, including everything on the wall. That included all the clocks. After the painting was completed, we put back everything - except we later realized we had neglected to put back a clock in our fireplace room. I kept nagging Ed to hang back the clock, and he balked. We finally left it without a clock, and we call it "The Timeless Room." It is supposed to be a relaxing area where you are forced to be without a clock (which is a reminder of time itself). I have to admit that sometimes I am little uncomfortable in that room. Oh, the chairs are comfy and in the chill it is heavenly to sit in front of the wood stove, but something makes me slightly jittery about not knowing what time it is.

Ed is the opposite. He'd be late to appointments if it weren't for me, sometimes, because he has no idea of time and doesn't really care. He wishes we had no time. He really hates daylight savings time going on and off, "as if we could make more daylight!" he says. Probably some of his anxiety comes from timed tests he has had to take all his life, which he never took well.

One day at work I found myself getting too stressed and I forced myself to stop typing and sit still and listen. It was a day I was by myself, so the only noise I heard was the ticking of my wall clock. As you can imagine, that stressed me more. Who was the comic book character that always said, "Time's a'wastin'!" That clock is ticking away and those seconds are gone forever. What did I accomplish in the last hour? The last day? The last week or month or year? When I think on those questions, I can even feel my heart beating faster! Those are anxiety-provoking questions for me.

This is definitely a lesson I have to learn if I want to bring simplicity and peace to my life. I have to make friends with time, that mysterious entity whose power seems to determine my outlook and increase my stress - in essence, it has set itself up as ruler of my life. The odd thing is that if I value time fully, how I use it should bring me a sense of peace and contentment, not panic.

Ed and I decided we need a "Timeless Room" in our new house too.

Be Afraid. Be Very Afraid.

Matthew 12, excerpt:
What happens when an evil spirit comes out of a man? It goes through dry areas looking for a place to rest. But it doesn't find it. ⁴⁴Then it says, 'I will return to the house I left.' When it arrives there, it finds the house empty. The house has been swept clean and put in order. ⁴⁵Then the evil spirit goes and takes with it seven other spirits more evil than itself. They go in and live there. That man is worse off than before.

OK, the above verse is talking demons but I find it strangely familiar. I think cleaning and uncluttering your house is getting rid of demons in a way, demonic mess that screws up your life, sucks your energy, time, and money until you are a weak, wimpy, useless shell.

I was thinking about that verse this week. I went on Amazon.com to order a couple of books for my grandchild, and the demons reared up. "Look at all the new books out! Think of all the room you have now that you've cleared out your house! Lots of room for lots of new books! Read! Buy! Spend!" And when I sit down with the Eddie Bauer catalog, the little demons pop out of there too, "Hey, look, since you gave away all those clothes to the Goodwill, look how much room you have in your closet! It's time to build your wardrobe back again! Buy! Order! It's on sale!"

Those who aim to simplify need to take these demons into account. They will try to get back in your house and will bring their friends with them. This is just a friendly warning. Get some earplugs. You're going to need them.

I want to be the boss

I've come to the conclusion that the more control you have over your own life, the less stressful it will be.

Take, for instance, heating oil. Here in New England the price goes up, up, up. Now with automobile gas, you can just choose to drive less, but you have to have heat. The oil company brings the oil to your house and they tell you how much you will pay. You can't barter, you can't "talk them down." It's whatever they're charging and that's it. We have a contract with an oil company and they come every so often and fill up the tank. We don't even know the current price until we get the bill in the mail the next day. That's stressful.

That's why Ed and I want to be as independent as possible. The more you depend on others to do something, the more control you give away. I guess I'm one of these people that they talk about when they say, "If you want it done right, do it yourself." Not that I can do it right, but at least I know to show up on time, what deadlines are, how important a certain task is, etc. (I'm thinking now of a cleaning lady who cleaned our kitchen recently and was supposed to come back in 3 days to clean a laundry sink - never showed, never called, never heard from again.)

Specifically with heating, Ed can buy the wood, saw the wood, split the wood, and store the wood. Unless, God forbid, he had an accident or something, our heating with wood is pretty much dependent on Ed himself doing his job (which he does). For the same reason, when we move we want to get a generator and not depend on the electric company to keep things going in the event of an ice storm or something like that. Self-reliance.

I figure there are two keys to keeping your life as stress-free as possible. The first is my favorite prayer, the Serenity Prayer, which is familiar to most everyone. Change the things you can, accept the things you can't change, and having the wisdom to know the difference. I can't change the price of heating oil, but I can certainly move to a small, cozy house that can be heated almost totally with wood.

The second key came from my friend Sally, and before her from Viktor Frankl in his book Man's Search for Meaning. Sally and I are medical transcriptionists and we "met" on an MT site, finally got to meet in person for a few days, and now "meet" again on the web. A question was asked on the site about how to deal with difficult dictators. Here is what Sally wrote:

When I get a dictator that is difficult for me, I always try to put myself in his/her shoes. Often I can hear in their voice that they are tired, rushed, frustrated, puzzled, concerned, happy, sad, or even if they just don't feel well. Sometimes, that alone helps me to "hear" better. I have even prayed for them. Theirs is not an easy job.

I can't repeat one sentence of dictation even at regular speed without tripping over my tongue. I don't know how they manage to get it out at the speed of light.

That second step for me is found in her quote. It is attitude. Sally has a remarkable attitude toward dealing with difficult dictators. She becomes empathetic and relates to them on a different, more personal level. The same theme was written by Viktor Frankl, a Holocaust survivor. His book details what he learned from those horrible experiences. Here is what he had to say:

Everything can be taken from a man but ...the last of the human freedoms - to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's own way."

So if we control the things we can (trying to simplify our lives and making decisions that enhance this goal), accept the things we can't control (having an accepting, peace-filled attitude), and really pay attention to the difference between to two (wisdom), we will be so much better off!

The use of the Serenity Prayer and its corresponding attitude adjustment can affect all areas of our lives - from eating to finances to how we spend our time and energy. Oh, I have so much more growing to do!

The Gift and the Curse

Ed says that every gift is a curse and vice versa. All my experience has proven him right.
At this time of downsizing, however, I can see the wisdom of that clearly.

I'm thinking about choices today. When I was young, the grocery didn't offer the overwhelming amount of choices we have today. For instance, we had white bread, more white bread, maybe something like rye and Roman Meal. Go into a store today and take a look at the bread aisle.
Unbelievable! Even narrowing it down to sliced bread is too much. Whole wheat spelt? Organic? 10-grain, 7-grain, 12-grain? Oat? Regular whole wheat or soft? What about extra fiber whole wheat? Hearty whole wheat? Half the calories whole wheat? Half the carbs? Bread made especially for toasting? Sourdough? Bread with nuts or seeds? Pumpernickel? Cinnamon? Not to mention the other kinds of bread - the hot dog buns, hamburger buns, sub rolls, olive rolls, French and Italian breads, pita, tortillas, etc. It must be quite a culture shock for a person from a developing country to walk into an American grocery. That person is probably happy just to be able to eat bread - any kind of bread.

After we decided to probably build a house, we had to make countless choices. I HATE CHOICES! I have always had a hard time making up my mind about anything. Even in a restaurant, I will order what I want, then when the food arrives, look longingly at someone else's plate and I will wish I had ordered that instead. (I inherited that tendency from my grandfather, JW McDonald.) I could never serve on a jury. The prosecution would convince me of the perpretrator's guilt, and then the defense would come along and completely change my mind.

Back to the house. Choice of countertops. Ed's the cook, so the kitchen is his realm and I was along for the ride. Soapstone? Corian? Formica? Granite? Concrete? Tile? Marble? I had no idea there were so many choices for countertops. Forget color choices - it was hard enough to weigh and pros and cons of basic material!

OK, Ed decided on a butcher block countertop. He asked the salesperson to give him an idea on price comparison between butcher block and all the other types of counters. The lady said, "It depends." (Oh, by the way, I hate that expression too.) It depends on what? On what type of butcher block. She opened a humongous catalog of butcher block countertops. She said, "First you choose the wood. Maple and oak, for instance, are cheaper than the exotic woods." (Then she listed a whole bunch of woods, some I've heard of, some I haven't.) She continued. "Then after you narrow it down to the type of wood, you have to make some other choices." She pointed to a picture. "Here," she said, "you see the grain is balanced." She moved her finger down. "Here," she said, you see the grain is different." She showed us more grain pictures. (Looks like the grain in flour is not the only grain messing with my head!!) Then she turned a page. "OK, now right here," she said, "you can see a whole countertop without seams. A little cheaper than that, you can get seams. This picture shows evenly spaced seams. Cheaper still are non-evenly spaced seams." She turned another page. "Then you must choose the edge. We have straight edges, rounded edges, beveled edges..." And on and on she went. Amazing. And that's just for the countertops!

Just when my brain could hold no more information, we walked over to the floor section.
Here again - who on earth deserves to be faced with so many choices??? Pergo, cork floor, tile floor, stone floor, vinyl that looks like brick, vinyl that looks like wood, vinyl that looks like tile, tile that looks like vinyl, wood that looks like brick, vinyl that looks like stone, and - yes - bamboo, currently a popular choice. Then there's carpet.

Even narrowing the floor choices to wood, it's still too much. They have wide plank, medium plank, and one Ed likes which consists of cuts of the end of 2 x 4's made to look like brick. They even sell special wood planks hand scraped by Amish men who signed the back of each plank! There are certain finishes available, too. Here's one web site's version:

Factory Prefinished Hardwood Flooring
Wood floors that have been factory finished before they are installed.

UV-cured � Factory finishes that are cured with Ultra Violet lights versus heat.

Polyurethane � A clear, tough and durable finish that is applied as a wear layer.

Acrylic-urethane � A slightly different chemical make up than Polyurethane with the same benefits.

Ceramic � Advanced technology that allows the use of space-age ceramics to increase the abrasion resistance of the wear layer. See Award Hardwood Floors WearMax finish.

Aluminum Oxide � Added to the urethane finish for increased abrasion resistance of the wear layer, which is becoming extremely popular on the better grade wood floors.

Acrylic Impregnated � Acrylic monomers are injected into the cell structure of the wood to give increased hardness and then finished with a wear layer over the wood.

Good grief!!!!! We have to choose either white oak, American maple, Brazilian cherry, Brazilian teak, American cherry, ash, Appaloosa, hickory, mahogany, birch, pecan, walnut - and each of these woods is subdivided into styles and finishes, e.g., "rustic," and then you have the color variations and tones.

The thing that makes this so hard is that it is different than choosing a loaf of bread. This will be very expensive and whatever decision we make we will be stuck with for a long time.

I just can't stand it! I'm trying to simplify and all these choices do not make it simple!!

Stranger in our Midst

One of my favorite things to do these days when I'm hanging around the house is to watch the cars go by and see if they slow down to look at the house when they see the "for sale" sign. I can't see the drivers' faces, but I consider it a hopeful sign that they slowed down to look.

Late yesterday afternoon Ed was preparing dinner in the kitchen when he commented, "There's a lady who looks like she's turning around in our driveway."
"Really?!" I said. "Is she just turning around or did she stop?"
"She's still there," said Ed, turning toward the stove. "She backed in."
"Is she looking at the "for sale" sign?" I asked.
"How do I know?" he said as he stirred a pot.
I ran to the sink which overlooks the driveway. The window there is a bay window which juts out and I had to really contort my neck to get a good look. The lady (I think it was a lady, could have been a man) was definitely stopped at the edge of the driveway, close enough to read the phone number on the sign. Dang it, I wished I had an easier view!
"I can't see the license plate," I murmured. "I can't tell if it is out of state." (Ed has this idea that the house is too expensive for locals and he thinks an out-of-stater will buy it.)
The lady just sat there. Then I saw a flash of white.
"Hey! She's got paper! Maybe she's writing down the Alex's phone number!" (Alex is our real estate agent.)
Then I frowned. "It could be a map, though. Maybe she's lost."
Ed turned around. "Maybe she'll get out and walk around the yard like those people did a couple of weeks ago."
I stepped back to relieve my neck muscles, then took up my position again.
"She's still there fooling with the paper. Is she interested or not? We don't even know if she stopped because of the "for sale" sign or for something else. Lots of people stop in driveways to turn around for one reason or another."
Ed smiled. "Maybe she'll ring the doorbell at any minute!"
I said, "Maybe she's calling Alex from our driveway!" We laughed.
I looked again. "OK, she's pulling out. She's gone."
Oh, well. It was pleasant little diversion.

Less than 30 seconds later our phone rang. "Hey, it's Alex," he said. "Can I show your house Monday at 8:30? Someone just called me from your driveway."

Mixed Messages

When we first decided to start downsizing, I bought my husband a small sign that says "SIMPLIFY" and he put it where he could see it every day. (I got it mainly to remind him not to order a bunch of stuff from catalogs.)

I saw a different sign for sale yesterday. It simply said, "INDULGE." Isn't that just like our society? SIMPLIFY yet INDULGE. Kind of like the popular women's magazines which feature an article on how to lose weight right next to a recipe for a rich chocolate cake. I laughingly told Ed I would buy the INDULGE sign and he could hang it next to the SIMPLIFY sign and every day decide which sign he wanted to consider his advice for the day.

We are constantly bombarded by the written and broadcast media, who send very clear messages that we are to treat ourselves, whether it's with a luxurious shampoo or a car with a DVD player in it. Our very economy is based on consumption. Didn't George Bush give similar advice to the country after 9/11 - buy, buy, buy to help the economy?

My sister's blog today is bemoaning the media's messages to and influence on our children regarding their bodies and skills. I too am fed up with the media today. I guess our goal is to teach our kids and grandkids to weigh carefully what they are hearing and reading and use common sense and wisdom to help discern the direction their lives should take.

Journey to simplicity cannot be undertaken lightly, for there are distractions at every turn in the road.

Moose nightmare

After our "for sale" sign went up in the front yard, I had a nightmare. I dreamt I was walking down an isolated country road and saw moose up ahead. Now I just love moose! I always look forward to spotting one when we are driving around in that part of Maine. In the dream, as I came closer to the moose, I could see they were menacing with red eyes. They terrified me, as they looked like they wanted to attack, so I turned around and tried to nonchalantly walk back down the road, casting quick glances behind me. When I felt assured they were not chasing me, I started running until they were out of sight.

This nightmare was not hard to interpret. I love the idea of selling the house and moving to a smaller one, just like I love to see moose. But once the "for sale" sign hit the yard, I panicked. Maybe my desire is clouding my reason - what if this move is dangerous? What if it's the wrong decision? What if...what if...what if.... and I want to turn and run.

The subconscious mind is certainly intriguing!

Spring flowers

I just finished going through my last Past Box, so I'm in a pensive mood, I guess. I feel as if I've just watched a movie of a part of my life. This box was mostly centered around college. My parents kept every letter I wrote to home from college. I read through them tonight, then replaced them in the Past Box. I had forgotten that I had performed in so many places, playing piano/organ and singing. I don't sing much anymore, unfortunately. But all it takes is a program or bulletin and the past comes alive for me again. I remember the Pie Jesu I sang at Trinity UMC. I remember learning the Un Bel Di aria at Lambuth. Both those pieces of music I can still sing from memory (in Latin and Italian respectively). The music still lives for me, even if I don't sing it much.

I am 50 years old now. Somehow I have the feeling that I am starting the second half of my life, when in reality the expected lifespan for a woman in the U.S. is shorter than 100 years, so in fact I am well into the second half of my life. The time has really flown, and it seems that every week goes by faster than the preceding week. Our son will graduate from college in May, get married in July, and our daughter and her husband will have their second child in November. Amidst all those exciting events, we will be selling our house and moving only God knows where. I don't say that to be sarcastic; it is true. Only God knows. The older I get, the less I like the "not knowing."

I can handle my Past Boxes. The past is fixed and stationary now. It can't be changed. The joys, the sorrows, the memories, the regrets - all are fixed in the medium we call "time." Each day now I am closer to the end of my life, and sometimes I feel time is running out. I don't know where my sense of urgency comes from. Maybe it's because the news is filled with fear and unrest and disasters. Maybe it's because my memory isn't as clear as it used to be, and I interpret that as a warning sign of aging. Maybe it's because I have so many things I want to do and so many things I want to create. I want to leave behind more of myself than the contents of my Past Boxes.

I remember a story about an old man planting an apple tree. A boy watched him for awhile, then said, "You crazy old fool. You know you'll never live to enjoy eating a single apple from that tree." The old man nodded and said, "I'm not planting the tree for me."

Last fall Ed planted many, many bulbs in the yard - daffodil type flowers - that will be popping up when the weather in Maine decides grudgingly to admit it's spring and melt the snow. We may not even be living here to see the flowers. Or we may be living here, realizing that next spring someone else will be here to enjoy their beauty. Ed said that's why he likes the perennial bulbs better than the annuals. He likes to plant once and see the flowers come back again and again. Even though he may not be here in this location to enjoy the sight, at least others will benefit.

My sister is a gardener par excellence. She can understand seed, bulb, and growing analogies.

I guess that I am trying to understand, on my journey to simplicity, what is it I am planting on the way, why I am planting it, and the importance of investing time and energy in leaving part of myself for those who come after me (including one as-yet-unnamed baby due in November!).

It's a shame

I know it's an old joke, but it's a shame when you finally get around to fixing up your house to make it attractive to buyers, you kind of hate to sell it!

We're doing things around here that we should have done years ago. Instead we've just been living with the inconvenience. For 9 years!

Case in point: We have a closet in the kitchen, tall and narrow. When you open it up, there is an accessory hinged to the right side of the closet. This accessory is a stack of shelves which you pull forward and around to get into the back part of the closet. Now this stack of shelves is full of canned goods - heavy canned goods. The shelves weren't screwed in properly in the first place, and have progressively come unhinged enough to make it very difficult to pull them out and around as they were meant to do. You have to grasp the accessory, pull up on it (against the weight of all the cans) to enable it to clear an obstruction and release itself. We have been fighting (and cussing) this piece of equipment for the 9 years we have been here. We knew if a potential buyer came through the house and opened that closet up, they would cuss too. So my husband Ed decided to change it.

He completely unscrewed the accessory shelves and made the closet into a broom closet, with the back shelves used for cleaning supplies. He took the part he removed and stood it up in an adjoining little room (used to be the back porch for the house) and, with another set of bookshelves, made a walk-in pantry for all our food. Now it is a pleasure to open the kitchen closet, and it would be easy for someone to put a lock on it to keep young kids away from cleaning supplies.

My question: Why have we lived with that "inconvenience" for 9 years and now finally fixed it before we sell the house? Sometimes we wonder where our brains are.