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How to be happy

Today’s assignment in my writing book is to write a story in which the protagonist does not get what she wants but nevertheless ends up happy. I’m drawing a blank. Crazy because, well, this seems like the absolute frickin’ theme of life. Actually, THAT’S what I want to write. I want to write about the assignment rather than writing the actual assignment. And is it just me and my sense of irony, or is that yet another way that I’m not getting what I want but ending up happy? Of course, lots of us don’t end up happy. But that’s the struggle, isn’t it? I’m tempted to say it’s the actual meaning of life, but I won’t. I’m still holding out on discovering something more profound. Or glittery. And there are people who get what they want. (Accumulated bitterness in my heart makes me think these people are rare.) And to be honest with you, I believe that most people, when it comes right down to it, don’t actually know what they want. So they have exactly no chance of getting it. Speaking
Recent posts

House showings and self knowings

We’re relisting. The house didn’t sell last fall so we’ve waited six months and now, here we go again. And I feel…I feel…I couldn’t put my finger on it as I sat across from M at lunch. He waited for a moment in silence and then said, “Like you’re standing out there naked.” Exactly! In fact, that’s precisely how I’ve felt all four times we’ve put a house up for sale. (The other two houses and this one twice.) I was surprised that M felt it too, but maybe it’s just that obvious. You’re about to expose yourself, let one stranger after another come traipse through your home. They’ll rate your housekeeping skills and your taste in art. They’ll peek in your cabinets. Use your toilet. They’ll judge everything about your most private space and probably make assumptions about you to boot. They’re there to evaluate the house, sure, but how can you not feel, at least a little, that they’re judging you? Especially me. My identity is tied to my house. Even here, where we’ve lived just over a ye

How to escape your problems.

Sick of everything in your life? Easy. Get on a plane. Fly across the country to family or friends that you truly love. Don’t. Think. About. Home. This is what I did all last week. It works, until it doesn’t, meaning until you have to return and the boiler still doesn’t work and the door still doesn’t lock and the insulation still needs replacing and a hundred other boring, mostly extremely expensive things need doing. Yup, while you were off ice skating and learning to make pasta, it all waited for you. Yippee. As we went straight from the airport to the new house to deal with the latest crisis, I felt unmitigated anger. Why are we doing this again? Why did we choose to buy this project house that I’m not even all that into? I thought I had worked past this, but the familiar feeling I’ve battled so many times over the past months rose up again. I don’t want to fix this house. I don’t want to move into it. I don’t want any of this. And then, just as familiar, the response. It d

Lessons from linoleum (or, how I’m removing and taking my Armstrong 5352 Heritage Brick)

Some people dig up all the landscaping before they move. Some take the window treatments, the light fixtures, the major appliances. Amateurs all, I say. I’m taking my linoleum floor. Some of you will understand this. You are my peeps, the ones who flood message boards wondering where oh where oh where you can buy this stuff. (Nowhere) And some of you will not understand. You are the people who flood the internet with advice on how to remove linoleum, and then dance on its grave after you have ripped it into little shreds and damned its soul. You will replace the linoleum with gray flooring. You’re not bad people. You’re just doing a bad thing. Anyway, linoleum can teach all of us something. And no, I’m not referring to what a comfortable, durable, environmentally friendly flooring solution it is. Or even how fun, colorful and joy inspiring in an otherwise drab gray world. (And by the way, I should make it clear I’m not talking about vinyl, which is often called linoleum but is real

An imperfect path forward is still forward

"There's more mouse crap than insulation up there," he said, grinning. He thought he was funny. He wasn’t. But then no one uttering these words to the owner of such a described space would be funny. I chuckled anyway. And although we should analyze why I sometimes prioritize the feelings and opinions of others over my own, instead, let’s focus on my current situation, that of preparing to move into a house with an R value of mouse poop. It’s been a long, twisty road, one that’s gone through a global pandemic, the death of two parents, job loss, community loss, actually who are we kidding? It’s just been a lot of loss, loss, loss. Oh, and four different addresses. See, other people got through the past few years by adopting a dog or learning to bake bread. M and I have done it by moving. In 2018, we left the home where we got married and had spent 20 years. Why? It’s hazy now. Something about the verdant ground cover in the suburbs. I’d known I would miss our house

Questions to Ask Before Starting A Creative Project

On our morning walk, we saw a bin of freshly cut arborvitae branches. My fam was due in for Thanksgiving in a couple of hours. I had no business starting a crafty project. But wow! “Wouldn’t they make an awesome wreath?!” M said nothing. I checked myself. “No, I don’t need to. I don’t have time. Don’t let me take those on our way back by.” M said nothing. But the whole walk I thought of nothing but the wreath and when we circled back to the bin, I announced, “I’m just taking a few.” Mark said, “I know.” I pulled out as many as I could carry, took them home, and, by the time the loved ones arrived, the festive item was hung on the door and all the mess swept up. (I added the awesome Trader Joe’s monster felt pinecones a few days later.) So there, a happy little story of a successful creative project! But it’s often not like this. I am a serial over-extender, interested in making EVERYTHING, but also over-invested, a total perfectionist with no concept of limitation in skills. I ap

Another day, another contractor

I'm not so good at hiring contractors. Firing them, though? I'm a whizz. (Does that say more about me or the applicant pool?) Anyhoo, the electrician I had in last week was, um, good, as in nothing has caught fire yet. He sped through $800 of my list in three hours, partly because he didn't even turn off lights, let alone breakers. (Go live or go home, baby!!) Unfortunately, hanging vintage fixtures did not fit his ten minutes per task business model. But there's always some "whatever-I'll-just-do-it-myself" work left after a contractor leaves. (I do realize this is not normal, but I also realize that little about me is, so, yea, whatever.) So, all in all, success! Until I did laundry. You know that moment (probably you don't...good for you) when you feel and hear the splash of your foot hitting what should be solid, dry VCT tile and two thoughts go through your brain. One, am I about to be electricuted? No, that probably would have happened ins