Bill is retired. Bill is at home now. Bill is home 24/7 as they say. We are both at home 24/7.
I have been more or less retired for almost 3 years. I have carved out a niche in my alone time. I have found hobbies that occupy my daytime.
I have worries. I know that these worries are not new ones to many a retired folk. They are however new for Bill and I.
In approximately one month, Bill and I will have been married for 33 years. In that time we have never lived 24/7 in each others life for more than a few weeks of holidays.
We are embarking on a new voyage. As I see this voyage, it has no end date.
The ship of “24//7” has not charted a course. It will follow the wind as it blows us out to retirement. It has a skeleton crew and we are about to lift anchor.
WendyH
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Thursday, March 20, 2008
One Year Later
I chose my Kyoto mug for my morning coffee today. It is a Starbuck’s souvenir mug. It is painted with colorful Japanese fans, a shrine, the serenity rock garden, a geisha walking across a bridge, and a splash pink Sakura. I love it because it brings back fond memories of that time when I saw all of these things.
I can’t believe that it was one year ago today that I left for Japan. It was such an adventure for me. It gave me so many memories of a country so beautiful that words escaped me to tell of it.
One year later and I still can feel the ocean breezes, see the Sakura in blossom, taste the rich food foreign to my tongue, smell the Starbuck’s coffee in a sea of green tea, and hear the soft tones of the foreign sing song Japanese language.
Jackie has since gone on to less greener pastures. That is she has exchanged her quiet country life in Onomichi for the fast pace living in one of the biggest cities in the world. She no longer teaches English to Japanese school children. She now works for the English version of Japan Times. She lives in Tokyo.
Recently she gave up another of her “Jackie apartments” for a “grown up” apartment in Tokyo. Her new place is a three bedroom apartment complete with hot running water for the shower and sinks. She even has a flush toilet. Although I did not specifically ask about that either.
It sounds very inviting and she has invited us. Jackie tells me it is nothing like Onomichi. She even thinks it might be somewhat overwhelming with the crush of people that live and work there 24/7. It sounds like a challenge to me. Bill and I are thinking of going to Tokyo this year. We are still in the planning stages.
One year later and I still want to go back to see Japan. I am sure that it will be quite different from what I saw the first time. However what will not be different is the reunion with my daughter that I see so rarely with her life of adventure so far from home.
WendyKH
I can’t believe that it was one year ago today that I left for Japan. It was such an adventure for me. It gave me so many memories of a country so beautiful that words escaped me to tell of it.
One year later and I still can feel the ocean breezes, see the Sakura in blossom, taste the rich food foreign to my tongue, smell the Starbuck’s coffee in a sea of green tea, and hear the soft tones of the foreign sing song Japanese language.
Jackie has since gone on to less greener pastures. That is she has exchanged her quiet country life in Onomichi for the fast pace living in one of the biggest cities in the world. She no longer teaches English to Japanese school children. She now works for the English version of Japan Times. She lives in Tokyo.
Recently she gave up another of her “Jackie apartments” for a “grown up” apartment in Tokyo. Her new place is a three bedroom apartment complete with hot running water for the shower and sinks. She even has a flush toilet. Although I did not specifically ask about that either.
It sounds very inviting and she has invited us. Jackie tells me it is nothing like Onomichi. She even thinks it might be somewhat overwhelming with the crush of people that live and work there 24/7. It sounds like a challenge to me. Bill and I are thinking of going to Tokyo this year. We are still in the planning stages.
One year later and I still want to go back to see Japan. I am sure that it will be quite different from what I saw the first time. However what will not be different is the reunion with my daughter that I see so rarely with her life of adventure so far from home.
WendyKH
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Every Picture Tells A Story
Black & White Photos
The box which was stored safely in the closet was opened. I had been anxiously waiting to look through these black and white photographs. Layer upon layer they were stacked in no apparent order. Atop of the photos was a short terse letter from our aunt and uncle who sent them to us for our pleasure as they really meant nothing to them. Patiently the photos waited for the right moment and right people to go through them.
My sister and I stared at the box of yellowed black and white photos supposedly of our maternal grandmother and family. They came in all shapes and sizes. Some were studio but most were taken by someone who thought the moment needed to be caught. The sad reality is that those stories will likely never be told. What we found was an assortment of people and places that were unnamed.
As hard as we tried, we could name very few of these people. They were pretty good looking photos from the 1920s, 30s, and 40s. A non restrained giddiness overcame us. Faces of stern men and women with children on their laps seemed to become all the same. Notes scribbled on the back such as “I suppose you can pick me out”, or “The Three Musketeers”, “little Betty” or “Our dog Johny with us” were not the least bit helpful. It did provide us with no end of comedy, but I guess you had to be there.
I packed them up to bring home. Someone, somehow must know who these long since dead but kind of funny looking people were. My first choice was to go to the oldest family member and have her scan them and see if she could name them. Luckily for me she agreed to meet one afternoon to help me go through them.
It must have looked overwhelming when I rolled up to her sidewalk with my 24 inch wheeled carry-on suitcase. This was the easiest way to carry around my dead relatives, believe me.
Slowly we went through the photos and she was able to help me sort them and put names to most of them. There are still a handful of questionable characters left hanging around in my suitcase, but I have another plan for that.
Pictures are the genealogists best friend when it comes to getting a story. As I poured through these with my sister Betty, stories poured out. Well some had to be pulled out while others needed to come out of the cob webs, but they came. The stories of family, farms, weddings, favorite brothers, working grandmothers, mother and sisters and more just flowed through the afternoon. I was overwhelmed and absolutely awestruck by the knowledge that people have locked inside of them just for the asking.
I loaded our pictures back into the suitcase careful not to dislodge the many sticky notes and organizational piles we attempted to put together.
I love a picture that tells a story. Not just the shiny one shown on the glossy side, but the story that hides on its not so shiny side. I want a story that brings to me pieces of “humanness” to the flat world it lives in. I want a story that extends beyond it's white boarders. I want a story that lies behind and around the picture.
I visualize in my bizarre mind that each picture extends outward in all directions; some wider, some longer, some deeper or more elevated in its meanings. I visualize that these individual pictures come together to form a connected story (like puzzle pieces falling together). I long for no missing pieces at all. Alas, it would take a miracle to piece all these pictures together into one coherent story.
Don't we all have pictures somewhere? Aren't they all unnamed and undated?. Now imagine your grandchildren or great grandchildren going through them. You can bet that the story that lies within them will not be the story that they will have. If every picture is worth a thousand words, then I plead with you to tell them in your words.
WendyKH
The box which was stored safely in the closet was opened. I had been anxiously waiting to look through these black and white photographs. Layer upon layer they were stacked in no apparent order. Atop of the photos was a short terse letter from our aunt and uncle who sent them to us for our pleasure as they really meant nothing to them. Patiently the photos waited for the right moment and right people to go through them.
My sister and I stared at the box of yellowed black and white photos supposedly of our maternal grandmother and family. They came in all shapes and sizes. Some were studio but most were taken by someone who thought the moment needed to be caught. The sad reality is that those stories will likely never be told. What we found was an assortment of people and places that were unnamed.
As hard as we tried, we could name very few of these people. They were pretty good looking photos from the 1920s, 30s, and 40s. A non restrained giddiness overcame us. Faces of stern men and women with children on their laps seemed to become all the same. Notes scribbled on the back such as “I suppose you can pick me out”, or “The Three Musketeers”, “little Betty” or “Our dog Johny with us” were not the least bit helpful. It did provide us with no end of comedy, but I guess you had to be there.
I packed them up to bring home. Someone, somehow must know who these long since dead but kind of funny looking people were. My first choice was to go to the oldest family member and have her scan them and see if she could name them. Luckily for me she agreed to meet one afternoon to help me go through them.
It must have looked overwhelming when I rolled up to her sidewalk with my 24 inch wheeled carry-on suitcase. This was the easiest way to carry around my dead relatives, believe me.
Slowly we went through the photos and she was able to help me sort them and put names to most of them. There are still a handful of questionable characters left hanging around in my suitcase, but I have another plan for that.
Pictures are the genealogists best friend when it comes to getting a story. As I poured through these with my sister Betty, stories poured out. Well some had to be pulled out while others needed to come out of the cob webs, but they came. The stories of family, farms, weddings, favorite brothers, working grandmothers, mother and sisters and more just flowed through the afternoon. I was overwhelmed and absolutely awestruck by the knowledge that people have locked inside of them just for the asking.
I loaded our pictures back into the suitcase careful not to dislodge the many sticky notes and organizational piles we attempted to put together.
I love a picture that tells a story. Not just the shiny one shown on the glossy side, but the story that hides on its not so shiny side. I want a story that brings to me pieces of “humanness” to the flat world it lives in. I want a story that extends beyond it's white boarders. I want a story that lies behind and around the picture.
I visualize in my bizarre mind that each picture extends outward in all directions; some wider, some longer, some deeper or more elevated in its meanings. I visualize that these individual pictures come together to form a connected story (like puzzle pieces falling together). I long for no missing pieces at all. Alas, it would take a miracle to piece all these pictures together into one coherent story.
Don't we all have pictures somewhere? Aren't they all unnamed and undated?. Now imagine your grandchildren or great grandchildren going through them. You can bet that the story that lies within them will not be the story that they will have. If every picture is worth a thousand words, then I plead with you to tell them in your words.
WendyKH
Friday, February 15, 2008
Skeleton In My Closet
It sneaks up on you. It is quite insidious. I am talking about the fastest growing hobby, genealogy.
A little over a year ago, I signed up for a genealogy course. I really had no idea what was involved in the whole process. However, I was ready to dabble in my family history. Just a little hobby on the side of my life.
The one instructor that I spoke to in class told me to prepare myself for something more than a hobby that is picked up from time to time. She said be ready for genealogy to consume your thinking, your activities and your life in general.
Not me, I thought then. I had a life!
Yes me I now know.
I have a 'skeleton in my closet'. I thought a few well placed calls and I would find out who this nerdowell maternal grandfather was. Thus with my basic course behind me and a “how to” book on genealogy, I began my search.
All genealogists tell you to start with what you know. But not me, I had this great need to get to know this mystery guest in our family. Thus for one year I have spun my wheels trying to find information on him. For one year I am no closer than finding him on a marriage certificate to my grandmother. What this gave me was another name, another alias. My family only heard the most derogative remarks about “Patrick Sullivan”. So why did his name appear as 'Bob Windsworth Sullivan” ? The deeper I dig the more mysterious it all becomes.
Along the way I have learned about census records in both the States and Canada. I have learned about immigration records from Ellis Island. I have learned that you have to be to the 4th floor of the library right at opening to get a computer to play on. I have a new respect for librarians and their vast knowledge and ability to put their finger on exactly what you need, when I don't even know what I need. I have bookmarked my favorite sites such as Canada archives, Saskatchewan and Manitoba archives. And I have spoke to some of the nicest people at these places trying to get just a little closer to what I need to know.
I have learned that the cemeteries have the coolest sights with the darnedest information. There is nothing quite like the feeling of tiptoeing through the cemetery from the warmth of your own home.
I also know that copies of certificates are available for a cost.
I have learned that FOIP is going to be the death of genealogy.
Along the way I have picked up history pertaining to divorces pre 1968. I have learned about criminal versus civil court. I have discovered history like I never knew before.
It is a patient exercise in process oriented discovery. One tiny piece of data at a time.
In frustration of going nowhere fast on my grandfather's history, I decided to do what genealogists are suppose to do first. I have started with what I know. I have started with me and am working out in each direction. In genealogy every date and event must be backed with documentation and the resource sited.
Well this brought on a new level of aggravation. First of all, I did not know as much as I thought I knew, but in this case I can call and ask for verification. It gets a little touchy when you ask for copies of birth certificates and marriage certificates. No I am not going to take over your identification. Not in my family anyway! It also gets a little touchy when you need to contact ex- wives. I haven't gone there yet, but it will come soon. Do I really want to dig up that stuff again. I have spent many hours over the past weeks at my computer adding names, dates and scanning documents and papers. My kitchen table and desk and floor are covered with papers. God bless Bill for his patience.
I wake up thinking about genealogy. To that end I was quite delighted to go out for the evening this week to take my mind off of it. Little did I know that “Riverdance” would send me back to my Irish roots. Honest to god, I kept visualizing my grandfather (I have a few pictures) up on stage mocking me by tapping along with them in all his Irish glory.
It is nice to have distant family members who have done family genealogy and are more than happy to share it with you. And it is nice to have one member of the immediate family who has a sharp mind for detail and just as sharp of memory. My sister in Saskatoon is such a person. And to that end, I have decided to take a quick trip to Saskatoon to pick her brain. I will try not to pick it clean. So now I am taking holidays based on genealogy. I was warned this would happen. I can't wait to tell Bill that I need to go to Salt Lake City to the biggest site of genealogical data anywhere in the world, The Mormon Archives. It is the mecca of all genealogists.
“If you can't get rid of the skeleton in your closet, you'd best teach it to dance.”
by famous IRISH playwrite George Bernard Shaw.
WendyH
A little over a year ago, I signed up for a genealogy course. I really had no idea what was involved in the whole process. However, I was ready to dabble in my family history. Just a little hobby on the side of my life.
The one instructor that I spoke to in class told me to prepare myself for something more than a hobby that is picked up from time to time. She said be ready for genealogy to consume your thinking, your activities and your life in general.
Not me, I thought then. I had a life!
Yes me I now know.
I have a 'skeleton in my closet'. I thought a few well placed calls and I would find out who this nerdowell maternal grandfather was. Thus with my basic course behind me and a “how to” book on genealogy, I began my search.
All genealogists tell you to start with what you know. But not me, I had this great need to get to know this mystery guest in our family. Thus for one year I have spun my wheels trying to find information on him. For one year I am no closer than finding him on a marriage certificate to my grandmother. What this gave me was another name, another alias. My family only heard the most derogative remarks about “Patrick Sullivan”. So why did his name appear as 'Bob Windsworth Sullivan” ? The deeper I dig the more mysterious it all becomes.
Along the way I have learned about census records in both the States and Canada. I have learned about immigration records from Ellis Island. I have learned that you have to be to the 4th floor of the library right at opening to get a computer to play on. I have a new respect for librarians and their vast knowledge and ability to put their finger on exactly what you need, when I don't even know what I need. I have bookmarked my favorite sites such as Canada archives, Saskatchewan and Manitoba archives. And I have spoke to some of the nicest people at these places trying to get just a little closer to what I need to know.
I have learned that the cemeteries have the coolest sights with the darnedest information. There is nothing quite like the feeling of tiptoeing through the cemetery from the warmth of your own home.
I also know that copies of certificates are available for a cost.
I have learned that FOIP is going to be the death of genealogy.
Along the way I have picked up history pertaining to divorces pre 1968. I have learned about criminal versus civil court. I have discovered history like I never knew before.
It is a patient exercise in process oriented discovery. One tiny piece of data at a time.
In frustration of going nowhere fast on my grandfather's history, I decided to do what genealogists are suppose to do first. I have started with what I know. I have started with me and am working out in each direction. In genealogy every date and event must be backed with documentation and the resource sited.
Well this brought on a new level of aggravation. First of all, I did not know as much as I thought I knew, but in this case I can call and ask for verification. It gets a little touchy when you ask for copies of birth certificates and marriage certificates. No I am not going to take over your identification. Not in my family anyway! It also gets a little touchy when you need to contact ex- wives. I haven't gone there yet, but it will come soon. Do I really want to dig up that stuff again. I have spent many hours over the past weeks at my computer adding names, dates and scanning documents and papers. My kitchen table and desk and floor are covered with papers. God bless Bill for his patience.
I wake up thinking about genealogy. To that end I was quite delighted to go out for the evening this week to take my mind off of it. Little did I know that “Riverdance” would send me back to my Irish roots. Honest to god, I kept visualizing my grandfather (I have a few pictures) up on stage mocking me by tapping along with them in all his Irish glory.
It is nice to have distant family members who have done family genealogy and are more than happy to share it with you. And it is nice to have one member of the immediate family who has a sharp mind for detail and just as sharp of memory. My sister in Saskatoon is such a person. And to that end, I have decided to take a quick trip to Saskatoon to pick her brain. I will try not to pick it clean. So now I am taking holidays based on genealogy. I was warned this would happen. I can't wait to tell Bill that I need to go to Salt Lake City to the biggest site of genealogical data anywhere in the world, The Mormon Archives. It is the mecca of all genealogists.
“If you can't get rid of the skeleton in your closet, you'd best teach it to dance.”
by famous IRISH playwrite George Bernard Shaw.
WendyH
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
I MARRIED AN ELECTRICAL ENGINEER!
I married an electrical engineer.
All my stories should start out with that.
Before we were married, the engineer in my life had taken apart most electrical things he could safely get his hands on. He built his own amplifier and a set of speakers. His electrical talents were well established before he ever entered university to take engineering.
Our first apartment after we were married had two bedrooms. Part of the second bedroom was set up as his project room. It has some of the strangest electrical gadgets that scared the bejeepers out of me. I would go in from time to time, but not very often. This one particular evening I decided to go in and see what was up. He had pliers in hand and was into the back of something very electrical looking. I asked if he ever got an electrical shock. Just as he was about to say “no, never” his distracted hand hit something upon which sparks, Bill and expletives flowed across the room in front of me. He did not see what was so funny as i burst out laughing. Ignorance is bliss but being a nurse, I knew CPR! We made a pack after he recovered that I would stay out of his way when he played with his electrical things. And thus the reason that I have so little to do with all electrical things in our home.
It has worked out for us. But as a result,I have watched the electronics come and go into our homes without too much knowledge of just how cutting edge these things are.
Our first TV was a black and white which really was another piece of furniture to set my ornaments upon. There was no remote or more than a channel or two. You plugged it in and turned the knob on or off. You even had to get up to adjust the volume. I miss the good old days.
The tape cassette, the CD player, the VHS player, the DVD player marched into our lives. And with each evolution, Bill connected, wired and hooked up the collection of them together. He connected the whole set to the amplifier and speakers long before sound surround became the norm in homes. Of course every electrical evolution meant another family tutorial was needed so that we could listen to our music or watch the TV when he wasn't around.
Somewhere in the midst of this came our first home computer. It was the summer of 85 or 86. We purchased it in Alberta. Bill set that baby up between our two babies in the back seat to bring it home to Regina. I really did not understand the concept of home computers, but Bill sure was excited. It had 500 mega bites of memory. Less than a quarter of the memory of most of those key chain memory sticks. He set it up and played endlessly on the "dos" prompted screen. I may have used it once or twice to write a letter. I had no idea what this machine was all about and thought it was just another electronic toy for Bill. Since then we have never been without a computer or six.
I have watched Bill replace computers with bigger and better models. I have received Christmas gifts of CD burners for Christmas. What the heck was a CD burner? I have seen him take them apart and add to the more internal memory. I have seen him bring them back to life after they have died a virus infected life. I have seen him do the equivalent of a brain transplant on them. I have seen him build a complete computer from parts bought from electronic specialty stores.
I have watched our digital pictures appear from our camera to the computer with a simple plug in. AND just when I thought it couldn't get more complicated I watched him marry our electronics to our computers. Double oi vey!
Electrically we have seen and done it all thus far. So why is it, that each time I am at home alone and want to watch a show or play a CD, or listen to my music which is now buried deep within one of the computers, that I stand before the new 50 inch plasma flat screen TV longing for the antiquated on/off button? But no luck. Instead I have to play Russian roulette with several of the 7 remotes that line up in a row, just slightly askew to the right of my beloved engineer husband's chair.
I clear my brain and try to remember the tutorial. My shaking sweaty hands reach for several of the remotes. I have to put one back quickly as it is the wrong one, ahhh! After some g'fingerpoking, I manage to wake up the computer to turn on the TV to make the choice of what I want to do media wise. I think I shall listen to my relaxation Cd, just to soothe the electrically challenged mind.
WKH
All my stories should start out with that.
Before we were married, the engineer in my life had taken apart most electrical things he could safely get his hands on. He built his own amplifier and a set of speakers. His electrical talents were well established before he ever entered university to take engineering.
Our first apartment after we were married had two bedrooms. Part of the second bedroom was set up as his project room. It has some of the strangest electrical gadgets that scared the bejeepers out of me. I would go in from time to time, but not very often. This one particular evening I decided to go in and see what was up. He had pliers in hand and was into the back of something very electrical looking. I asked if he ever got an electrical shock. Just as he was about to say “no, never” his distracted hand hit something upon which sparks, Bill and expletives flowed across the room in front of me. He did not see what was so funny as i burst out laughing. Ignorance is bliss but being a nurse, I knew CPR! We made a pack after he recovered that I would stay out of his way when he played with his electrical things. And thus the reason that I have so little to do with all electrical things in our home.
It has worked out for us. But as a result,I have watched the electronics come and go into our homes without too much knowledge of just how cutting edge these things are.
Our first TV was a black and white which really was another piece of furniture to set my ornaments upon. There was no remote or more than a channel or two. You plugged it in and turned the knob on or off. You even had to get up to adjust the volume. I miss the good old days.
The tape cassette, the CD player, the VHS player, the DVD player marched into our lives. And with each evolution, Bill connected, wired and hooked up the collection of them together. He connected the whole set to the amplifier and speakers long before sound surround became the norm in homes. Of course every electrical evolution meant another family tutorial was needed so that we could listen to our music or watch the TV when he wasn't around.
Somewhere in the midst of this came our first home computer. It was the summer of 85 or 86. We purchased it in Alberta. Bill set that baby up between our two babies in the back seat to bring it home to Regina. I really did not understand the concept of home computers, but Bill sure was excited. It had 500 mega bites of memory. Less than a quarter of the memory of most of those key chain memory sticks. He set it up and played endlessly on the "dos" prompted screen. I may have used it once or twice to write a letter. I had no idea what this machine was all about and thought it was just another electronic toy for Bill. Since then we have never been without a computer or six.
I have watched Bill replace computers with bigger and better models. I have received Christmas gifts of CD burners for Christmas. What the heck was a CD burner? I have seen him take them apart and add to the more internal memory. I have seen him bring them back to life after they have died a virus infected life. I have seen him do the equivalent of a brain transplant on them. I have seen him build a complete computer from parts bought from electronic specialty stores.
I have watched our digital pictures appear from our camera to the computer with a simple plug in. AND just when I thought it couldn't get more complicated I watched him marry our electronics to our computers. Double oi vey!
Electrically we have seen and done it all thus far. So why is it, that each time I am at home alone and want to watch a show or play a CD, or listen to my music which is now buried deep within one of the computers, that I stand before the new 50 inch plasma flat screen TV longing for the antiquated on/off button? But no luck. Instead I have to play Russian roulette with several of the 7 remotes that line up in a row, just slightly askew to the right of my beloved engineer husband's chair.
I clear my brain and try to remember the tutorial. My shaking sweaty hands reach for several of the remotes. I have to put one back quickly as it is the wrong one, ahhh! After some g'fingerpoking, I manage to wake up the computer to turn on the TV to make the choice of what I want to do media wise. I think I shall listen to my relaxation Cd, just to soothe the electrically challenged mind.
WKH
Monday, January 7, 2008
The Life We Choose
I'm reading a Peter Walsh book called It's All To Much. I am thoroughly enjoying it. It is on my favorite topic decluttering. And we all know that decluttering goes hand in hand with downsizing. And downsizing is passion for us.
Since we downsized almost 3 years ago we have been expounding the joys of our new lifestyle to anyone who will listen. Well maybe we even told some people who don't want to hear about it. Bill and I know that they are just not ready for it yet. But the day will come sooner or later when they are ready for a freer life.
Our realization came to us in a most insidious manner. We started to vacation in Europe and were astounded at their smaller homes. The homes that I visited were wonderfully decorated and not cluttered. Their homes had multi functional pieces of furniture. Everything had a place and was just perfect for the space. They would wait patiently for just the perfect piece to fill the spot.
As Bill and I became empty nester's, we started to enjoy our time together in evening walks and coffee dates. Our life was unfolding before us and we loved the carefree life we were living. We loved traveling and being away from home.
Both of us were working and away from our huge 1900 square foot home with a walk out basement for most of the day. Neither of us enjoyed yard work or shoveling snow. Neither of us were interested in the perfect decorated home. Let's face it off white walls was as wild as we got in our decoration prowess.
It was at this same time that Bill's mom moved out of her home of 40 or so years to a smaller apartment. The task of downsizing was momentous and very overwhelming at times. When it was done, it felt wonderful for her and her children.
We were lucky to have his mom around to make the decisions on what was wanted and not. In the case of my parents, we had to clean it out after they died. It was not a happy time for those concerned.
Bill and I started to chat about dealing with all the “crap” in the basement. We had boxes still packed up from two moves ago.
One day while we were tidying up for the “maids coming” we realized that of the seven rooms and three bathrooms, that we had only used 3 rooms and two bathrooms. The rugs still had the vacuum marks from the cleanup two weeks before.
It did not make sense to me that we heated this huge house where we barely did more than sleep in and have dinner. It did not make sense that we stayed somewhere that demanded time from us that we did not want to give. It did not make sense to us that we had so much stuff. We had 5 desks for the two of us. We had two sets of living room furniture. We had 4 beds. We had 4 sets of dishes and well the mugs and glasses took up half our kitchen cupboard space.
It all did not make sense. We were drowning in stuff we did not need or use. We forced ourselves to re evaluate that future day that we may need our stuff.
We bucked the trend and looked for a smaller space in the name of a condo which was located downtown. Our friends and family thought we were absolutely nuts to leave our beautiful new home with hardwood floors and everything we had wanted when we had it built for us. However sometimes even the things we thought we wanted were not the things we actually want. Lifestyles change and in our case we knew we needed to make the change to set ourselves free from what was no longer our dream.
In a matter of a few months we found the ideal place in downtown Calgary and sold our house just half an hour on the market. We now had less than 3 months to get downsized.
I am not going to say it was an easy task. It was daunting. It was emotional. It was reliving every year that we had been married. It was fascinating to find things we had long since forgotten about. It was a task in patience while we figured out what we needed and what we thought we needed. There were tears and laughter. There were memories and you know what I still carry all those memories even though I do not have the “stuff” that I kept stored in the basement.
We love our simpler and in many ways easier life in our condo. It is really freeing to be rid of all the things that hang around in the basement haunting you. Our daughters thanked us for going through our things already. What a bonus for them not to have to go through our memorabilia after we are gone.
We started slowly and as we got the hang of it, we became pros at sorting through our junk. We decided instead of watching the same re-run sitcom every night that we would go into the basement and fill up a garbage or recycle bag. Thirty minutes every evening. It worked well for us. It is incredible the amount of garbage and recycle we kept in our basement. It just kept coming out. Our garbage went from its weekly one black bag to as many as we dared to put out on garbage day.
We still struggle with clutter and accumulation. We have adopted a motto; "Shirt in, Shirt out". Meaning if you buy anything for our condo, something of equal value or size must leave. It works. Further we find ourselves shopping differently. Costco rations rarely works in our limited space. And we look at most things and raise an eyebrow and look at each other and say “garage sale fodder”!
If I haven't said it enough, Bill and I have never looked back after our change in residences. It seems that daily we find another perk to living where and how we live.
It is all about being honest with yourself and knowing what you really want out of life. Work towards the things that make that happen and happiness will follow.
Wendy H.
Since we downsized almost 3 years ago we have been expounding the joys of our new lifestyle to anyone who will listen. Well maybe we even told some people who don't want to hear about it. Bill and I know that they are just not ready for it yet. But the day will come sooner or later when they are ready for a freer life.
Our realization came to us in a most insidious manner. We started to vacation in Europe and were astounded at their smaller homes. The homes that I visited were wonderfully decorated and not cluttered. Their homes had multi functional pieces of furniture. Everything had a place and was just perfect for the space. They would wait patiently for just the perfect piece to fill the spot.
As Bill and I became empty nester's, we started to enjoy our time together in evening walks and coffee dates. Our life was unfolding before us and we loved the carefree life we were living. We loved traveling and being away from home.
Both of us were working and away from our huge 1900 square foot home with a walk out basement for most of the day. Neither of us enjoyed yard work or shoveling snow. Neither of us were interested in the perfect decorated home. Let's face it off white walls was as wild as we got in our decoration prowess.
It was at this same time that Bill's mom moved out of her home of 40 or so years to a smaller apartment. The task of downsizing was momentous and very overwhelming at times. When it was done, it felt wonderful for her and her children.
We were lucky to have his mom around to make the decisions on what was wanted and not. In the case of my parents, we had to clean it out after they died. It was not a happy time for those concerned.
Bill and I started to chat about dealing with all the “crap” in the basement. We had boxes still packed up from two moves ago.
One day while we were tidying up for the “maids coming” we realized that of the seven rooms and three bathrooms, that we had only used 3 rooms and two bathrooms. The rugs still had the vacuum marks from the cleanup two weeks before.
It did not make sense to me that we heated this huge house where we barely did more than sleep in and have dinner. It did not make sense that we stayed somewhere that demanded time from us that we did not want to give. It did not make sense to us that we had so much stuff. We had 5 desks for the two of us. We had two sets of living room furniture. We had 4 beds. We had 4 sets of dishes and well the mugs and glasses took up half our kitchen cupboard space.
It all did not make sense. We were drowning in stuff we did not need or use. We forced ourselves to re evaluate that future day that we may need our stuff.
We bucked the trend and looked for a smaller space in the name of a condo which was located downtown. Our friends and family thought we were absolutely nuts to leave our beautiful new home with hardwood floors and everything we had wanted when we had it built for us. However sometimes even the things we thought we wanted were not the things we actually want. Lifestyles change and in our case we knew we needed to make the change to set ourselves free from what was no longer our dream.
In a matter of a few months we found the ideal place in downtown Calgary and sold our house just half an hour on the market. We now had less than 3 months to get downsized.
I am not going to say it was an easy task. It was daunting. It was emotional. It was reliving every year that we had been married. It was fascinating to find things we had long since forgotten about. It was a task in patience while we figured out what we needed and what we thought we needed. There were tears and laughter. There were memories and you know what I still carry all those memories even though I do not have the “stuff” that I kept stored in the basement.
We love our simpler and in many ways easier life in our condo. It is really freeing to be rid of all the things that hang around in the basement haunting you. Our daughters thanked us for going through our things already. What a bonus for them not to have to go through our memorabilia after we are gone.
We started slowly and as we got the hang of it, we became pros at sorting through our junk. We decided instead of watching the same re-run sitcom every night that we would go into the basement and fill up a garbage or recycle bag. Thirty minutes every evening. It worked well for us. It is incredible the amount of garbage and recycle we kept in our basement. It just kept coming out. Our garbage went from its weekly one black bag to as many as we dared to put out on garbage day.
We still struggle with clutter and accumulation. We have adopted a motto; "Shirt in, Shirt out". Meaning if you buy anything for our condo, something of equal value or size must leave. It works. Further we find ourselves shopping differently. Costco rations rarely works in our limited space. And we look at most things and raise an eyebrow and look at each other and say “garage sale fodder”!
If I haven't said it enough, Bill and I have never looked back after our change in residences. It seems that daily we find another perk to living where and how we live.
It is all about being honest with yourself and knowing what you really want out of life. Work towards the things that make that happen and happiness will follow.
Wendy H.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
The Magic Of Christmas
CHRISTMAS IS PAST
When I was young, I could hardly wait for Christmas. It was such an excitingl time in my life. Santa, toys, candies and fun. It was a belief in something bigger and better than myself. It was a belief in magic.
This year my 9 year old granddaughter did not want to visit Santa in the mall. Yet as she struggles with the truth of magic, she tries so hard to believe.
During a very slow time at work, i told the story about my granddaughter not wanting to sit with Santa. We all shared our stories about how we found out. I was not surprised that everyone knew exactly how they found out the truth. I was in grade one. It was a few weeks before christmas and my very good friend, Sharon, just blurted out that there is no santa and that it is only our parents who play santa. I was 6 years old. I can still visualize the exact moment when I was told. The coldness of the winter air. The heaviness of the woolen snowsuit. The grey sky. We were running down the street to get home into the warmth of our home.
This is what I remember the day I was told there was no Santa.
I was so devestated. How could it not be true?
We grow older and many other known truths are shattered and replaced with newer truths. We struggle to maintain a piece of its former truth, but somehow it doesn't always fit in to the new truth.
Our lives become a constant struggle of finding the truth without devestation.
I am sad that my granddaughter is no longer in her magical period of life. I am sad that my fridge will not likely have another santa picture with her sparkling eyes of a child in that magical time.
WKH
When I was young, I could hardly wait for Christmas. It was such an excitingl time in my life. Santa, toys, candies and fun. It was a belief in something bigger and better than myself. It was a belief in magic.
This year my 9 year old granddaughter did not want to visit Santa in the mall. Yet as she struggles with the truth of magic, she tries so hard to believe.
During a very slow time at work, i told the story about my granddaughter not wanting to sit with Santa. We all shared our stories about how we found out. I was not surprised that everyone knew exactly how they found out the truth. I was in grade one. It was a few weeks before christmas and my very good friend, Sharon, just blurted out that there is no santa and that it is only our parents who play santa. I was 6 years old. I can still visualize the exact moment when I was told. The coldness of the winter air. The heaviness of the woolen snowsuit. The grey sky. We were running down the street to get home into the warmth of our home.
This is what I remember the day I was told there was no Santa.
I was so devestated. How could it not be true?
We grow older and many other known truths are shattered and replaced with newer truths. We struggle to maintain a piece of its former truth, but somehow it doesn't always fit in to the new truth.
Our lives become a constant struggle of finding the truth without devestation.
I am sad that my granddaughter is no longer in her magical period of life. I am sad that my fridge will not likely have another santa picture with her sparkling eyes of a child in that magical time.
WKH
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
