fun with attic diving #1

Junior Prom, 1989.

Treasure Hunting, 2012.

Smiley's face says it all.

Let's just say I was carefully not breathing at the time this pic was taken.

And what I lacked in decolletage was well compensated lower down.

And love handles are not at their prettiest when sausaged in fushia sateen.

But I admit to glee that DH could even get it zipped up.

Take that, 40!

Re-entry

We are back home from our roadtrip, it was fabulous overall, we are one of the most blessed families, all is well and it is good to be home.

But.

Oh, my goodness, the painful re-entry. 

1. stuff galore
First of all, we were crazy enough so blessed to bring home a small U-haul full of treasures from my parents' home.  Things hand-made by my great-grandfather, things that my grandmother used in the kitchen, things that were precious to my mother when she was a child.  Stuff I knew I could use, or that my daughters would love, or that was just too cool to let leave the family.  But this of course means that upon returning to our rinky-dink house I had to immediately jump into deep cleaning--we're talking high kitchen cupboards emptied all over the table and floor, high shelves purged and cleaned, storage containers emptied and shifted around--while all the stuff from our trip sat in bags and boxes around the living room, kitchen, deck, because I can't actually put things away until I make room for them.

This is actually fun.  You know I love purging unnecessary stuff, and bringing order to my little home spaces (always in my head the mantra location, location, location! so that things that do not get regular use are moved to where they are not using up high priority real-estate in my cupboards and on my shelves) and generally trying to simplify as much as possible.  So when I knew I would be bringing all these "new" things home with me from Illinois, I knew I would have to do a good de-cluttering of my own "old" things.  On the long drive home I started to mentally go through the inventory of our house and decide which long-held things could now be let go.  There are some things that have survived purges for years and years, but which are not particularly special to me, and which I can now happily replace with things I like better, or which are special to me, from the offerings of my mother's downsizing. 

And then some of the things I brought home I had actually wanted for a long time to help with in-house storage, and even tried to get on freecycle, ebay, and even etsy:  retro hard-side suitcases, metal tins, antique blue glass mason jars.*  So these are things that will immediately be useful--as soon as I clear off spaces and figure out what best is stored in them. 

And then there are some thing I brought home just to store until they might be needed.  Normally I am against this, in principle, because when you have a house as tiny as mine you just really can't hold on to everything in hopes it will be used in the future, and because we don't live in the same world as our grandparents did, and pretty much anything you *need* you can get your hands on inexpensively or even free.  So occassionally I give something away knowing that if I do happen to need it again, I can probably borrow it from someone, etc.  But some of the things in my parents' attic I just could not resist bringing home to store for the future, mainly costumes my mother made for my older sister and I from our musical days and Madrigals, a couple of prom dresses I designed and my mother made, etc.  Things the girls can grow into and might very well enjoy.

Then there are some things I really don't have use or space for, but I just could not let them go so easily.  Parts of a doll my grandma started to make.  My mother's old hardback Dick and Jane books, with almost pristine illustrations.  The little blue rocking chair that was mine as a little girl, and which was my mother's before me. 

And by the end, my Dear Husband and I started just chucking things into the U-haul knowing we would pass them on when we got home.  We had extra room in the trailer, and I just wanted the things to go to a good home. Music and art posters and prints from college--someone here on the Santa Cruz freeccyle is going to eat those UP.  Stuffed animals that were my favorites--we are letting the kids sleep with them a few times and then we will also try to freecycle them.  Toys from my childhood we will play with until the kids are tired of them and then we will pass them on to friends.

And so so so much more stuff I could tell you about, but I'll save for other posts. ; )  (No, really, I have some GREAT tidbits and photos!)

But I think you get the idea that my house looks like a disaster zone, and I am a little harried.

2. children letting all their own stuff hang out
My wonderful children, the seriously amazing road-trippers whom I practically ignored while in Illinois because I was always scuttling around in filthy eaves and handling fragile things and helping my parents think through their sorting, have officially come undone.

They have been so so so wonderful this whole time.  My kids SHINE when we are traveling, and they are overall DELIGHTFUL around other people, and were SO GREAT being pretty much unattended for days on end (ok, slight exaggeration because DH was working on his computer nearby and my sweet and capable niece was around them much of the time too, but STILL), and they ate unusual foods and they missed sleep and they were dragged around wherever their parents took them, and they didn't fight much and they shared and entertained themselves and played nicely and WERE SO GREAT.

And now all that greatness has become too much for them to sustain, and safely in their own little house they are letting all the rest of their junk spill out.

Ah, the precious darlings.  Good thing Mommy spent her first morning teatime at home reading up on her favorite blogs, and finding all kinds of good advice and encouragement for theraputic parenting.  One very helpful post, written about parenting kids with attachment issues and trauma, but which offers so much wisdom for regular old parenting particularly got my heart in the right place right when I needed it.  So, I am doing a pretty good job being loving and patient and redirecting and coming alongside and all that other good stuff.  Not perfect, but pretty good. I told the kids today that my two goals for the day were a) continue settling back into our home at a resonable pace, and b) enjoying one another.  With the emphasis on the latter.

And so our first few days home are very messy, but full of reminders about what stuff matters and what stuff doesn't. : ) 

Would you do me a favor if you read this?  Would you please consider quickly saying hi in the comments?  I have a very fun thing in mind to do with some of the beautiful things I am ready to let go of--a giveaway!--and I would like to know how many of you are still coming by. . . Thanks so much!

Hope all of you are having a blessed summer day, however you are spending it.


*ok, pathetically, this last item I realized I never packed!  They were in my dad's workshop so he and I talked about them, but I forgot to ask my mother, and that's why I did not move them to a place where I would remember to pack them. Sigh.  So I emailed my mother to suggest this would make a fabulous Christmas present later on, if she decides not to move them. ; ) 

URGENT PRAYER NEEDED

No, it is not for us. We are on the road again, in CO again on the way back to CA. We had a fabulous  time in IL, but were so busy I never got to blog again. (that and my mother put away her laptop (wisely) when the hordes of family descended, so my only way to blog would have been on my husband's touchpad, which I am typing two-fingered on now.  Not worth it.

unless there is real need.  And while catching up on a few blogs this morning in the hotel room while waiting for my family o awake, I read about a REAL NEED.  Apparently there is an American family RIGHT NOW in Ghana, legally adopting 4 kids, but they have been accused of child-trafficking, and were put in jail, and their children, including their American biological children ages 4 and 6, have been placed in a government orphanage!!!!!!  On this touchpad I don't know how to cut and paste links, so please go over to the blog on my sidebar called "for the love of Julia and Aaron" to read the story and follow the links she gives.

My prayers are for the safety and well being of the children, and then that our and the Ghanaian governments work reasonably and quickly to resolve this scary, sad mistake.  But ultimately, that God uses this for His good and perfect means in the hearts and minds of this family, the gov officials on both sides, and all those who read their story.  That after it is all over, everyone will be able to look back and see clearly God's provision and direct intervention, and see truth of his active care for those who love him and call upon his name.

Regular blogging hopefully to resume mid next week!

have a blessed weekend, everyone.

the attic

I started out my helpfulness the day after we arrived by diving into the attic and sorting with relish. My parents' house is an old one, built around 1910, if I remember correctly (you can see one pic of it here.) It has a downstairs and an upstairs, plus a full basement, complete with coal bin, and a walk-up attic--from one of the front bedrooms you open what looks like a second closet door, and see the staircase going up. 

I love the attic.  I have ever since I was a kid here.  Some time after we first moved into this house (so, sometime after my second grade), my dad thought my two sisters and I might like to play up there, so he placed a piece of carpet under the west gable (if you look at that linked photo, you can barely see the east gable and window there at the top under the eaves--the other side is just the same from the outside), and arranged a little area for us.  Even as children we had to duck our heads while playing up there; only in the very center peak of the attic is it high enough for a tall adult to walk without fear, and most of the attic you have to watch your head or stoop or even crouch.

No matter.  It is a fantastic space.  Possibly my favorite place in the whole house.  Wood floor blackened with age, exposed red bricks of the chimney in the middle, the two wood-framed gable windows on either end letting in morning or evening light and occassional welcome breezes.  Just the right amount of neat storage and jumbled treasure, new trunks of off-season clothing and old trunks of old formals and costumes.  Hand-knitted baby sweaters and little white leather shoes kept simply by sentiment. A yellow and green and gold sequined Mardi Gras fish costume.  Prom dresses from the 1950's and 60's.  An antique wooden wardrobe against the chimney, with a real stuffed king cobra coiled on top, his hood flared and fangs bared--and an apologetic dressing of silver duct tape around his middle from where he had suffered too much handling by us little girls. 

Of course it was freezing up there in the winter; my memories of the attic during the cold months are pretty much limited to quick excursions up to bring down Christmas decorations or to find boxes for wrapping presents.  And in the summer it could be oppressively hot, the air so thick and almost heavy in my lungs, and even breezes could not penetrate the dull, baking air and were only felt if I pressed my sticky face against the aged window screen for a moment of relief.

But still, even the heat felt like adventure, and comforting at the same time, and I frequently went up to the attic in all but the most unbearable heat.  I remember sitting in that West gable, playing house with the antique doll bed and quilt and a little box I had with three drawers and blue flowers painted on the sides.  I remember, too, sitting in the attic and playing our family Simon game. Why in the attic? I'm not sure, except that my parents must have stored some games in the attic during the years that my dad was finishing the basement.  But that game was all the more mesmerizing in the semi-dark attic. 

For a time in my later years--late middle school or high school--there was a mattress on the floor over near the West end, and I remember escaping up into the attic to read, for hours, lying there on that bare blue and white ticking-striped mattress in the dim, hot quiet.  But it is that west gable for which I have the most affection.  I don't think my sisters played up there as much as I did, so I remember it feeling like more my space than a family space.  Maybe that was important to me growing up as the middle of three sisters, and always sharing a toom with my older sister--I don't remember desiring my own space as much as just naturally going and seeking it out. 

I am  having sudden waves of nostalgia wash over me as I type this, along with sudden glimmers of mental images--of certain toys or items that we had in that little play area. . . but the pictures in my mind are not complete, so I am having a hard time remembering exactly what the items looked like. . . .  I can recall better the things that ended up in the attic in my teenage years, or after college--models built by my grandfather, boxes of memorabelia like our yearbooks and old, dried corsages and artwork and awards.  This time, going up in the attic, it was even farther removed from the space of my childhood, as my parents have had garage sales from time to time, and things I remember could not be found this time--they must have been released into the world years and years ago, while I was off busy with my own family.

But the sense of it--the sound of my feet on the steps leading up the attic stairs, the still heaviness, the smell of old tar and old wood, the dim light from the single bulb leaving the eaves in shadow--is exactly the same. 

And I am so glad I got to explore and remember and escape in it one last time.

focusing on the good stuff, pt 1

The big downsizing garage sale was this past Sat, and my parents and my niece Sarah and I really worked hard all week preparing for it. (DH was supposed to be telecommuting, but would come help lift boxes and helped keep an eye on the munchkins while he worked.)  I already told you how much I enjoyed going through the house with my parents sorting, esp. up in the attic; my second favorite part of the whole thing was setting up a little "boutique" of my mother's lovely discards.  My mother has very good taste (which she passed on to me ; ) and so there was a lot of really nice stuff to set up.  My dad made low tables out of cherry shelving and an old, very shabby-chic door, and I arranged the decor items by color and season: spring/Easter, Americana, summer (Americana in the middle because it contained country-ish decor that perfectly melded spring-ish garden-y things with summery 4th of July things), fall/harvest/Thanksgiving, and winter/Christmas.  And we're talking handmade ceramics and hard-carved wood and designer candles and wreaths and brass and stone and glass--none of this chinzy plastic stuff.  One lady who came at the beginning of our sale also came back at the end and bought more--she told my mother that ours had been one of the best that day.  And considering that DH counted from the newspaper ads that there were EIGHTY-SEVEN garage sales in town that same day, that's saying something.  But that also meant we did not get nearly the number of people I would have expected.  In fact, I was downright depressed by what I thought was a low turn-out until I found out my parents still made enough money from their sales to have made it worthwhile.

And really, the most important part of the whole endeavor was sorting through the house, making the first sweep of paring down household goods in preparation for my parents listing their house on the martket, and eventually moving.  And that was a complete success: I think by the end of the week I had poked into every single cupboard and closet and nook and cranny in the house, including the basement and the attic.  I feel like I was helpful--and I found quite a few treasures to bring back home to CA with us.  In the process I also got to enjoy my parents' stories about where things came from, to whom they originally belonged, etc--and I love knowing the stories behind stuff.  (I will now have to get those stories written down so I don't forget!)

A few of my favorite items that we get to bring home:
--A handmade cloth doll named Alice, who was made for my mother when she was five.  She has handmade clothes too.  I used to play with Alice when I was a girl, so the pleasure in inheriting her is partly nostalgic, partly having a piece of something special from my mother's childhood, and partly because I love handmade things--they seem more "real" than storebought.

--Wooden bowls and cups made by my great-grandfather, Grandpa Troy.  From what my mother said, he had a hobby of collecting wood from different places where they visited, and then he would turn those pieces into beautiful little cups, each no bigger than a person's hand. Each one is a different design, and he even stamped the kind of wood onto the cup somewhere.  I guess he made a lot of them, and after he died family members were invited to take one (or more); my mother said she ended up with whatever people did not take, so she has about 25 or so.  she has had five on display for as long as i can remember, and now she will be offering them to the family members who come for the reunion.  doug and i are each going to choose one.  Even better--while sorting through a cupboard, Mother and I found five little wooden bowls, very rustic, also made by Grandpa Troy.  So I could give one to each of my children, and the girls cherished them immediately and started keeping their own little treasures in them, on a shelf in the basement where we are staying. (their treasures include shell necklaces from my childhood, cap tassels from my mother's high school graduation and other unknown educational milestones, little olive wood communion cups from my parents' trips to Israel, all little things liberated from their longterm storage spaces around the house this past week)  How cool is that, for them each to have a little something hand-made by their great-great-grandpa?!

--My mother found a little box of things that were her father's, from WWII--badges, pins, coins, newspaper clippings.  She is saving most of them for my nephew Christopher, who is really into American military history and wants to be a historian when he grows up.  But there were several patches, including his "stripes"--I guess he was a private, first class--so she gave some to me.  That same day we found her old Girl Scout sash, with all its badges of merit, and it gave me a wonderful idea--to take some of those patches off her sash (she gave full blessing) and my grandfather's  "stripes" and some of DH's old boy-scout merit badges and my father's old "letter" patches from high school, and sew some of each on denim jackets for each of the kids. How cool would that be?  I'll wait will they are a little older and will understand the significance of the patches (and when they won't outgrow my handiwork too quickly), but it is a fun project to keep in mind.

(Perhaps I am also dating myself with that idea--maybe the whole embellished jean jacket thing is too 1980's.  And yes, I had a jean jacket in high school upon which I had pins, patches, etc. I even had several boyfriends add items to the jacket!  And now that I think about it, I still have some of those pins and patches tucked away in my jewelry box at home. . . I'm thinking the kids' jackets just got a little something from me added to the project too! ; )

So, handling my parents' stuff has been fun.  Nostalgic, historic, enlightening.  When all is said and done, it is still just stuff.  But if you are going to have stuff in house house, make it good, useful, beautiful, or meaningful stuff!


More "stuff" later.  For now, I'd better head to bed.  Still not getting enough sleep--and of course there is still too much fun stuff to do each day, so we need every bit of sleep and energy we can get!

Relish

"Cayenne, marjoram, cinnamon."

The names of lost and fabulous cities through which storms of spice bloomed up and dusted away.

He tossed the cloves that had traveled from some dark continent where once they had spilled on milk marble, jack-stones for children with licorice hands.

And looking at once single label on a jar, he felt himself gone round the calendar to that private day this summer when he had looked at the circling world and found himself at its center.

The word on the jar was RELISH.

And he was glad he had decided to live.

RELISH!  What a special name for the minced pickle sweetly crushed in its white-capped jar.  The man who had named it, what a man he must have been. Roaring, stamping around, he must have tromped the joys of the world and jammed them in this jar and writ in a big hand, shouting, RELISH!  For its very sound meant rolling in sweet fields with roistering chestnut mares, mouths bearded with grass, plunging your head fathoms deep in trough water so the sea poured cavernously through your head.  RELISH!

He put out his hand.  And here was SAVORY. . . .

"Savory. . . that's a swell word.  And Basil and Betel.  Capsicum.  Curry.  All great.  But Relish, now, Relish with a capital R.  No argument, that's the best."


--from Dandelion Wine, in honor of Ray Bradbury, who taught me the marvel and pleasure of words well used.

weary, but heart full

I have so missed blogging recently. As you can imagine, there were just a few things to be doing there at home, what with finishing up the end of the school year, spending a lot of time with DH's family to enjoy Auntie N and Uncle S and Sweetness's visit to CA, and then preparing for a month-long roadtrip, oh and trying to plan and prepare long-distance for the big family celebration for my parents' 50th wedding anniversary. Blogging, by necessity, had to take the back seat. Actually, to make a more accurate metaphor, it was more flung out the car window at 90 mph.

Anyway, now that we are here in IL I want to make purposeful effort to resume blogging--because once you stop, it just gets harder and harder to start again. Kinda like exercising. Except for the whole moving your body and not eating chocolate at the same time part.

Can you tell I'm tired? I gotta tell you, I am beat. Truly, deeply tired. Weeks of busyness before the trip (or maybe it was more like 2 months--it all starts to blur together), and then the drain of driving long days and getting into our night stops too late (sometimes 10 pm, at which point we sometimes still had to eat something and then get everyone to bed) and trying to see too much on the way out (a national parksalooza!), and seeing some of our favorite people, but the whole pace just being pretty energetic overall.

And for some bizarre reason, about the second night of the trip, I started to wake up at about 6:30 a.m. every morning. We're talking before the children. When i was still completely exhausted and wanted nothing more than to sleep longer. The pattern is continuing here in IL, and so for example last night DH and I stayed up way too late, till about 1 a.m., and then I woke up before 7! (and don't forget, i'm still on CA time so that's more like 5 a.m.!) I think I have just been running on adrenaline too long, and it is hindering my sleep.

And now here at my parents' I have been sooooooo busy helping with sorting (more on that later), and helping get set up for the fabric sale my mom had today (more on that later too), and just the general taking care of kids too. of course my parents have been working hard since before we got here too, so I know they are exhausted too, but for me the end result was that i kinda lost it completely about 1 p.m and was practically crying I was just so tired (you know that horrible scratchy-achy all-nighter feeling? yeah, that was me today) and tried to nap but couldn't sleep. . .

and yet. . .

oh, the sweetness of lying down next to my little boy during that nap, and me being awake but him falling into a much-needed deep nap. my hand on his little tummy, him sprawled, arms over his head, sweet toddler cheeks so close to mine. . .

my husband being very patient with my little breakdown, helping me carry heavy things when I asked and taking over kid duties when I needed. Feeling likehe had my back a little on a day that was beating me down. . .

enjoying every single minute of the little things i am doing around here to be useful to my parents. seriously fun. handling family heirlooms, the freedom of releasing unneeded stuff to the world, the time with my mother and niece. . .

my kids, while of course being kids and having their not-so-great-moments, have really overall been so helpful. seriously, not only are they the best roadtrippers, even Smiley getting into the groove the second day, but they have been playing so nicely with minimal supervision. i have ignored them for hours on end, up in the attic, or lugging things from here to there, ot today being outside with the fabric sale. And while DH has been mainly around them, telecommuting (huge blessing--why we were able to come out for so long) from the family room and able to keep an eye/ear out for them, he has been able to sit and work for hours on end without much interruption, even with me elsewhere. They have been that helpful. . .

There are so many more little blessings and awarenesses i have experienced while here--i am now out of energy to type more.

I love being here, in my childhood home.

I love my children having the experience of my parent's house one last time. they are making some seriouly fun memories already.

I love being around my extended family.

I love being able to be helpful to my parents, since we live so far away that does not get to happen often.

I love the break from routine, and normal life.

I am sitting here exhausted, and seriously happy. we will be here for two more weeks, and then have the long trip back to CA. So in some ways, the visit has just begun! there is SO MUCH to do, as we are getting ready for a "downsizing" garage sale next weekend--this next week is going to go quickly. and then the following week we will be getting ready for the onslaught of my sisters and their families and then the big reunion and 50th wedding anniversay celebration--and then too quickly, it will seem I'm sure, we will be loading up and moving out on the road home.

It could be easy to think of all we need to do and get overwhelmed, and just feel more exhausted, but sitting here (when i should be trying to settle down for sleep) i am perfectly content and looking forward to it. And there are so many fun things I would love to share with you all, those of you who are still lingering after my sparse blogging as of late. So I will make a real effort to take time to get some of them down--because otherwise more things will keep coming, and I never will get them down, and this blog is part letter to family/friends and part personal journal, and so when I don't blog about things that have meaning at the time, I always wish I had.

So, there you go. oh, and if you are noticing the inconsistent capitalizaiton--i am using my mother's laptop, and her keys are *just* smaller enough that the right shift button is not where my finger expects it, and so half the time it does not catch. and I am too lazy at the moment to care! ; )

blessing to you all on this weekend!