The Opposing Path, or Kerfluffle and Flow

Posted on August 2, 2013 by mindfulmagpie

Over thirty years ago, I married my complete opposite. I was a young, foolish extrovert who made decisions based on feelings and intuitions. He was equally young and foolish, but was an introvert who made his decisions with facts and evidence. When he wanted to make decisions quickly I felt pressured. But I had been raised in the South to please my man, so at least early in the marriage, I tended to go along with his ideas for the sake of harmony. On his part he was often stunned that there could be any opposition to his ideas, because they were so logical. Of course, too much going along for the sake of harmony makes for a cranky spouse, so through the years we have had to learn to respect and even celebrate our differences.

I understand now that my detail oriented husband may actually have a heart attack if he cannot read the EXACT amount a check has been written for. For me, “about $70.00″ is close enough. So I write checks out of another account he never even sees. Problem solved! He doesn’t like clutter, so I try to cheerfully hang up my clothes at least twice a week. On his part, he tries not to pressure me to make decisions quickly, because I have to know I have looked at all possibilities first. He is kind to me about things I don’t notice, like whether or not a car needs gas. He knows that is way too boring for me to be involved with.

We have worked through the power struggles and communication problems of the earlier years and have emerged into the bliss of the empty nesting world. But a recurring challenge is how to come to mutual decisions. Things always come up. When we have conflicting ideas on how to handle a situation, what do we do? Does one partner capitulate to please the other, and deal with the resentment later? Does one partner doubt his or her own judgement and wonder if they’re just too controlling? Or do the partners keep working and keep talking until an agreeable decision is made? Where is the line between our individual selves and our partnership?

As I look back over the last three decades, I see that we have always done our best when we have been honest with ourselves and each other and have stuck to the work of working it out. Because we are constantly in the push/pull of being individuals and partners simultaneously, it is draining. Because we are opposites in personality styles, it is messy. But in the end it has brought us to the best emotional places in our marriage.

Recently a new “thing”( meaning an incident we will laugh about later but not yet) came up that reinforced the importance for me of listening to myself. Here it is: In the process of preparing our pied a terre, we moved our bed from our home to the condo. This meant we would be purchasing a new bed for our home. But first our bedroom needed to be painted. In the interim, we had been sleeping in another bedroom in our home. When we moved our bed, I gave away an armoire that had held many of my clothes, so my clothes were all over the place in plastic bags and various boxes.

Finally we picked a bedroom paint color and new bed linen. As soon as my husband painted the room we could get new bedroom furniture. But no, first my husband wanted to do something about our laminate floor. Some of the boards had been pulling away from each other, in approximately the same place where I had used a space heater for several winters. My husband didn’t like the look of it. I thought we had bigger fish to fry, as the hardly anyone could even see the place. See Exhibit A.

Would anyone really notice this?

My husband proposed that he (which I thought would surely also mean me) would pull up the existing laminate while the room was empty, and lay an engineered hardwood floor. Although I am always happy to improve my home, I did not like this idea. First, we had been neck deep in renovations at the condo for almost a year, and were so close to getting it furnished. I thought our efforts should go there. Second, all projects take longer than people think they will, especially if either of the two of us is involved. Third, I had been without a bedroom or place to put my belongings for six weeks now, and I wasn’t interested in extending the time. I was tired of all this left brain decision making. I even wrote a post about it! I told my husband that if he must have a floor, that I would rather someone else put it in. No, no, no, he replied. That would be too expensive. He could do it himself for much less money. ( And five times the effort, I said to myself. I’ve matured over the years, so I don’t have to say everything I think.)

The next couple of weeks were excruciating for me. Every time the subject of the floors came up, my husband gave me his very logical reasons why we should follow his idea. I gave him my very valid reasons why we should not. I went to a flooring company just to get estimates, hoping there would be little price difference between having someone put in the floor or doing it ourselves. My husband saw the estimates and said they were too expensive.

I stewed. I did not want to be a poor sport, but I did not want to pull up a floor and lay another one right now. Why couldn’t he just listen to me? We didn’t (and don’t) even have a car big enough to bring laminate home in! And what would we do with the old laminate? How many weekends would this take? I wondered if this could be just a rare instance on my part of being stubborn. Surely not. But my husband was so stuck on this idea. Could I just give in? And readers, I could not. I had to listen to myself. We were going to have to go through the messy process of working it out. It made my stomach ache to think about it.

To the Moon Alice!
Source: rapgenius.com

I brought it up one last time on a Thursday night. Sparks flew. We both defended our positions. I had tried giving my husband lots of facts, since I thought he could hear those better. But finally I told him that if he proceeded the way he proposed it was going to cause more trouble than a few boards gone awry. What was his actual problem with the floor, and could we solve it using less drastic means? Since my husband could not live with the appearance of the floor, we tried to order more laminate on the internet to repair it. But of course it was discontinued. Then he reluctantly agreed to try to glue the drifting parts down. Crisis averted, I hoped. My anxiety went down by one thousand points. I had taken care of my individual self, and the relationship had survived.

That Saturday he glued down the boards. On Sunday he began to replace the quarter rounds he had taken down to repaint the bedroom. We were just about ready for our new bed! Oh, I was so glad I had not just given in to what he wanted. I celebrated by spending an hour or so in my swimming pool. After a refreshing dip, I went into my bathroom for a shower. But…. the threshold to the bathroom was pulled up, and the laminate seemed … damp. What had happened?

My husband walked in at that time and said that yes, water seemed to be coming from somewhere in our bedroom, but where? And why? For the next hour we ran the wet /dry vac and tried to locate the source of the ice cold water, which we had found seeping out from under the wall. Reluctantly my husband began to pull up pieces of laminate to see where the water was coming from. Things kept getting curiouser, and in the end we turned off the water and put in a call to a plumber.

Oh No!

I was planning to attend a Ramadan dinner that night with a friend, so I had to leave before the plumber arrived. Dinner was later than I thought, for I had failed to take in account that food could not be served until after dusk. As I listened to a speaker expound on working for the common good of all, I received a text from my husband. The plumber found that my husband had driven a nail through the wall into a water pipe coming in from under the slab of the house. He would have to jackhammer into our bedroom floor in order to fix the pipe. Water had seeped under the laminate, so our floor was of course, ruined.

On the way to the condo, where we had to sleep because we had no water at our home, my husband was so upset with himself. How could he have done this, he asked. How much was it going to cost to fix it? And why was I not angry with him? Why should I be angry with you? I asked him. It was just a mistake. Anyone could have done it. It’s not the end of the world. I meant that. At that moment I felt fully available to be a partner. That didn’t make my stomach hurt at all.

The next day a plumber came and fixed the pipe, and we were able to wash the 23 or so wet towels we had from the leak. My husband called the insurance man, and someone came to patch the hole in the wall from the repair. Sometime during that week my husband said in a quiet voice that when we got a new floor he no longer thought he had to install it himself. Oh, O.K., I said in a nonchalant tone.

That same day that the plumber fixed the slab, I attended my usual yoga class. Before we began, our teacher wanted to discuss two Sanskrit words, paksa, (roughly , going with the flow, ) and prati paksa (roughly, going against the flow). She related the terms to our yoga practice, saying that sometimes in order to properly do a pose we go the way the body wants to go, but at other times the best way to achieve balance is to take an opposite path. We must always assess which is the better choice: going with the flow, or going against the flow. Indeed.

Silly Manager

Posted on July 8, 2013 by mindfulmagpie

It’s been really ugly around here. I haven’t wanted to include tales of woe and carnage in this blog, but I can compartmentalize no more. I must announce that this very day an attempted coup inside my brain has been peaceably put down. Silently and insidiously, possibly for months, my left brain self, a nerdy middle manager with an extensive collection of pocket protectors, has been co opting the machinery of my right brain. Misled by injections of cortisol, my right brain leader, goddess, and protector of magpies routed untold amounts of energy bound for cooking, writing, sewing, drawing, and countless other creative and enjoyable endeavors into an endless examination of minutiae.

It’s been awful! Here is how the maniacal manager took hold. About a year ago, my husband and I bought a small condo in a cool part of town. The object was to have a simple pied a terre for when we wanted to go to the theater, eat out, or just get away. The price was oh, so right, so we bought it, and Voila! We had our little getaway spot. Well, not exactly. It needed a little cosmetic work. The cheap laminate floor was buckled; it would have to go. The walls needed painting, and the crown molding appeared to an upside down baseboard, a construction trick I would probably have tried myself. The kitchen wallpaper was hideous.

We may have just made the above simple changes if I hadn’t realized after closing that THE TOILET WAS YELLOW!!! So the toilet water would always look YELLOW!!!! I could not accept a color scheme with yellow water. And yes, before we knew it we were deciding to basically gut the entire condo. We required the excellent services of Bubba S., renowned contractor, who guided us patiently through months of destruction and construction. We were not able to put a bed in the unit until June 2013, ten months after we bought the condo. Progress was sometimes slow, but since we didn’t live in the unit, it was not as arduous for us as it could have been.

The condo is now transformed, and I promise to do some posts about it later, but for now we must focus on the rebellion. During the long months of waiting to be able to use the condo, my left brain was busy fomenting dissatisfaction. Along my nerve synapses, it was sending messages such as , ” You’ll never be able to use that condo.” “We’ve been waiting for a year.” “We could have gone to the condo this weekend.” (Yes we did sleep there some on a blowup mattress, but it’s so uncomfortable.) Thanks to all that left brain agitation, as soon as we were able to put a bed in the unit, I felt a great pressure to get the place furnished instantly. Instantly.

It sounds easy to just furnish a one bedroom apartment, right? Wrong! First, we decided to take our current queen sized bed to the condo and buy ourselves a new king sized bed for the house. So now my old bed is at the condo, and I don’t have one here yet. Because my bedroom here needed painting. So I had to pick paint. But I couldn’t pick paint until I picked out a duvet cover. “Just try harder,” the left brain urged as I scoured every single internet source for duvet covers. The situation again made fertile ground for the opposition. I ‘ve slept upstairs in a guest room for a month, my clothes are all stuffed in hefty bags, and I only know the whereabouts of one pair of earrings, because they happened to be in my purse. Yes, my brain cells were becoming attuned to the directive voice suggesting I just needed to get organized around here, to make some choices, to get something accomplished.

At the same time, I needed condo furniture. I wanted a midcentury modern look. In my imagination I could see a snazzy living room with a hi fi set, a vintage bar, a clean-lined buffet, groovy accessories, and Don Draper sipping a martini in the corner. But the reality is that that stuff can be hard to find. Many extremely cool items are either quite expensive or only available for local delivery. I know this because I have also searched every single possible outlet for these items regardless of my need for sleep and moisture for my bloodshot eyes. And I told all this to my left brain but he made me keep looking. Finally I found a dining room table and chairs on Ebay.

I had never bid on anything before, and I think dining room furniture is a pretty formidable first choice for a beginner. But again, my left brain informed me it was an emergency. I persevered.

I woke up early one morning last week, and when I closed my eyes to go back to sleep, all I could see was an Ebay page scrolling, scrolling, scrolling. I had lost touch with the idea that nothing at all would happen if I disregarded the voice of the left brain. I wanted to take pictures of my flowers and make pesto, but robotically I continued to focus on decisions for the condo. I was unhappy and I knew it. But I couldn’t stop. What was going to become of me? Would I wake one morning devoid of all humanity, but an expert on item numbers, bids, costs and measurements?

Last night I had a dream that a former roommate of mine in college was giving a talk on how she was tired of being materialistic and what a dangerous practice it was. I really think that was the moment when the right side began to feel some reinforcements from some unknown place within. I woke up this morning and knew I had been delivered from the jaws of an endless future of “human doingness” instead of “human beingness.” That is what the left brain side wanted of me. But I will not comply.

Furnishing the condo was never something to be finished, just something to be enjoyed at my own pace. I will order a couch and chair for the living room , and my new king sized bed this week. And that will be all. Becoming so thing and object oriented is not who I am. I don’t need spectacular surroundings to feel relaxed and happy at the condo; I just need peace.

Right now the right brain leader, goddess, and protector of magpies is having a talk with the left brain manager, thanking him for all his hard work. He will surely be needed for duties in the future. ( She catches more flies with honey.) The neurotransmitters he controlled are being quietly disconnected. He must be tired, she murmurs, as she motions to her minions to make him comfortable in some remote location of the brain. He IS tired, he realizes, as he listens to the hypnotic tones of her voice. And it feels so good for him to rest right here. Silly manager, he thinks as he drifts off to sleep; a coup would never have worked in a place like this.

She Who Restores Me To Myself

Posted on June 18, 2013 by mindfulmagpie

Magpies, in their love of shininess, have an especial need to experience scintillating moments with glittery people. By glittery I do not mean shallow, brittle, self absorbed, or vain. I am talking about an honest shine that comes from the inside all the way out, an unconditional shine that radiates warmth over others, a brightly colored shine that pulsates with willingness to pursue novel endeavors. I am of course describing my sister Ellen.

I promised in my last post to write about our latest adventures. But first a little background. Last summer I wrote a post about my sister in which I referred to her as L.G., or Little General. Ellen did not appreciate that appellation, so I have withdrawn that name from our lexicon. Last week, in a blaze of dervish like activity prior to boarding a plane, I referred to my sister as a hurricane, knowing that should she read the post I would be in big trouble, my kind intentions notwithstanding.

I am now on record to say that Ellen gets things done, but she is NOT a general. She is a force of nature, but she is NOT a hurricane. What then, can I call her? She is a person of great intellect, wit, and charm. Her droll humor and clever imagination cannot be matched. Her no nonsense work ethic and organizational skills are an inspiration to others. Her zest for life is unparalleled, her enjoyment of it a sight to behold. Her authenticity is a beacon to my soul. AND she loves me!

I had not seen my sister since December 2012, when I spent one night with her en route to a friend’s cabin. Little did we know that six long months would pass before we could see one another again. Somehow, with our various travel and work schedules along with family commitments, the weeks elapsed with no firm visiting plans.

We don’t talk on the phone much. We write letters by hand, on paper, to one another, and have for years. But this past semester many weeks separated our letters. I was beginning to feel like an American colonist awaiting word from the continent. Had my letter been lost at sea, dashed on a rocky promontory after a shipwreck? Would I hear that she and her family had perished in a smallpox epidemic? Finally my impatience got the better of me. I left her the following cryptic voice mail,”The jig is up!”

That, ladies and gentlemen, got a response, and at last we were able to plan for her to come see me in my town. She flew in on a Friday night just as my husband was flying out on a business trip, making the timing just right for an All Girls’ Extravaganza. I picked up the Hurric. picked her up at the airport and took her straight to my new midtown condo to spend the night. She admired the condo, and we both exclaimed over the sweet note my husband had left for us. Then she unpacked a few of her things. As I watched her familiar movements and listened to her long accustomed voice, I had this exact thought: I am restored to myself.

Our plan for the week was to have no plan. That way our plans couldn’t possibly go wrong. That evening, we wanted to eat dinner someplace where we could hear ourselves talk. I recommended a place where we chose a secluded table. No sooner had we sat down than a large group of ladies, some under the influence of more than two martinis with more in the offing, began screaming raucously, in a way that truly rattles the eardrums.

What do you suppose Ellen did? She approached those ladies, put her arm around one, leaned in and had a little ole talk with them. And they lowered the volume! When we left the restaurant a waitress followed us out to thank her for helping with the situation!!! How do you describe someone like this?

I told you she’s a force of nature!

The next day Ellen accompanied me to a Knit In Public Day at the zoo. She joined right in with these knitters, sharing knitting anecdotes from her own experiences.. And yes, she had brought her own knitting, self sufficient as always. She patiently allowed me to show her off to these folks who may never see her again,with nary a complaint about the heat or crowds. What would you call someone like that?

After knitting we stopped in a consignment store to look for midcentury modern furniture pieces for my largely unfurnished condo. She said she did not know what midcentury modern was, but she found me two tables, and rearranged my car so that they would both fit. But that is not all! She went all the way back down to the condo with me and helped me schlep them up there in grocery carts! Impressive, right?

And wait! There’s more! She moves furniture!

On Sunday Ellen gamely accompanied me to the Book Club Brunch where she knew barely a soul. I had actually not read the book to be discussed but by chance she had and was able to make salient comments while I nodded sagely. Though we were at a lovely function in a lovely home, Ellen murmured not when I announced we must be moving on to the theater to see Death Trap. This allowed me to use my last two remaining season tickets and also take advantage of the special that day for extending my subscription. All because of Ellen.

On Sunday night we dropped in to Tug’s at Mud Island to be waited upon by my son. While enjoying our meal there we proofread a paper my son was writing for a summer school class. I am fairly sure we were the only two customers there discussing poetry. After dinner we took a leisurely stroll by the banks of the Mississippi River, remarking on the environs and how many pieces of driftwood resembled dinosaurs. Thus ended another cultural evening.

After a discussion of poetry over dinner.

Ellen did not flinch the next evening when it was time for Iyengar Yoga. Her graduate school schedule had prevented her from going to her own class all winter, but she knew enough to know not to push herself. She has “subbed” in my class before, so many members were of course glad to see her. After yoga we spent some quality time outside on my pergola ( which her husband was instrumental in building) before eating a lovely dinner of grilled vegetables and chicken. Prepared by Ellen.

Post yoga quality time.

Our chef having some well deserved relaxation.

Tuesday was my hair day but we made it Ellen’s hair day too. I told her I liked her hair better red than blonde highlighted, so she obligingly had it redone. I watched to see how the stylist blew it dry so I could show her later. We were too hungry to take pictures, so just believe me that we were two groovy red haired old ladies when we left that shop.

And Wednesday. By Wednesday I had to face a deadline - Mary Hannah’s portrait. For months I had been working on the portrait my niece had asked me to paint. I had decided that I would have it finished as best I could by the time Ellen departed on Thursday so she could deliver it for me. This meant that after helping me with some yardwork early in the day, Ellen would be stuck watching me paint. Ellen had, however, bought some teeny tiny canvases, and tried her hand at them while I labored repeatedly to get M. H.’s skin color to a reasonable tone. Or tint. Or something. Eventually, though her skin looked like combinations of calamine lotion and badly applied makeup, I could do no more. Ellen was suitably soothing and optimistic that the portrait would pass muster with her daughter.

One of Ellen’s tiny canvases.

That night we again spent the night at the condo in order to be closer to the airport in the morning. We wanted to have a nice evening so I made us a reservation a place close by where I did not think there would be gaggles of loud ladies. Ellen acquiesced when I suggested she change out of those crummy shorts, and together we walked in the blazing heat to the restaurant. She changed into a skirt of mine that was too long, while I was wearing a skirt I considered a little dowdy. As we walked I saw how easy it could be for the two of us to become peculiar old ladies together, going to the Early Bird Specials and matinees, careful to be home by dark.

It was a bittersweet evening. As I doodled on my side of the tablecloth, Ellen was compiling a list of all we had done.

Now with red hair.

The list was long, but not nearly long enough. Oh, the things we would do if we had more time! Oh, how empty indeed would even the mundane events be without her! We decided once again that there was no help for it but to retire together in the same place, on the same property if possible. We’ll tell our husbands it’s the only way.

Ellen has gone home now. The portrait is delivered. I am trying to recalibrate myself after almost a week with this adorable creature who knows my thoughts, who finishes my sentences, who always finds something to celebrate. Now that you have read my post I must ask: what you would call my sister? How can she even be described? If you can think of anything - not L.G. or Hurricane of course- I’d be glad to know. For now, I’m just going to call her She Who Restores Me To Myself.

Hurricane Ellen

Posted on June 13, 2013 by mindfulmagpie

I know you wonder why you haven’t heard from me. I know you’ve been worried about me. So let me assure you that I have lost neither life nor limb. But I have experienced a powerful natural phenomenon that one doesn’t encounter every day : Hurricane Ellen.

I volunteered to experience the effects of this powerful little swirling force. I invited her. I flew her here in fact! You may have heard of her last year if you read my post Extra Extra, Read All About It, which details my lovely girls getaway with Hurricane Ellen. I referred to her in that post as The Little General, but I have been informed NOT to call her that any more. So for now it is Hurricane Ellen. She’s not going to like that either, but my brain is in too much of a whirl to come up with a title that describes her in more superlative terms.

I do owe Hurricane Ellen a better moniker, and the flattering description she so richly deserves. In print right here I promise to do it. But not right now. I am packing to go out of town for the weekend, and my force of nature house guest just left this morning. For now I just want to tell you I am still here, not harmed, but actually much improved from having my wonderful sister here for almost a week.

In parting I will say that if you know someone you long to spend the week with, go ahead and make it happen. Don’t wait to have the time of your life. You may not experience it as a Hurricane, but any force of nature brings its own rewards. I must stop here because my husband is clearing his throat and giving me those “hurry up” looks. I will give the full Hurricane report when I return!

Squatters’ Limbo

Posted on September 14, 2012 by mindfulmagpie

It is again Friday afternoon, and I’m preparing to meet my husband at our new condo. Thus far having the condo has been an adventure, in a good way. We’ve spent two nights there, on successive Fridays, and this weekend we will be there Friday night AND Saturday night.

Feeling comfortable there has been a process. We are in a kind of squatter’s limbo. We don’t want to take much down there because everything will have to be moved for renovation. Normally I would scrub every surface of a dwelling I had purchased, but we’re not going doing it here, because it will all be torn out. Yet it has to have a decent enough atmosphere for me to stay there without cringing and holding my muscles in uncomfortable positions, the way one automatically does in a place where one does not want to put one’s purse on the floor. I was already a little disappointed when we went to the condo for the first time because my husband had not yet changed the air conditioner filter, and I thought the place smelled like like a dead foot.

With the afore mentioned dilemma in mind, we started out the first weekend with an air mattress, linens, and basic toiletries. The footies I remembered to bring so I could walk inside without shoes were an added plus. We weren’t there very long, because we had theater tickets. In the morning my companion went out and bought us coffee to drink on the balcony.

Our bed for the time being.

A sweet card from our daughter and son in law.

That morning, sipping our not so good coffee, we outlined what we thought were the next vital needs for the condo. Me: Lamp beside the air mattress. One cannot be expected to sleep in a room where one cannot read. Him: Balcony height chairs and a coffee maker. Me: Change the air conditioner filter! These improvements were unanimously approved.

The second weekend we arrived armed with the coffee maker and coffee, and had the balcony furniture on order. I had scrounged up a lamp and a little table for the bedroom. My husband had stopped by earlier in the week to change the nasty air conditioner filter. And when we entered the condo, SURPRISE!!! the balcony furniture had arrived! And the place smelled much better!

Our first new condo furniture!

Ambient lighting always helps.

That night had a more relaxed pace, because we did not have the theater deadline. After unloading our new supplies we headed down to Mud Island, where our youngest son works as a server in a casual grill. He ushered us to our reserved table where we were able to have a leisurely dinner, knowing we would be receiving stellar service!

It’s good to have friends in high places.

While we were waiting for our dinner I slipped out to get a few shots of the Mississippi River and the bridge in the dusk. Standing there, with my camera poised to snap, I had the lovely revelation that we were making this condo a home. By staying there even when we didn’t walk to walk there barefoot, by enjoying a glass of wine on our too small chairs on the balcony, by coming down to Mud Island and recording the evening, we were making memories. And each small memory would now be attached in our minds to the condo. A new chapter had really begun.

After dinner my sweet husband and I unpacked the furniture box. I was determined to do my share putting the furniture together. Naturally the directions had few words if any, and screws and things kept spilling out of those little plastic bags and rolling into oblivion. My husband was very patient with my “help,” stopping what he was doing to show me how to use those little wrenches and providing helpful information such as, “Screws generally go in clockwise.” When we got the first chair put together he kindly suggested I try out the chair and let him finish the job. Since it was so late I accepted his offer.

The new furniture.

Now we are the veterans of two nights at the condo. Events have lined up so that this weekend we plan to spend two nights there. Tonight we will go to the theater, tomorrow meet the plumber to discuss the renovation, go to a festival and to a party. My husband doesn’t know it but I am bring a second air mattress to slide in under the first one. I’ll let you know how it goes!

Funny Thing

Posted on August 31, 2012 by mindfulmagpie

A funny thing happened on the way to building a pergola this summer. We bought a condo. Yes. A condo, as in condominium. Here’s how it happened.

The building is just a little bit younger than I am.

I live in a state of constant searching for new exhilarating challenges while at the same time having to manage the boring but important parts of life, such as arranging for food, shelter and clothing. In earlier years, having library books helped balance out the folding of the cloth diapers. Making a spaceship out of an appliance box negated the emotional effects of having no disposable income. Painting the workbench in the storage room purple took my mind off the fact that teenagers were driving my car so often that I had no chance to go anywhere. Learning to knit brought solace as I started the eventual highly successful transition to becoming part of an empty nester couple.

Today, having fewer hands- on responsibilities gives me more time to practice my Magpie lifestyle which includes indulging myself in little dreams which may or may not come to fruition. The idea of buying a condo as a getaway spot has been one of those “Wouldn’t it be nice” kinds of things. Fun to think about, but impossible financially. Fun to think about, but too much responsibility. Fun to think about, but impractical.

Though I don’t care to my have fantasies deflated, for a time all of the above mentioned objections were true. A luxury condo would be out of our range unless we rented it out, which would require that we furnish it nicely and deal with management people. And where would the condo be? We love the mountains, but the closest mountains would require a bone rattling drive over Arkansas roads. In the other direction if we were to drive to East Tennessee, we might as well drive to North Carolina. Since two of our three children live at opposite ends of the United States, how often would we want to make a twelve hour drive to a mountain cabin? And a long weekend? Fuhgeddaboudit!

One morning while we were still building the pergola, I glanced at a real estate site while drinking my morning coffee. Condos. Memphis. Wha? What? Wait a minute! Here was a one bedroom condo, perfect for a weekend getaway. In walking distance to the theater and restaurants. Balcony. Swimming pool. I KNEW this was for me!!!! AND THE PRICE WAS MORE THAN RIGHT !!!

Adrenaline flooded me! My knees were weak. My fingers longed to press the “Contact me” button, but I made myself wait until my husband got home from the gym. Then I nonchalantly asked the big question. “Honey, Would you buy me a condo if it only cost XYZ%$?” “Oh, certainly,” he replied. YES!!!!

And so a new adventure was born! I had to make an appointment, the first one without my husband because he was, um, building me a pergola. I was sold. We went back together. We both were sold. Of course, as I so quickly remembered, buying real estate can never be totally smooth. The first unit, which had been upgraded cosmetically, was taken off the market. Ouch. We regrouped, and looked at another unit, which we bought.

Everything in this unit needs changing. EVERYTHING!!! But what fun it will be! The first unit was move in ready, but I wouldn’t have chosen those particular upgrades. I would rather make my own choices. For me it is like having a brand new house, choice wise.

The floors are buckled. They have to go.

The balcony just needs cosmetic work.

The whole place needs painting.

We plan to use the condo as a weekend getaway. Not every weekend, but lots of weekends. Before, we often didn’t go into mid or downtown as much as we wanted to because we didn’t always feel like schlepping back to the suburbs at midnight. Or to be perfectly honest, 10:00 P.M. Now we can have an evening out and when we are tired, the condo is only a few minutes away. The more we think about it the more fun things we think of to do.

Could you make coffee each morning while looking at this?

Heeere’s the bathroom!

Yes, it will be gutted. All of it.

Here are two of a set of vintage Memphis glasses I bought for the condo. I just can’t leave you with that bathroom picture.

We have owned the condo now for about two weeks. Tonight after walking somewhere nearby for dinner and over to see Legally Blonde we are going to spend our first night there. We’re packing light: Air mattress, sheets, pillows, toiletries. I suspect we’ll have glass of wine on the balcony where we already have two lawn chairs, and welcome ourselves to the neighborhood. Sometimes dreams do come true.

mindfulmagpie

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