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.

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.

Winter Holiday Club

Posted on January 6, 2013 by mindfulmagpie

Who wants to join the Winter Holiday Club? Requirements: Wish fervently for snow so that we can all stay home. Go nuts when it does snow. And most importantly, sing the Winter Holiday Theme Song. I’ll teach it to you now. It is sung to the the tune of the song “Happy Holidays”. The lyrics are “Winter holiday.” Just those two words. As soon as the first flakes fall, or as soon as the forecast seems bound to actually come true, members are to serenade other humans and pets with the lovely song. If no one is around to serenade, then the telephone may be used to share your joy. Dancing while singing is optional. After numerous stanzas, or when you are are told to please stop, go find your snow clothes and get outside!

Since so many of you will be joining, I’ll go ahead with my Club Report. I, as founding member of the Club, have gotten a head start on the snow season by spending the new year in Banner Elk, North Carolina. That is not cheating. Many of us do not live in a place where we can count on snow every year. We have to go places where we can be surrounded in winter loveliness.

My destination at Banner Elk was Boulder Falls Retreat, owned by our dear friends Beth and Jim. Their mountain oasis, which they rent out through VRBO when they are not using it, has everything one could want in a mountain hideaway: mountain views, privacy, comfy furnishings, toasty fireplace, hot tub, and a waterfall on the property. Who wouldn’t dream of being snowed in there, sipping a warm drink by the fire, and listening to the rushing mountain stream outside?

Boulder Falls Retreat. It’s only a few years old.

As we drove to the cabin a few days after Christmas, I thought I might get my wish of being snowed in. About an hour out of Banner Elk we ran into snow, sleet, and hail. Yippee! Would it stick? We didn’t know, but when we left the cabin to eat dinner, the roads had become more treacherous. We decided not to venture further that night, and pulled off the road to eat at a place I will not recommend.

Jim is not a member of the clergy, but it looks as though he is either praying that our car made it to the restaurant or that we would be able to eat the sub par food.

Jim is not a member of the clergy, but it looks as though he is either praying that our car would make it home from the the restaurant or that we would be able to eat the sub par food.

Back at the cabin, snow continued to swirl around us. I wanted to take pictures, but night pictures of snow are way beyond my skill level. Sadly, lots of the snow had blown away in the morning. But I was not to be deterred. Right after a heavenly breakfast of sour dough bread French toast on a bed of melted butter and warm maple syrup, ( Good food is a vital part of WINTER HOLIDAY) I donned my “I only wear this stuff once a year” snow togs, grabbed my camera and got outside for WINTER HOLIDAY!!!!!

Rushing water outside the cabin.

Don’t worry. I’m the only one out here.

Since I was apparently the only one celebrating WINTER HOLIDAY, I was on my own to explore the environs, and try different settings on the camera. Being alone in the snow is a delightful solitude. And it was magical! The world was white, crisp, and clean. I could hear only my crunching boots and the icy water tumbling over the boulders. Overnight, the world had decorated itself just for me.

The waterfall behind the house.

I continued a ways down the road before making my way back to the cabin and sliding down some boulders on their property to climb some railing onto one of the porches. From there I could take pictures of the view beyond the cabin.

There were no takers for the rocking chairs that day.

Later that day, my hostess and I drove into Boone to try to stimulate the economy while the men visited the local family billiard hall. No alcohol, no cola, good burgers.We celebrated the evening with a hearty winter dinner of kale, sausage and pasta.

Downtown Boone, North Carolina

The next morning the four of us debated whether to go snowshoeing or to hike the trail at Linville Gorge Sate Park. Because our hosts had more company coming that afternoon we opted for hiking at Linville Falls. But first we had to bulk up with this mountain breakfast of crispy hash browns, eggs, crumbled bacon with toasted sour dough bread. Disclaimer: If you rent the Boulder Falls Retreat, the owners will not be there to cook; you’re on your own.

Was I in danger of becoming spoiled?

Without a doubt. Especially with the freshly ground Peet’s coffee my husband made us each morning.

Vigorous outdoor exercise is a vital part of WINTER HOLIDAY. The idea is to challenge yourself physically and go inside and treat yourself to whatever goodies you want. Linville Gorge had just the kinds of hills and trails I needed to hike. And the views were spectacular.

The falls.

Here I am with our hostess. I was trying not to look as though I were afraid I would fall off into the chasm below.

These beautiful vistas were worth the climb over a sometimes slippery trail.

This fungussy stuff reminds me of hydrangea leaves.

Shiny snow crystals.

After many bracing ups and downs, and photo ops, the four of us were tired and chilled. And we ALL recalled an establishment we had passed on the road, advertising coffee and desserts. How convenient that we would be passing by there on our way back!

Winter Holiday Club members are always on the lookout for a place like this!

After our exertions, did Linville Mercantile ever hit the spot! The proprietors don’t need publicity from the likes of me; they’ve been featured in Rolling Stone and other publications. Apparently the area has ”Merlefest”, and the Rolling Stone writers dropped in then, and kept coming. And if you had walked in that place with a freezing nose and freezing hands and smelled that sour dough bread fresh out of the oven, you’d keep coming back too.

It can be hard to remain civilized when someone sets down a loaf of steaming hot fresh bread in front of you.

I think the owner said there were one dozen eggs in this cake.

Oh, the steaming hot bread and butter! Oh, the apple butter! Oh, the pineapple upside down cake! Have mercy!I f I hadn’t had the option of getting up to take pictures I don’t know if I could have maintained decorum; I may have reached right cross the table and crammed an entire loaf of bread into my mouth.

Other customers also trying to act civilized.

More desserts for next time!

I wish I could have lingered to shop.

Or set a spell on the porch.

We arrived back at the cabin in time to prepare for six New Year’s Eve guests: two neighbors with their two houseguests for cocktails, plus two more houseguests for Beth and Jim, Allan and Janet. My husband and I didn’t know any of these people, but we joined right in, chatting about where to stay in Italy, weddings in Scotland, and life in the Czech Republic. See what good fun the Winter Holiday Club members experience?

When the cocktail guests departed, we enjoyed a chicken and olive dish for dinner, with bourbon cake for dessert. Grouped comfortably around the fireplace. the four of us welcomed the New Year with toasts of homemade limoncello. My only regret was that I was way too full to contemplate getting in the hot tub. Maybe next year.

All too soon it was morning, and time for my husband and me to make the nine hour drive home, where no snow would await us. We had time for one more mountain breakfast at the Grandview. By the time we all ordered I could see we were going to have the whole works: corned beef hash, grits, biscuits, eggs, sausage - in short, everything people our age are not supposed to have. But we did have good company while eating it!

We took leave of friends old and new right there in the parking lot. I didn’t think to ask them if they want to join the Winter Holiday Club. But I think I will. How about you? I’d love to hear YOUR WINTER HOLIDAY reports! See you at the next meeting, but in the meantime, get started memorizing those theme song lyrics!

2012 In Review

Posted on December 23, 2012 by mindfulmagpie

In the drift of one delicate snowflake, 2012 will be relegated to the past. Over at my house we are entering the year end blizzard of activities when every remaining day of the year is filled with social engagements, travelers arriving, and travelers departing. But before rushing into the season’s revelry, I want to reflect on some accomplishments of the year.

I’m just using these snow references because I want some snow this year.

I’m not a New Year’s Resolution kind of person. I tend not to write a lot of personal lists unless you count writing down errands or chores. I operate in a more abstract style, trying to move forward in an organic way. But when I started looking back over the year, I was pleasantly surprised at how many things I was glad I had done. Before I knew it I was counting the happy events, and they arranged themselves and lined right up into a list. Here goes!

1) The first few items are related to physical well being. For the past several years I have met twice a week with a personal trainer. The sessions are short, 30 minutes long, but intense. I can honestly say after at least four years of working out with him that there is NO comparison between working out by yourself and working with a knowledgeable professional.

2) I continued my second year with Iyengar yoga. Between the combination of personal training and yoga, I am more fit and more aware of my body and breathing. Plus the yoga people are so generous! Look at some of the goodies I have brought home from there!

Home made honey and ghee.

3) I finally “got it” about how to eat properly for insulin resistance. Of four siblings I am the only one who is neither a diabetic (yet) or on medicine for high blood sugar. My family has some unfortunate genetic data in this arena. I am 100 percent certain that without the exercise and proper eating I would be a diabetic by now. Along with the benefits from items #2 and 3, I have energy I haven’t had for years.

No Geritol for me. Also no ironing.

4) I finally convinced my husband to add yoga to his existing fitness routine. After a year and a half of my “gentle persuasion” he succumbed and has never looked back.

5) I allowed myself to get help cleaning the house. The main hurdle here was to let go of the idea that I could hire someone who would be pleased to clean my kitchen floor on their hands and knees with vinegar water. Who knew that was an unrealistic goal?

6) I started this blog!!!!! Thanks to having energy AND having help in the house I had no more excuses about why I kept talking about wanting to try writing a blog yet never getting started. Writing the blog has delighted me in so many ways I can’t enumerate them. Just trust me.

7) Having started the blog, I needed to become if not a better, at least a more reliable photographer. I stumbled across the Improve Photography course and chose to take it because I could go back and see the lessons as much as I needed to. I am still a novice at learning to use the camera, but my progress has been considerable in light of where I was before I took the course.

8) I’ve already written about this, but I finally took an acrylic painting class. I am interested in so many things that I will never master any one thing, but a little basic instruction can take me a long way.

9) I chanced upon the little condo we have acquired as a pied a terre. As we remodel the little space we think of more and more adventures we can have there in the future. It won’t be long!

10) When both of my parents passed away I brought home old pictures and scrapbooks from both sides of my family. It took me several years to be able to go through them all, but I still didn’t do anything with them; it was just too overwhelming. Finally this year I was able to hire my son to scan each and every item. I will probably blog more about this in the future, but for now I am pleased to know that all my extended family can have either originals or prints of people or events they cherish.

And there is the list. Other than continuing with personal training and yoga, I did not know I was going to do any of the other list items; they just happened and made my life better. How about you? Dd you surprise yourself this year by attempting or accomplishing some things you had always wanted to try? Did you take care of something, like my photos, you were afraid you would never do? Pat yourself on the back then, and go enjoy your holidays. Soon we’ll have a whole new year in which to challenge ourselves!

In Which I Appear In An Expat Blog

Posted on November 5, 2012 by mindfulmagpie

Whee! I am sprinkling imaginary colored confetti all around the room thinking about the story I have to tell! I’ve been sitting at the keyboard struggling with how to preface my tale by reminding readers that my husband/ traveling companion and I are exact opposites, and that therefore we are in constant tug of war trying to find overlapping ground in and out of our mutual comfort zones. And that sometimes it’s not pretty. But when we can both get a healthy push outside what we were expecting, we are ushered into the land of great memories. So grab a handful of confetti, and come on! Sprinkle it into the story wherever you want!

Last week I went with my husband to Amsterdam, Netherlands, where he goes at least once a year on business. I go with him as often as I can. We always arrive two days early for him to recover from jet lag before he teaches a class for two and a half days, and I amuse myself. Because he has to take his vacation days for these trips ( They are a sideline, not his regular job) we usually have to leave as soon as he is finished with his class. As one might expect, I feel somewhat chafed under this routine, though I am certainly grateful to get to go anywhere at all, and have tried to make the best of the short time by planning something new for us to do together on the one full day my husband has before his work begins.

This time my plans were to go outside the city to the Hoge Veluwe Park. a large wildlife reserve with a world class art museum and restored hunting lodge of the former land owners. Free bicycles are available for riding through the park. The plan was to go through the park, the museum, and the lodge and then stop at the nearby Airborne Museum. which tells the story of the World War II battle of Arnhem. My husband agreed to these plans except he just wasn’t sure he wanted to ride bikes in this cold weather.

So Sunday morning, we embarked for the train station, two hours later than we planned, due to having accidentally set our clocks back TWICE for Dutch daylight savings time , and proudly without a guide book, because I had an international phone plan, and I was going to use it. Oops! When we arrived at Arnhem, where we were to catch a bus to Hoge Veluwe, I couldn’t get my phone to work. ( Later I did find out how to make it work.) We stood around the train station trying to read the bus schedules. There was no one on duty in the bus information kiosk. I asked a couple of bus drivers who told me to take bus numbers which didn’t exist. I stepped into a third bus and was trying to describe where I wanted to go, when I heard a voice behind me saying. “Is this where you are trying to go?”

I turned and there was a young woman with an open guide book, pointing RIGHT at our destination. “Oh yes,” said the bus driver. “We go there.” Aaah! So we boarded the bus, along with the young lady, who explained to us that she too was going to see the Kroller Muller Museum at the park, which has the largest collection of Van Goghs outside of the Van Gogh Museum. Then we all faced the front and took a winding route through the countryside until we arrived at the back entrance of the park.

Of course we did not realize we were at the back of the park, which meant that the museum was farther away from us than we expected. We heard the young lady with the guide book ask the admission desk lady how one would get to the museum from the gate and heard the woman reply that one could walk or bike the SIX MILES to the museum! Well! So much for “Mr. I Don’t Think I Feel LIke Biking Today.” I’m thinking at that point he was rather relieved to know that biking was an option.

So we found ourselves combing through the bike racks for the right size bikes, as the little young lady did the same. I call her a little young lady because she was of rather short stature. Sadly, none of the bikes were right for the length of her legs. “Oh well,” she said in a philosophical tone. “I’ll just walk”. Oh my. I felt awful leaving her there while we rode. I found myself offering to try to ride her in or on the kiddie seat which was on the back of each bike, though I knew she did not know us well enough to accept such an offer. As I expected, she declined , and set off resolutely to cover the six miles to arrive before the museum closed.

Cold and windy day

Nothing will induce this man to wear a scarf.

Meanwhile, we set out on our gearless bikes in the 40 degree windy weather to ride across the park. The terrain went from wooded, to meadow, to sandy, and back to wooded. Every few minutes I would lament the fate of the young lady, for even on wheels this was a difficult six miles. Couldn’t one of us have ridden the young lady on our bike handlebars? Did she have a warm enough hat? By the time we neared the museum I was hungry and cranky. After parking our rides in the bike stands we ate a quick lunch in the cafeteria.

I will tell you that the museum is worth seeing. It was founded by the Kroller Muller family to house their growing art collection.

It was good to see the Van Goghs.

Remember this man! We’ll be seeing him later.

Sadly we did not have enough time to give the museum the perusing it deserved, but I think we made it through most of it once. In one gallery I was relieved to run right into the young lady I’ve previously mentioned. She recounted her arduous journey, reporting that about halfway through the walk she’d commandeered an abandoned child’s bike with crooked handlebars. It had a rough ride, but she made it work, finding out that when she’d parked the bike it also had a flat tire! We were glad to know that to exit the park we would go on a different, shorter path to catch the bus.

The afternoon was waning, but we took a few more minutes to see some of the sculpture garden. And when we returned to the bike racks, guess what?? There were no bikes left!!! Someone had taken our bikes!!! So as the sun sunk lower in the sky we walked about a mile and a half to the edge of the park. And there, huddling in the hood of her coat, was the young lady, whose broken child’s bike had NOT been stolen. She knew the bus schedule, and announced the bus we wanted would arrive in twenty minutes. A handsome young Dutch man - yes, the one I told you to remember - joined us at the bus stop and echoed the expected time of the bus.

As we listened to the night sounds in the woods, stomping our feet for warmth, we finally made one another’s acquaintance. Our young lady introduced herself as Lindsay , a native Texan who had only been in the country for two months of a two year stint working in the Hague. She had been trying to go somewhere in the country every weekend. Twenty minutes became thirty, and then forty, before we decided we had better hike to the next village “only” a fifteen minute walk further, to catch another bus.

Again we trekked down the road. I was gratified that Lindsay agreed to wear the extra scarf I had brought. I would hope someone would lend my daughter a scarf under similar conditions. I was in that “slumber party” mode by then, which for the un- slumber -party- minded means that everything appeared extremely funny, for example, remarks such as “I could break into that barn over there and steal a COW and ride it to the bus station!” So I laughed like mad, knowing all the while that my husband’s brain was swarming with doomsday scenes of himself being stranded in the countryside, unable to teach his course the next day.

Finally we reached the next village, and the bus stop, which judging by the odor of manure was just on the other side of a horse farm. The helpful and again handsome young man read the schedule and determined that we had just missed the last bus to Arnhem. But in about another hour, a bus would come and take us to some other unknown town where we could catch an unknown train to Amsterdam. To appease my husband’s unspoken worry I said we could also take a taxi to the train station. I don’t think it helped, as he quickly retorted that would cost too much money.

So I shrugged and gave up on making suggestions. ”Where’s your bloody colleague?” our Dutch young man yelled at a bus going in the wrong direction. “Yeah! Lindsay and I echoed,”Where’s your bloody colleague!”Lindsay remarked she would surely have something to blog about from today. Blogs! We both had blogs! We quickly got to writing down one another’s blog addresses. I couldn’t see my husband but I assume he was staring at the sky and grinding his teeth. Soon his efforts paid off, for we spied a bus pulling up on an adjacent street, and then one which went to Arnhem! We dared not hope as my husband ran over to the bus to confirm its destination. My husband was so flustered that he referred to all of us passengers as “colleagues” to the bus driver, and exhorted said driver to wait for us. We colleagues sprinted right around to the bus and boarded, except for the handsome young man who apparently was going another way.

Ohh, heated bus seats were a welcome luxury. We hurtled through the night, skipping past most bus stops, as they were deserted. Before we knew it we were pulling into the Arnhem train station. Now all we had to do was get on the train! Spying a train timetable,we saw that the next train to Amsterdam would depart in two minutes! Yikes! The three of us sprinted through the train station. Lindsay and my husband took an escalator; I pounded up the stairs.

At the top of the stairs was the train for Amsterdam. Lindsay dove in the door. I followed her. My husband followed me. And just then the train pulled out of the station. Looking around, gasping for breath, I reflected that we must have gotten on the first class car. This car had wood paneled walls. People were eating, and buying beer. We kept walking through cars looking for second class. But all the cars seemed so nice. Eventually we ran into a conductor who asked Lindsay for her train ticket, Perusing it, she announced that WE WERE ON THE WRONG TRAIN!!!! Yes, we had indeed boarded not the Intercity, but the super fast German ICE train to Amsterdam. Oh well, we were on the train now. “You will have to each pay four extra euros for the train,” the conductor solemnly informed us, no doubt wondering why all three of us were laughing like hyenas. After forking over the extra euros, we asked if we could stand in the snack area, as the train was so crowded.

It seemed only fitting to celebrate our adventures with a beer which my husband procured for each of us. So we sipped our beers in the train saloon, propping ourselves between the train windows and the table. mighty glad to have places to prop ourselves. We were relieved and exhilarated, for we had bested adversity that day. Cheers to us! Cheers to the handsome Dutch stranger! Cheers to adventure! Cheers to whatever we hadn’t already cheered!

Our co-adventurer Lindsay.

As Lindsay exited the train at Utrecht, we waved through the window until we couldn’t see her anymore. Early the next day I checked Lindsay’s blog, [email protected] , and saw that she had already posted about our adventures! Reading her account I felt I was living that day all over again. It was thrilling to read about myself through someone else’s eyes, and know that we had shared this madcap adventure! I tried to comment on her blog, especially to ask permission to mention her blog, but it wouldn’t let me leave a comment. Lindsay, if you read this, I hope it’s OK!

I’m home now, marveling over how travel enriches my life. It teaches me that two very different people can can share adventures. It rewards me for the time I spend learning about another country and culture. It reminds me that sometimes I’ll just have to use my wits regardless of how carefully I plan. It renews my conviction that all people are connected, and that bonds can be forged among all people. If you get a chance when you travel, do something you have never done before. You won’t be sorry. And I can’t promise, but you could even wind up being mentioned in an expat blog!

Vancouver’s Siren Song

Posted on October 21, 2012 by mindfulmagpie

Modern photography has forever changed my travel memory process. Is anyone else out there old enough to remember being invited to your friends’ and relatives’ homes to sit in their darkened living rooms to see their slides of the Grand Canyon? Or, when Polaroids came into vogue, to see eighteen envelopes of newly developed pictures from the beach? Well, I certainly remember those times. When I was growing up it seemed that our family would have one endless evening of viewing either our own travel pictures or those of our relatives, and then we never saw the pictures again.

Today, thanks to technology, we can see our pictures as often as we want to. And we can delete the awful ones so that no one is subjected to seeing blurred photo after blurred photo while smiling and agreeing that yes, the Smokies are breathtaking at this time of year. Having such easy access to my photos lets me savor my memories over and over again. While looking at my photos, what happened months ago seems to have occurred only yesterday. Since I will be traveling to Amsterdam at the end of this week I thought you might like to look back with me on the last day of my trip to Vancouver in June.

For those not numbered among my thousands of regular readers, I will say that I have posted about Vancouver several times before. To bring you up to date, after we had been in Vancouver for a few days we had seen many of the “must sees” for first time visitors. But I was anxious to do at least a tiny bit of exploring off the beaten path. At the last minute, I found the Vancouver blog I wish I had known about earlier, Miss 604. If you go to Vancouver, check out her blog! It is full of daily events in the Vancouver area. Anyway, scrolling through the blog I found a listing of Vancouver’s hidden gems. And there it was: the Punjabi Market. That was the perfect outing for our last day!

We reached the Punjabi Market by bus, crossing over into Kitsilano, going straight down Main Street. As we passed through shopping districts in the drizzly rain, I was kind enough to point out to my husband the many inviting thrift stores we passed. He did seem relieved when I said what a shame it was we wouldn’t have time to go to them. Maybe next time?

As soon as we arrived in the market area, my companion and I parted ways, he to find a place where he could sit and read, and I to find and capture shiny objects of beauty. I walked up and down the street a few times, looking at the variety of stores. Which ones should I visit? Stores which sold food and large kitchen items were just not practical; this gal does not check bags on an airplane. And saris? I love them, but a red haired woman in the sari store was going to be a bit conspicuous. Ah, here was a store that could accommodate my needs!

This may have been the place. Source: vancouver.about.com

I don’t know the name of the place, but it was narrow, and filled with shiny glittering bracelets and other bibelots seemingly designed for the magpie in me. The gracious shopkeeper, seeing I was about to have the vapors from the effects of all the delicious shininess, allowed me to look at my leisure and did not object to my taking pictures. When I wanted some of the hanging pretties ( I don’t know how else to describe them) , she agreed to my climbing a step ladder and trying to release said pretties from their perches on the ceiling. She asked where I was from, and I told her, but she did not seem to have heard of it. When I am striking up a conversation while out of the United States, and the person I am speaking with has not heard of Elvis Presley, I give up and say, ” I’m not from these parts.”

How was I going to decide what to buy from all these treats?Be still, my heart!So I had to have some bangles, and I had to have some of the hanging pretties. Then there were the shoes. I bought two pair, but wish I had bought ten, because these lovely shoes OWN me. I wear them everywhere.They match whatever I plan to wear. If they want to go to the swimming pool I take them. If they want to go to dinner I take them. You would do the same if you had these shoes. May they last long and delight me for years.

Here they are hanging out by the pool.

Seriously shiny!

These too!

About the time I left that store was the time at which I had agreed to meet with my companion. I found that he had conveniently parked himself at a bar which served local draft beer. I wound my way up the street and joined him. After a beer, I suggested we investigate the clothing store opposite the bar. I felt somewhat timid about taking pictures in the store, so my companion approached the lady behind the counter on my behalf. He asked her if I might take pictures; he thought she replied affirmatively. However, after I took one shot she began to exclaim that I must NOT take pictures! Yikes! At least I got one!

These delicacies will have to wait until next time.

It seemed to be time to move on. We caught a bus and went into Gastown. Both of us were sad that our lovely trip was coming to an end. In Gastown we stopped for dinner at the Black Frog Pub.

Hey! Who’s that woman in there with my man?

After dinner we took one last long walk back to our hotel. When we arrived back at our suite, we were rewarded with a lovely sunset view from our living room window. As we packed we reflected upon the way we had been welcomed in Vancouver at every turn. Surely the city was encouraging us to at least return some future day if we could not extend our visit today. It was too soon to leave, but we have heard the siren song. We shall return!

The Way It Is In The Big Apple

Posted on September 29, 2012 by mindfulmagpie

About a year ago our oldest son and his lovely bride moved to New York City. His move made the distance between my oldest two children into a sort of extended yoga pose with one long arm stretched from the Southeast United States to Pasadena, California, and the other lengthening just as hard to New York, New York. The third child lives about twenty minutes away from me , so I can just bend my knee behind me as I balance on one leg to symbolize his distance. Try that pose for a minute. Don’t forget to breathe!

It may sound silly to think of contorting one’s body to demonstrate the whereabouts of one’s children, but being a parent is nothing if not a contorting experience. As time goes by I adjust more to the idea that my children’s adult statuses are permanent, and no clever bargaining I do will ever change that. In the transition I have hopefully been able to form close adult relationships with them, and share in the joys and travails of their lives. I am enormously proud of all three of them, and of the new son and daughter I have acquired through marriage. And I’ve taken quite well to the empty nester experience. So all is well except that I can’t see them whenever I want to. And I do want to.

Therefore when my husband recently announced that he had a business trip to the Newark, New Jersey area, I immediately made plans to meet him there at the end of his business so that we could spend the weekend with our son and daughter in law in The Big Apple. We arranged to stay through the weekend so we could have all day Saturday and Sunday with the busy couple, and fly back Monday. I was thrilled to get to see my darlings, but also to see the city without having to make any of the plans. Past history has shown that when we visit our children they do all the leg work. It’s nice having them do some of the contorting. By the way, you can come out of that pose now.

We arrived Friday afternoon and checked into The MAve Hotel. We couldn’t both fit into our children’s postage stamp sized Manhattan digs, so I chose this hotel because of its proximity to my son’s home. In case anyone cares, I expect to stay there again. It is in a narrow building on Madison Avenue. The room size is reasonable by New York standards, the beds comfy, and the furnishings new and clean. Another plus was the good overhead light and bed side reading light, which one does not often find in hotels. The employees were polite and attentive. There is a free grab and go breakfast, but we didn’t need it.

The MAve Hotel.

I liked the staircase in the building. I think we were on the eleventh floor.

After checking into the hotel we went to a neighborhood craft beer establishment , The Rattle and Hum to wait for our companions to arrive after work. We were happy to relax at the bar and sample new brews while reflecting that yes, once again we were the oldest people in the building. Then of course once our son arrived with his wife I had the chance to embarrass them both with my effusive welcome.Once we greeted one another we capped off the evening with dinner at Southern Spice Chettinad Indian restaurant. I was tired by then and didn’t get pictures but just trust me; it was all delicious.

In the morning our son took us to their new apartment, a four story walkup. While small in size it is large in character with an exposed brick wall, a fireplace and lovely wooden ceiling beams. So what if there is not much closet space? They always have the roof of the building to stretch out in. It didn’t seem too much smaller than their previous apartment in Brooklyn, plus it is much closer to all the things they want to do.

At the doorway.

On the rooftop.

Our next stop was to Kalustayan’s, an enormous Indian and ethnic grocery store on Lexington, where I nosed around for as long a time as I thought my companions could wait for me. This store really requires its own separate blog post. Pictures and words simply cannot do it justice. There are rows and rows of spices, salts, teas, flours, cooking utensils and so many other goodies. Could I have stayed longer? Yes, but I also wanted to go to the The Tenement Museum.

I love all this stuff.

Fresh tumeric.

The deli on the top floor.

Newly made halvah.

We arrived at the Museum to learn that we would need to sign up for a tour which would not begin for over an hour. So we amused ourselves watching the neighborhood sights, sometimes from inside this establishment, Top Hops. From a sweet window seat we munched on a cheese plate and tasted beers.

The Tenement Museum.

Refreshments before the Museum tour.

Top Hops.

Photography inside the Museum is prohibited, and they mean that. So I will just tell you that we took a tour called “Irish Outsiders”, which talked about the crowded and sordid living conditions of the area in the 1800s and the many trials the immigrants faced trying to succeed in their new land. We were able to see an unrestored and a restored tenement apartment, each containing 325 square feet. Walking through the apartments, viewing the stripped back layers of paint, it was evident that many many stories remain to be told of those who once lived there.

Our tour guide seemed to want us to discuss tolerance and bigotry in today’s world, but our group was not forthcoming. Speaking ,though, of how public perceptions have changed I did share that my grandmother used to sing, with no sense she was degrading anyone, a song with the following lyrics: “I come from Hong Hong China, Me workie for the Mellican (American) man, catch rats all day in the laundry, Me catch ‘em just the best me can.” So I feel I added to the canon of information on the subject.

Following our leaders from the Museum, we hopped in a cab and headed for the open rooftop bar atop The Pod 39 Hotel. I had read about this ultramodern hotel/hostel and here I was, right on the cutting edge! Oh, if I could have stayed all night I would have! The patio bar gave no hint of the hipster haven below. Rather, the arched bricks, plantings and fountains evoked a scene from days gone by. I bobbed from one side of the patio to the other, madly taking pictures as the sun sunk lower in the sky. My companions eventually but gently nudged me toward the elevator after several hours. Really. I would have stayed there all night!

The Pod 39 Hotel.

A lovely setting.

The view from the patio.

Empire State Building.

: Night was falling but I still wanted to take more pictures.

It was getting cold up there so we had to leave.

Our young guides had decided upon a sushi place for dinner, for the wait was too long at their first choice, so we went to another spot across the street. Like the night before, I was tired. I don’t remember what all this was, but it was the chef’s specialty that night. And it was absolutely fabulous.

A lovely dinner.

Too soon it was Sunday. We met for brunch at Resto, a Belgian Restaurant. The place was hopping, with some soulful Al Green in the background. I had a frittata with ham, gruyere and avocado that filled me up for the REST of the day. So it was good that we did a lot of walking.

Our first stop after brunch was the Marianne Boesky Gallery where there was an ongoing exhibit by Lucie Fontaine and her employees. But if I have my facts straight, Lucie Fontaine herself is a creation of the three artists who work for her. During the exhibit, work by the “four” of them, plus other artists is on display in the space they have designed to be Lucie Fontaine’s home. The “employees” live there and play the parts of servants in the home.

When we arrived, no one answered the door for a long time. Just as we were about to leave, a young woman came to the door and said that the gallery was not really open, but that we could come in. Was this part of the original conceit? We didn’t know. She allowed us to see the first floor, Lucie’s living room, and the second floor with her office, bedroom and bath. We looked and puzzled around until we had seen it all. On our way out, we thanked the young lady for letting us in. I asked her to please tell Lucie Fontaine we were sorry to have missed her. On the stoop we asked ourselves again if the place had really been closed. Had we participated in a play within a play? We didn’t know. And in my opinion, leaving an art exhibit in a state of not knowing fulfills the purpose of an exhibit.

Ms. Fontaine’s dining table.

The living room.

Fruit Pits.

In Ms. Fontaine’s bedroom.

In Ms. Fontaine’s office.

From there as it was a lovely day we went on to Central Park. My husband and I had only been to Central Park before in cold weather, so it was quite a treat to roam through parts of the park we hadn’t seen, with no particular destination in mind. There were lots of people in the park, but not so many that we felt crowded. It was after 5:00 by the time we emerged from the park. A confab on a concrete bench at the park’s gate resulted in the decision to eat that evening at Otto Enoteca Pizzeria, one of Mario Batali’s restaurants.

A wedding in Central Park.

The whole park seemed romantic.

Once again we hopped a cab to whatever the right neighborhood was. On our way to the restaurant I saw what looked like a tiny little lady pushing a shopping cart. But a closer inspection revealed her to be a sculpture. And beside her, in the stoop of a building. was a grouping a magazines and other items which apparently was part of the exhibit. After I started taking pictures the artist, a homeless woman, came out from somewhere demanding that I give a donation. I gave her one, but she discombobulated me so much that I didn’t stick around for more photos. At dinner we had an interesting conversation about the ways of big city life, and whether I should have donated. But as my son said, her work was intriguing. . So I didn’t mind the donation.

And what to say about Otto? Homey and welcoming, it is modeled after an Italian train station. I can guarantee that once you eat there you will beg to return. The wine list is three pages long. My husband had to seek the services of the sommolier who kindly helped him choose an appropriate wine for the evening. Why can’t I eat there for every meal? Do you see how I am already begging? I had a cucumber and watermelon salad with mint and shaved cheese that was so good it brought tears to me eyes. And I think I did cry when I tried my arugula and prosciutto pizza. I don’t have any Mario Batali cookbooks but it is clear that I need one. I love the simple dishes with big big flavors. May I please go back?

In the “waiting room” of Otto.

Heavenly!

Clam Pizza

Arugula and prosciutto pizza.

After dinner we took what was for me a sad taxi ride back to the hotel, where we would go our separate ways. My son and his wife were no doubt eager to return to their own apartment and prepare for their respective weeks ahead. After they left and while I packed my suitcase. I reflected on how not once did this young couple seem resentful to be giving up their whole weekend for us. Never once did they show impatience at my endless picture taking and dropping of my lens cap on the busy sidewalks. Never once did they show embarrassment at our touristy ways. In my youth, would I have behaved with such grace and maturity? I can’t say.

In stages I realize that my children are adults. In stages I realize I am no longer in charge of things. That’s just how life is right now. I can remember back to days when I never could have dreamed that my grown children would delight me so, or that they would be the most interesting people I know. Well, I’ve earned it, and so have they. And I’m going to enjoy things just the way they are.

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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Tag Archives: empty nesters