Tuesday, May 23, 2017
The Rising
We are permitted.
Finally, after nearly two and a half years, our house project has the green light. Layers of regulation have been met, fees have been assessed. Now, things will roll. Or surely shall soon -- my mantra.
Would my ancestors cheer? Most of whom never owned a home. Ownership was not common, historically, at least not amongst common people. I can't even picture how my father's immigrant parents lived, in America, in the early part of the twentieth century. I'm told they were inner-city poor, but how did that look? Did they ever enjoy the comfort of a soft sofa, or an easy chair? Was anything ever easy for them, at all? Or for our presumably peasant forebearers before them?
I never knew those grandparents, and heard little of their lives, much less their hardships. My relationship to them was more historical fact than feeling. Yet where would I be without their fortitude? I wouldn't BE, at all. Not that they did it for me -- but they must have had some sense of the future, to have endured so much and worked so hard, as poor people all did in those times, just to survive. Something kept them going, raising children who grew up and out of the poverty that was all they ever knew.
My car is certainly grander than anything my immigrant grandparents ever owned. They never had a car, of course, but even their best home furnishings were likely less comfortable. And they could not have imagined an afternoon like mine, last week. My six month old smart car decided it was time for a servicing, so tele-contacted the dealer. I just had to drop it off and was escorted home, leaving it for its spa day. A few hours later, I was ushered back, to find it nicely attended and cleaned. Everyone was lovely to me and I drove it home feeling loved and special in my pumpkin coach.
My parents were not poor, and I grew up in a home that they owned, outright. But they were frugal people, who lived simply and saved. They could have spent more on themselves, and their surroundings, but chose practical, reasonable comfort, not luxury. Dad would not have wanted to even hear about upscale finishes; mom would be shocked at the prices. Neither would have allowed such extravagance.
But this is us. This is now.
And we are permitted.
Finally, after nearly two and a half years, our house project has the green light. Layers of regulation have been met, fees have been assessed. Now, things will roll. Or surely shall soon -- my mantra.
Would my ancestors cheer? Most of whom never owned a home. Ownership was not common, historically, at least not amongst common people. I can't even picture how my father's immigrant parents lived, in America, in the early part of the twentieth century. I'm told they were inner-city poor, but how did that look? Did they ever enjoy the comfort of a soft sofa, or an easy chair? Was anything ever easy for them, at all? Or for our presumably peasant forebearers before them?
I never knew those grandparents, and heard little of their lives, much less their hardships. My relationship to them was more historical fact than feeling. Yet where would I be without their fortitude? I wouldn't BE, at all. Not that they did it for me -- but they must have had some sense of the future, to have endured so much and worked so hard, as poor people all did in those times, just to survive. Something kept them going, raising children who grew up and out of the poverty that was all they ever knew.
My car is certainly grander than anything my immigrant grandparents ever owned. They never had a car, of course, but even their best home furnishings were likely less comfortable. And they could not have imagined an afternoon like mine, last week. My six month old smart car decided it was time for a servicing, so tele-contacted the dealer. I just had to drop it off and was escorted home, leaving it for its spa day. A few hours later, I was ushered back, to find it nicely attended and cleaned. Everyone was lovely to me and I drove it home feeling loved and special in my pumpkin coach.
My parents were not poor, and I grew up in a home that they owned, outright. But they were frugal people, who lived simply and saved. They could have spent more on themselves, and their surroundings, but chose practical, reasonable comfort, not luxury. Dad would not have wanted to even hear about upscale finishes; mom would be shocked at the prices. Neither would have allowed such extravagance.
But this is us. This is now.
And we are permitted.
Saturday, April 15, 2017
This Old House
The universe gets you: no secret what you want, or what you don't want. It just can't tell the difference, right? Hence the constant, cosmic push-me, pull-you. The stuff you want held before you, ironically tempered by all your doubts, fears, confusions, uncertainties.
And by stuff, I mean everything. From relationships to possessions. From bootie to booty, as it were. But here, it's all about houses. Homes.
I love my house and home. I've lived here longer than anywhere else, and being here still pleases me deeply, on a daily basis. Yet, when our new house is built, we will leave this place. Someone else will take over and determine its fate. Now, as the universe well knows, the prospect of relinquishing responsibility for this beloved space ties me up in knots.
Will anyone else understand how to care for this old house? Worse -- will, they even care? To some degree, it's a matter of perspective. After all, someone lived here before us. I've spent years changing that person's personal stamp, and if she saw it all now, wouldn't she wonder why? She won't see it though. She moved far away. Whereas, I am moving only two blocks south of here. Which is a blessing, and a curse.
I've lived in many places and I've chosen to not revisit them. It might even be possible to avoid recontact here. If I don't walk by, I won't know if the walkways are swept, or the bushes are pruned; what color they repaint, or whether moss impacts the roof. I won't see contractor trucks and imagine heart-wrenching changes inside.
But what about the trees? Not everyone loves redwoods. They shed, they drop widow-maker branches in storms, they filter sunlight. Newcomers may not appreciate their lush foliage and nuances of color. The storm fearful might not delight at their windswept dance and sway. Sun-worshippers won't welcome their ever cooling shade. More and more of the big old trees get trimmed up like lollipops, or felled completely. You might think that only a tree lover would buy a house positioned directly under towering redwoods -- but you would be wrong.
My heart is at home here. Part of it always will be. Why leave, then?
It's a story for another day.
Sunday, April 9, 2017
Bested!
Do you insist on the best of everything? Perhaps we need to define "best." Is it the highest caliber available in its class, or the highest caliber available in your class? Within your personal parameters, how do you decide what works best, for you?
Isolated decisions may require prioritizing, weighing costs/benefits. A new car, even a home improvement. But how about a whole new house? A gabillion new things, requiring a gazillion discriminating choices. Or not -- you could just let someone else design your lifestyle. Yeah ... nah.
A wise person advised: Select an area upon which to lavish attention; pull back on others. The kitchen versus the laundry room, then. The master suite versus lesser bedrooms, the entry hall versus the stairwell, easy enough. But ... the salon versus the kitchen? There may arise a logic problem. Because if you prefer A over B, and B over C, then you must prefer A over C. Right? Alrighty, then. Do you? Or do you prioritize your kitchen over your bedroom and your bedroom over your salon and your salon over your kitchen? Ahh.
Another wisdom: Select a few features for maximum impact; economize on the rest. Okay! Stone countertops versus high-end appliances. Polished cement versus floor tiles. The fireplace surround versus the ... hmmmm, trouble. What gives? Turns out, it's actually easier to give up an entire feature (dumb waiter) than to choose between integrated sinks and standard porcelain. The fixtures you love -- the ones you like well enough -- or the stuff for which you settle?
You might think affordability would simply decide it all. Think again. Or don't even try, because the
wily human mind will out-justify you. Say you win a thousand house-dedicated dollars! Where will you spend it? More to the point -- how often will you spend it? It would reduce the cost of the custom front door. Or the panel-front fridge. Or ... how about adding an accent wall in the bedroom? And there you blithely go, convinced that windfall has saved you money.
Here's another sneaky mind angle: You get an estimate for integrated sinks, compared to standard sinks. Frugal you then starts checking out standard sinks. Upon which, you come across a hand-hammered copper sink! Which costs more than an integrated sink! Logic be damned.
The best, then? It's the best you can do. Whatever. Being human.
Isolated decisions may require prioritizing, weighing costs/benefits. A new car, even a home improvement. But how about a whole new house? A gabillion new things, requiring a gazillion discriminating choices. Or not -- you could just let someone else design your lifestyle. Yeah ... nah.
A wise person advised: Select an area upon which to lavish attention; pull back on others. The kitchen versus the laundry room, then. The master suite versus lesser bedrooms, the entry hall versus the stairwell, easy enough. But ... the salon versus the kitchen? There may arise a logic problem. Because if you prefer A over B, and B over C, then you must prefer A over C. Right? Alrighty, then. Do you? Or do you prioritize your kitchen over your bedroom and your bedroom over your salon and your salon over your kitchen? Ahh.
Another wisdom: Select a few features for maximum impact; economize on the rest. Okay! Stone countertops versus high-end appliances. Polished cement versus floor tiles. The fireplace surround versus the ... hmmmm, trouble. What gives? Turns out, it's actually easier to give up an entire feature (dumb waiter) than to choose between integrated sinks and standard porcelain. The fixtures you love -- the ones you like well enough -- or the stuff for which you settle?
You might think affordability would simply decide it all. Think again. Or don't even try, because the
wily human mind will out-justify you. Say you win a thousand house-dedicated dollars! Where will you spend it? More to the point -- how often will you spend it? It would reduce the cost of the custom front door. Or the panel-front fridge. Or ... how about adding an accent wall in the bedroom? And there you blithely go, convinced that windfall has saved you money.
Here's another sneaky mind angle: You get an estimate for integrated sinks, compared to standard sinks. Frugal you then starts checking out standard sinks. Upon which, you come across a hand-hammered copper sink! Which costs more than an integrated sink! Logic be damned.
The best, then? It's the best you can do. Whatever. Being human.
Saturday, April 8, 2017
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