If you were asked what the most difficult relationship you’ve ever had is (or was), would you answer immediately or would you have to think?
Could you pick just one or is there an answer for each brick of the building blocks of your life? Are all things sooo relative that it depends on the day, the hour, the minute, the question is asked?
Doesn’t that, in and of itself, pose another question? Like “Why is this such a complicated question?”
I suppose one could say this isn’t a fair question. All relationships have issues. How can we judge which is the most difficult when they are all so different and, at times, can be that difficult?
I think for me, the answer is simple. Or, simply complicated? I don’t know. I just know this…
…all of our relationships are difficult because the most important relationship is the most difficult.
The one with yourself.
Until you get right with you, straight with you, honest with you, on-board with you, to the heart of you…
Ever wonder if it would be a better life; an easier life?
One might think so
Just imagine…our world with its indeterminable amount of 50/50 questions
answered in just one of two ways
Could that ever work?
Would we want it to?
Ever wonder?
Ask yourself 5…just 5…questions, whose answers at the time, helped shape your life. I am imagining these to be the toughest that we must ask ourselves at every critical juncture as we travel our respective journeys.
Then, think about how your life would (or wouldn’t) be different had you only had the option to answer in black or white.
I chose my 5 questions carefully. I won’t share the questions because we have each traveled our own paths, but what I will say is this…because of the ‘no gray’ constriction, my life would be vastly different.
In fact, my life would be no life at all.
You see, even though I had 5 questions, I only needed the ONE to change my life forever. At the time, if we’d been living in a black or white, yes or no, now or never world, my journey would have ended.
So, if you do ever wonder, you really should ask this ONE question first:
Is it worth it? The anxiety, ambiguity, doubt, pain, confusion, fear…and on and on.
The short answer, YES.
The long answer, YES because it is all temporary. What hurts now may not hurt tomorrow, but if it does, we can fix it. Your fears and doubts can be conquered if you work at it. The best motivators in life are doubt and fear…knowledge is the key to overcoming doubt and action is the key to overcoming fear.
What of the love, family, adventure, learning, teaching, helping, guiding…and on and on.
Have you ever walked behind a gray-haired, old person, limping with their cane, and thought “I don’t ever want that to be me”? Or watched from a distance as a gray-haired and bent old man, leans in and pushes his white-haired and wrinkly old sweetheart in a wheelchair, not noticing that he’s whispering to her as they travel, and thought…”I don’t want to live to be that old”?
If so, think of all you’ll loose in not living long and large enough to not earn that glorious CROWN of GRAY! Think of all the choices you’ve made to extend that life, only to look upon the gray, white, and silver generation with pity and sadness, or to some, even disgust.
I know, when I look at a face like the one of that man in the picture above, that he is someone I want talk to, listen to, laugh with, maybe even cry with. His face speaks to me of life yet to be lived.
His face says to me “I Wonder”!
THAT’S the face I want.
That’s the face I’m working on beneath my ever changing CROWN of black, white, and gray!
I guess today’s the day for reflecting on this new retirement gig ’cause I have another thought to share…though this isn’t really about retirement so much as agin’…know what I mean? 🙂
This past weekend, we had family over for a cookout. I told them to come around 2 or so, and planned a bunch of appetizers for the afternoon, leading into grilling sometime between 5:30 and 6.
I got into the kitchen about 9:30 to prep for the day and realized I had 3 items on the dinner menu I could actually make ahead, that way my afternoon could be spent at leisure with our guests, with only grilling the meat for later.
Cool beans!
However, there was one ingredient missing, that I needed, to put that plan into action. I didn’t want the Mr to have to run to the store for one thing, so I asked him if he’d check with the neighbor.
He wasn’t thrilled because, well, I needed an onion.
“Who the hell asks the neighbor to borrow an onion?”
Well, the short answer is…I do!
I sat on the porch (hey,, I was still in my jammies, so I wasn’t gunna do it!) and watched him go to our closest neighbors.
A couple minutes later, I see him walking to the next neighbor’s house empty handed.
Hmmm
I heard his knock on their door, then a minute later, I see him walking up the drive empty handed.
Hmmm Hmmm
Before I could even ask if they didn’t have any or if they weren’t home…my mind went immediately to this:
Do a blog on the list of items you never ask to borrow from a neighbor in a retirement community!
Funny thing is, we don’t live in a retirement community, but I think the Mr and I are one of two couples in the entire neighborhood under the age of 70, and most are 80s and beyond!
Didn’t plan it, just happened to be the only place we could find a house with a first floor owner’s suite for my in-laws.
So…this list and the reasons why NOT to ask, began forming in my head!
(Not sure why all the responses I heard in my head were southern, hillfolk-y… but hey, it’s my head and that what I heered!)
Onions – (Heartburn)
Hunny, if I ete an onion at my age, I’d taste it ’til I done dropped dade!
Sugar – (Diabetes)
Darlin’, we ain’t had sugar in this house fer nigh on a decade. Not since Ralph here got the di-a-beet-is.
Salt – (High Blood Pressure)
Oh Lordy Sugar, we got the blood pressure so bad, jes’ lookin’ at salt would keel us.
Bread – (Gluten Free)
Well you picked the right day to come by little lady…Ma just took a loaf outta t’oven! She’s a-makin’ that new fangled bread call glued-on free. Tain’t bad iff’n you toast it and have yer own teeth!
Eggs – (Cholesterol)
Oh goodness Chil’…with OUR co-less-trul? Shoot…if’n that don’t keel ya, the price of ’em sure as shootin’ would!
Butter – (Clogged Arteries)
Girl…ain’t you heered? Dont-cha-no that stuff’ll clog yer ar’trees faster than a mud pie? Here…take this-a-here. It ain’t half bad and wun’t keel ya ta boot. They done figured out howta make butter without no dairy init.
Milk – (Lactose Intolerance)
Oh now, let me tell ya, we sure do miss us some good ol’ fashioned, cold milk! An’ Ima serious. Wurs thing ’bout gittin’ up in years is losin’ the bowels. Cain’t abide no dairy no more or it’s goodbye kitchen chair – hello commode! Know what I mean?
Okay. So, I know it’s been a day or two since my last post 😉 and I wasn’t actually planning a post today ‘cuz it’s crazy busy for us right now, but…who the hell could resist?
Not I.
You all know how much I like a good ‘saga’ 😂 😭 😓
Especially about cars. Or moving. Or houses. Or other Shit-N-Stuff.
Right?
So…after all the blood, sweat, and tears, we shed before, during, and after, moving into our current home, we are considering selling.
Yup…2 years, 6 months in, picking up and moving again is actually being considered.
Nutz! 😵 Looney! 😱 Coocoo for Cocoa Puffs! 🐒
Why?
Two reasons really.
The first, to be closer to my recently transplanted Mom, who is, apparently, one of those lucky people I’ve heard about when it comes to adventures in moving. Her pack and move went smoothly. Her house behaved when she moved in and didn’t reach out and break her leg or rain down through her light fixtures from the floor above.
Remember my crying lights?
She has made a beautiful home for herself…and is quite content to remain where she is. But, we are finding that even a mere 20 minute/10 mile distance, is 15 minutes too far!
{Hmmm, note to self…A Drive Too Far…Book? Movie? Copyright infringement? Carry on self…}
The second, as important as the first, is because our beautiful Ms. Sadie needs a place to safely run and play in her own backyard, and we cannot give that to her.
Why?
Because we cannot fence it in 😲
Why?
Bureaucratic Bullshit 🚧
We have a gorgeous back yard…
What…don’t believe that’s mine?
What—everrrrrrrrrrrr 👀
Forget the mountains then.
Oh for Pete’s sake…take out the barn if it bothers ya!
Okay Okay (ya picky bitches), take out the fence, the trees, the other barn, and the rolling field in the background and you’ve got my yard.
Happy?
Anyhoo….because Virginia’s disclosure laws are a j o k e, not one of the half dozen professionals involved in buying real estate, not to mention the previous owner, felt it necessary to inform us that this lot is one of the highest impacted lots in the neighborhood, rendering our little slice of Eden…all but USELESS.
Why?
There is a 60′ (yes, that is SIXTY) gas company easement from the back of the property towards the house and runs the entire width of the tad over a 1/3 acre lot. From our way of thinking, that should have been mentioned by SOMEONE in the 2 month buying/closing process yeah?
Yeah……….No!
Add to that 60′ another 20′ for the build line which runs from the structure towards the back of the yard, making the total depth/width of what we cannot add to, plant on, or change in a way that would impede….a whopping 80′.
EIGHTY #$#$%#$ FEET 😖 😭 😕
Even though the gas company could work with us on a fee based waiver, they won’t.
But Wait! There’s More (oh goody)
There are also easements from the county that cannot be waivered.
One is a 16′ drainage easement, running back to front, the entire length of the property, but it’s on the side property line, so we didn’t give that one much thought. At the time. Not until we had to. And we had to when we wanted to put a storage shed out there. On the side. Away from the gas easement. Ya know, close to the garage and stuff.
Ummmm….Not gonna happen 🚫
Then {and I chuckle here} there is that all too common, everybody else must have one…FLOOD DAM FAULT LINE! OR FAULT DAM FLOOD LINE! OR DAM FLOOD FAULT LINE! OR SOME DAMNED LINE GOING DIAGONALLY THROUGH THE ENTIRE BACK YARD!!
You got one, right? And you? And you, and you? And you over there? Everybody? ‘Cause I’m thinking it’s so damned prolific as to be down right common-place. Like we all got grass so why point out the grass? Ain’t that why I’ve never heard of this effin’ thing? Ain’t it?
What the hell is happening????????????? 😱
The only friggin floods that I have ever heard of around here….were inside my damned house and that fault line didn’t help one daggone bit!! (el squat-o)
Did I say this made me chuckle?
I lied 😫
Of course, we wouldn’t do it if we didn’t think we’d get a decent enough return to buy another. The market is good right now, the rates are still low, people may be looking to get into a place before the next school year….all good things right?
So I ask you…
🎶 Should we stay or should we go 🎶
(sorry, I can’t help singing it…lol)
Oh geez…after all that, I forgot to mention why I even began this post. While we muse over the possibility of listing (we’re about 98% there to be honest), we figured we’d do what we always do in this situation…invest more blood, sweat, and tears, not to mention 💰, into getting our imperfect 🏠 perfect so the next 👸 of the newly perfected 🏰 won’t have to lift a friggin’ finger or spend an effn’ dime!
‘Cause that’s how we role…we Hernandezeseses (Hernadezi?)
We buy, we fix, we do……..and we move. So we can then…buy old and broken, fix to new and pretty, sell to others who don’t have to do a damned thing…just so we can buy old and broken, fix to new and pretty….blah de blah de blah!
In that vein… We have had the fireplace that hasn’t worked since the day after we moved in, fixed. We had the Jacuzzi tub’s leaky-ass faucets that we haven’t touched since the first time we went to use it and didn’t because it leaked, repaired. We’re giving our wood floors a facelift so they don’t offend the next matriarch with their little Sadie scratches. We’re resurfacing our pinkish, post-form, laminate countertops that somehow were good enough for me, but certainly will put off today’s savvy buyers looking for the trendier granite because ‘It’s so shiiiiny’.
And I’ve saved the best for last…
and the hardest for me…
the die-hard DIY’er:
Hiring someone to do what I do, and do well is tough. But time, old shoulders, bad, up close & personal, eyesight, added to my increased lack o’ patience, has dictated that this time around…we must bite the proverbial and hire a pro.
You all know me and my history with hiring professionals.
Though you know I pride myself in doing my due diligence, you also know it has gotten my leg broken, my house flooded, my toothbrush packed with the toilet brush, and my car dying at 70 MPH on Interstate 91 in New Haven.
Shall we agree that you know this Wonder Woman of Wacky Workmen?
Okay then…we’re off.
We hired a ‘Pro” to paint the interior of our 4BR, 3BA home, top to bottom, head to toe, and everything in between. The references were stellar. The estimate reasonable. The time frame – 7 days. Perfect.
That should have been my first clue!
When. Will. I. Learn?
Nothing is perfect, nor apparently, what it seems!
I’m getting ahead of myself…let’s see. To be pro-active, we removed all wall décor, switch plates, outlet covers, electronics, all items in/on/around furniture, packed everything in boxes, moved all furniture to middle of rooms to be covered, placed all non-necessary furnishings, boxes, small items, etc., in the garage, took up all rugs, and basically had the house ‘paint-ready’ for the start date. Oh, and we moved into my mother’s to give them free reign to only have to cover stuff once and not worry about finishing one room at a time. The house was theirs. They had to do nothing but cover, patch, sand, and paint.
Two painters began on Monday the 6th. The owner’s son who is taking over the business, and his side kick with 25 years under his belt, cut-in and first coat, guy.
Come Saturday, the 11th, one was left and the other one gone. I fired the side-kick for lack of production and sloppy work. His smoke breaks alone used half his hours and all of his work needed to be re-done.
He blamed the paint. I blamed the painter. I win.
Boom! You’re outta here!
I was told he would be replaced with a more professional side kick, but as of today, the 17th, there is still but one.
Mr Painter Man
Who I call IMA
IMA fix it – IMA gonna do it – IMA be here late tomorra – IMA sorry – IMA IMA IMA
By end of business today, there will have been a total of 11 painting days.
Know what’s done? Hah…stop that laughing. Wanna know?
Upstairs.
This is still my downstairs…11 days later
My living room pile
my kitchen eat in area
my dining room pile
my 2-story foyer ceiling
Know what else?
There are 3 walls upstairs that need to be redone. But I told IMA to save that for dessert cause I needed his ass downstairs in the kitchen! I’ve got a counter top being redone on MONDAY!!
I even returned the remaining 6 gallons of my accent color, a beautiful Crushed Oregano green, for IMA because he keeps blaming the paint…I changed my design for him!
Does this color scare you? It’s on my front door, which I painted, without trouble What the hell is wrong with me??? IMA STUPID!
Know what I’m doing right now?
😭 😭 😭 😭 😭 😭 😭 etc etc etc
Why bother going through all of this some might ask. Especially when my house always looks good whether trendy or not. Always up to date, clean, and comfy. Homey!
Because Lord knows, today’s modern and discerning buyer would no doubt, walk into a home with red in the kitchen and yellow in the living room; green in the bathroom and a cloud painted blue sky ceiling in the bonus room, would run screaming into the street for the horror!
None of which I put on the walls but was perfectly fine with it until the day I decided to change it.
Boy oh Boy…we can’t expect someone else to think that way now can we?
Or so the real estate professionals tell me. After all, this is only the 6th house we will have sold, so how would I know anything about what sells and what doesn’t?
So…next week, it’ll be Mr. Painter-man who best have my kitchen done by tomorrow (or else ) and the counter-top crew. That, should be an interesting day 😂
1966 : Moving to California because it’s cool
2016: Moving to Arizona because it’s warm
1966 : Trying to look like Marlon Brando or Liz Taylor
2016: Trying NOT to look like Marlon Brando or Liz Taylor
1966 : Seeds and stems
2016: Roughage
1966 : Hoping for a BMW
2016: Hoping for a BM
1966 : Going to a new, hip joint
2016: Receiving a new hip joint
1966 : Rolling Stones
2016: Kidney Stones
1966 : Screw the system
2016: Upgrade the system
1966 : Disco
2016: Costco
1966 : Parents begging you to get your hair cut
2016: Children begging you to get their heads shaved
1966 : Passing the drivers’ test
2016: Passing the vision test
1966 : Whatever
2016 : Depends
And…just in case you weren’t feeling old enough, this will certainly change things.
Each year the staff at Beloit College in Wisconsin puts together a list to try to give the faculty a sense of the mindset of this year’s incoming freshmen.
Here’s this year’s list:
The people who are starting college this fall across the nation were born in 1998.
They are too young to remember the space shuttle blowing up.
Their lifetime has always included AIDS.
Bottle caps have always been screw off and plastic.
The CD was introduced 7 years before they were born.
They have always had an answering machine.
They have always had cable.
They cannot fathom not having a remote control.
Popcorn has always been cooked in the microwave.
They never took a swim and thought about Jaws.
They can’t imagine what hard contact lenses are.
They don’t know who Mork was or where he was from.
They never heard: “Where’s the Beef?”, “I’d walk a mile for a Camel”, or “de plane, Boss, de plane.”
They do not care who shot J. R. and have no idea who J. R. even is. Mc Donald’s never came in Styrofoam containers.
Last post was a week until… This post is a week gone since… In the blink of an eye it’s over * Last post I showed you where… This post I’m showing you why… In the click of a button it’s forever
*
1.) Human Fun & Games
(Hover over photo or click on it for captions)
His and Hers
*
2.) Nature Au Naturale
“Will ya looky there Junior…them’s called bipeds. If’n it t’were huntin’ season, I’d show ya how to cook ’em real good in lots o’butter!”
“Hey Ground Walker! Can’t you read?? You can’t park here! Just look at ’em Ralph…think they own the joint!’
“STOP THAT I SAID!!!”
“Good grief, can’t fly ANYWHERE around you bitches!”
“Oooooh, look at that jet Pops!”
“That ain’t no jet kids…that’s your cousin George”
“Ma? Where ya going Ma?”
“Louise, get back here!”
“No worries Pops…I’ll get her.”
“Jeez Louise…can’t a fella visit his relatives?”
“Hey Georgie…you can come visit me. I’m free as a bird tonight. Dinner?”
“Whassat? Let me just clean my ears, thought you invited me to dinner.”
“Well, alrighty then! I’ll just hop, skip, and a….
…juuuuuuuump on over sweet thang!”
Random man / bird fly by
Random man caused fly away
“I AM…’nuff said”
“Oh he’s SUCH a show off!”
“Hey…if I got it flaunt it right?”
One…
Two…
Three…
Dinner!”
“Really? He’s this desperate? I’m BAIT not dinner! The bird brain!!”
heeheehee
Heeeeey……..
…that tickled ma belly!
“I don’t get the whole beach thing Dorrie, do you?”
“No, me either Handsome. Why hang out in all that sandy muck when you can lounge around with me surrounded by all this love stuff?”
“Gee, I wonder if he’s noticed I’ve picked out the wedding bouquets? Oh Handsooooome? Wanna play Peek a Love-Dove?”
“Handsome? Handsome? Hmmmm, I guess he noticed…that CHICKEN!”
*
3.) Art…Is Where You Feel It
(click on a circle for captions)
Fa Dayz
The Serenade
Dune Seating
Local art by Man
Lone Daff
It doesn’t just collect dust!
Doo Dads
Art of a different hue
Whatchamacallits
Plucked from the OK Coral
It tries
A Tree with a Yeow
Lap of Lux
Local art by Arachnid
The famous Yellow Rope Fish
Sea for Two
Lost in the Sand
The Shell Game
I’ll leave the light on for ya
Sharp Dresser
Sun Kissed
Picnic Poles
Hammock Prone
Sea for Two
Pole Dancing
Center Stage
Could he – Wood he?
Shellmates
50 Shades of Grey
Crabby
Brushed Off
I don’t give a Twig
Mission Scrubbed
Stark Contrast
Like I said…Art is where you feel it
* Thanks for coming along…I do hope you enjoyed.
Next time it’s sand and surf, then worshiping the heavens
Like riding a bike…once you learn how…you don’t forget.
Choose not to, sure. But you don’t forget.
When I was a girl I used to walk everywhere. I would stomp with purpose in my Wonder Bread bag covered shoes to school in the winters, hoping to get the bags off and stowed before the LL Bean boot-wearing kids could see them.
I’d march, like a good little soldier, the kiddie version of a 50 yard mile to church on Sunday, fiddling with the all too popular, bang-holding, enormous, white, clip-on bow my mother insisted I wear. One that made my hair sit pregnant and waiting to pop its clip from atop my head, and in doing so, birthing my bangs back onto my forehead where they belonged! The post clip-on years saw my 9 to 14 year old self, stomp the yard the longest 1/4 mile known to adolescents…especially on Catechism Saturdays, where God’s own wicked witch of the north ruled with an iron fist!
The better walking days were when I was old enough to sashay and glide; take my time meandering and strolling, to the place where all good things happen. Overstreet. Which, for those who don’t know, is our far north yank-speak for Downtown. I could spend my fifty cent allowance buying nickle candy at the Economy Store, making sure to save the quarter I needed for the Sat’dy matinee a couple doors down at the Savoy. And often times, I’d even have enough to stop at The Candy Kitchen for a creamie on the way home, if that’s what the gang wanted to do.
In the pre-bicycle summers, walking to the pool was the equivalent my now-self walking 5 miles on the huff and puff scale. I’ve actually checked since then and know now it was just a hair shy of a mile…but it was the last half that was a killer. Or so it seemed at the time. And looking back…having a bike didn’t improve that hill any…not one lick! I don’t think I managed to stay ON the bike the whole way up but once, and only then because I rode that hill like it was a Donkey Kong trail, without the ladders! Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. It was easier to push it (or leave it home). Besides, kids pushing bicycles up that hill was just the way of it…until the 10-speed arrived. YeeHaw…what an invention. Not that I ever had one, but boy could those kids ride that hill like it was nothing!
Our’s was a small town; a good, walking town for a kid when you come right down to it. Nestled in a little valley surrounded by the Green Mountains; a college town without acting like a college town because we didn’t really sport the kinds of places college kids like to hang. And those we did have, the cadets managed to get thrown out of more often than not, so it was really just us town folk most of the time.
I loved walking that town, and I know it’s from walking that town that I feel so drawn to the beauty in everyday things that I often take pictures of. Imagine walking down the street where you live, and everywhere you look, there’s a mountain, or a brook, or a river. Walk to the end of that street and you can chose to go straight over the footbridge, crossing the river towards downtown and what adventures lie there. Or left over the tracks towards one of your schools or a shortcut to your friend’s house, the side street tree lined and leaf covered. Or better yet, turn right and walk to where the pavement ends and the dirt begins. Fields full of wild flowers and cows; promises of swimming holes and tire swings, and mountains as far as the eye can see.
All the time looking up. All the time thinking…I want to live in those mountains. I want to hear the brooks run and the smell the spring mud; feel the snow tickle as it falls on my face, and crunch under my feet for as long as I live.
I no longer live in that town.
But that town lives in me. I take it with me everywhere, as I take all those things I fell in love with there too.
It’s the peace I reach for when I can find none where I am.
No matter where I hang my hat, my heart remains there…in my little town. Where walking the streets is not a profession…it’s a path to connection. To God, to community, to nature, but most importantly, to oneself.
When I need it, I put on my boots and hit the road and remember. I remember to keep my ears open, my eyes wide, and my mind quiet. I remember to be thankful for some of the absolute best memories of my life…and more so, to be thankful for giving me the mountains my mind ran away to; where I’d sit under a glorious burnt orange tree while it bathed in the red-gold light of a late fall sun…for the absolute worst of my life.
The little town where I learned to walk; to never take for granted the beauty in the simple things; to accept with gratitude, the gifts it gave me every day; and learned too, the true understanding of what it is…the power…to have a place to call home.
My town, where I learned to walk
(photo by Carol of Carol’s View of New England on blogspot)
![IMG_20160616_101407_640[1]](https://helpmerhondadotcom1.files.wordpress.com/2016/06/img_20160616_101407_6401.jpg?w=563)
50 Shades of Gray Hair 
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