Debt? Free!

I’ve been in financial debt in one form or another since I was in high school, which was more than a few decades ago.

I was paying my own way by then.  My mother was getting child support as well as charging me rent but nothing was ever enough for her, ever.  My sister actually dropped out of high school because she needed to pay rent to our mother.  She couldn’t find a job that would pay enough and work around her school hours.  She was told to figure it out so her solution was quitting school. 

My solution was to barely sleep.

I’d go to school from o’god o’clock till 12:30 when I went to another school for creative writing till 4.  Then I’d get to work as soon as I could hustle there, generally 4:30 and work till the kitchen closed, 10 or 11 on weekdays, midnight or 1 on weekends. 

I was always broke even with working almost full time.  I was paying for rent, food, clothes and anything else I wanted or needed.  Living at “home” was cheaper than moving out so I stayed there.  A boarding house would have been a lovely solution but I didn’t know any existed at that age.

My friend M was always loaning me $20 or so to get me through to the next check.  I almost always had a tab with her.  I’d catch up with the next infusion of cash from extra hours over a school break, cash gifts from holidays and general scrounging and hustling.

It was so kind of her to do that.  She never judged or nagged.  Just this calm acceptance of this is how things were.

A bit of peace in a sea of chaos.

I was in college when I got my first credit card.  It was a Sears card and I used it to pay for my first pc so homework would be easier.  The computer lab at school didn’t have hours that synced with mine between classes, work and trying to have a somewhat social life.  And they were always crowded with no paper in the printers so their usability was minimal.  State schools don’t have the resources that private ones do. 

From the store card I went to a general purpose one in quick order because I always paid my bill on time.  It might not have been much above the minimum payment but at least it was always on time.  I didn’t really understand the wonder and curse of compound interest yet.  I’d always lived in a paycheck to paycheck family with a flush of cash on payday and then digging quarters out of the couch for gas, cigarettes or booze by the end of the week. Saving, money management and other financial issues weren’t something discussed around the dinner table. It just didn’t exist for people like us. Doing whatever needed to be done to get through to the next paycheck was just the way the universe functioned.

So I got that credit card and M and I went to the mall.  She was home from college for some break or another and borrowed the family car to get out to the shiny and silvery burbs.  I bought a burgundy silk shirt with a wide ruffle at the scoop neck and generous sleeves.  The fabric felt fantastic, the color was super saturated and it was hideously expensive for me.  Probably the most expensive piece of clothing I owned for several years, including shoes. 

You know how much it was?

This was the early 1990’s keep in mind.

$50

Shocking, I know.  Just gives an idea of where I was on the economic ladder.  A ladder I only vaguely understood existed because I knew no one different except for an aunt I saw rarely.

So I bought the shirt, and probably school books and the occasional meal.  I always paid my bill on time.  It might not have been much above the minimum payment but at least it was on time. 

And then came a youngling, marriage and full-on adulting.  I was focused on raising her and he was closed-mouthed about numbers.  Dangerous combo for my climbing debt load.

Once he left I started whacking at the debt but when the younglings needed shoes and backpacks and winter coats, options were limited. I wasn’t extravagant but they weren’t going to go without when I had this handy plastic option in my wallet. Been there, done that, wasn’t going to push that on to the next generation.

Then came another romantic partner with his own mountain of debt to climb.  We differed on how to clear it all out and my mountain grew a bit more, especially once I got sick and couldn’t work as much.

When he left, he took 2/3’s of the household income along with his worldly possessions in trash bags. I kept whacking at my debt.

Being the only adult in the house I could now make all the decisions and most of the sacrifices.  But they were my choices to make.

I was tired of carrying this weight, for decades now.

My possibilities were anchored down and limited by it.

I paid off 2 of my 4 cards and was working on the last ones but they were the highest balances. I didn’t see being able to finish them off any time soon.

And then my mother died.

Whoo hoo! 

But that’s another story.

I stepped up as executor and was buried, literally, in paperwork.  Pandemic lock down and unemployment couldn’t have come at a better time.  It was nerve wracking in the moment, but I can’t see how I would have cleaned up her mess without the space it gave me.

I would have figured it out no matter what historic event was taking place but this one worked in my favor, for once. 

My siblings and I all figured she’d live for at least another couple of decades and by then there wouldn’t have been anything left besides decades old bill receipts, tchotchkes and dead bugs.  So many dead bugs.

Guess we got lucky. 

How horrible to say you’re lucky because your mother died before reaching 70 but how very true in this case.

Once I had run down all her accounts and found what money there was my siblings and I were issued checks. I tried to negotiate with my card companies as instructed by a volunteer financial advisor I’d found through my therapist.  I would have had to trash my credit score, be in default or bankruptcy and close the accounts in order to get them to reduce the balance. It’s like they know they have you over a barrel or something.

So I paid them.

All of them. 

Every one.

It took me a few moments to press “pay now” on the last one.  It was the biggest balance overall but was lower than it had been in years.  I pressed the virtual button and my blood pressure immediately spiked.  My vision went kind of wonky and I had to breathe deep to calm my pounding heart.  The youngling came into my study just after I’d done it.  She held off her teenage angst rant long enough to ask if I was alright. 

Yeah, I am.

It’s done.  It’s gone.

Balancing a household budget will still be a challenge because of the nature of my work and capabilities.  But at least I’m paying for the tangible things and not the privilege of borrowing a bit of wealth for a moment. 

2021 has certainly been an interesting year.

If nothing else, I can look forward to seeing zeros across the statements in 2022.

Tiny Study

I think it was the towards the end of 2019 that the book nook craze hit the interwebs.

Spent more time then I’d like to admit scrolling through endless posts, tutorials and websites looking at the tiny worlds people were creating all over. The diversity of universes, methods and final results was fascinating.

So of course, I had to make one myself.

I’ve always been intrigued by tiny things. My favorite toys as a young one were Fisher Price Little People back when they were still made out of natural materials and The Sunshine Family. I didn’t have any of the accessories or structures for the doll family so I made my own out of cardboard, paper and anything else I could scrounge up around the house.

In the time between high school and college the place I was living wasn’t the best and I was working too many hours behind a hot stove on a line and just looking for a bit of an escape. Sometimes that was through drinking too much and slam dancing the night away in a mosh pit at a Ramone’s show. A gentler escape was browsing at the miniature store on the other side of town. I didn’t get there often and even when I did couldn’t do much more than ooh and ahh over the tiny treasures. I made the occasional small purchase to squirrel away for a day when I would have the time, money and space to build an actual miniature house and furnish it.

I think the box is in the basement next door.

College, kids and a couple of more careers took up the next few decades and my body decided it was long done with mosh pits as a viable means of escape.

So what’s next has been a persistent thought for the last couple of years.

And now there’s book nooks.

I like books. Lord knows I have an insane amount of shelving in just my study alone. 137 linear feet the last time I counted.

So I gathered ideas, photographs and materials. I’m not quite sure when I started working on the actual thing because the process photos that serve as an external memory in this day of dated digital photos were lost in the Great IPhone Bricking of November 2020. Based on my scattered memories (and whose memory isn’t a bit scattered after two years of plague?), I began actual construction sometime in early 2020.

Building the structure from foam core was a challenge since I’m not the best at cutting straight lines and I only had one sheet of foam core and no funds (and after March 2020 the ability) to purchase more. So I made it work. I always do.

The books took forever but were a great thing to keep my hands busy and my body upright as I was fighting off 6 sequential rounds of different weird pneumonias in the middle of a respiratory pandemic. Every book was individually assembled complete with marbled end-papers and printed pages.

I’d finished up the structure, bookshelves, skylight, window (that took multiple tries and I still want to do another one) and the chair was halfway done when my mother got sick and eventually died. I’d even bought the tiny led lights so it would look like the sun was coming through the window and skylight. It all got set aside so that the Adult Responsibilities could be taken care of.

A year later it was time to clear out the unfinished projects that were taking up space on the worktable so I finished gluing the chair together, got over my fear of screwing up the lights and just finished the damn thing. It took less then a week and I wondered why I’d put it off for so long. This is a reoccurring theme around here but I’m working on it.

I’m great at starting projects, not so good at finishing them.

It’s not perfect but it’s done and in a place of honor on the bookshelf.

Now that I’ve been looking at it for the past few weeks, I think the draw of the tiny world is about the ability to build a home, a life, a tiny bit of the universe where I am queen and my word is law. I can literally shape the universe as I see fit. A powerful draw for a person who has all too often felt powerless.

I do so love being in charge of my own universe even if I have to build it from the ground up.

What world to build next?

Its been a year

What a year.

But not.

In a life full of far-reaching events, being in the house for a year really isn’t the worst. I’m very lucky in that I’ve got food, shelter, warmth and more books then I’ll ever be able to read.

I’ve been in this strange limbo where time moves along outside the house but things seem much more static inside, but not.

Lock-down and unemployment has given me the most time off I’ve ever had. I’ve been working since 13 or so except for this past year. Vacations have been far and few in-between and even when I’m sick and stuck at home, I’m usually dragging myself to the desk in an attempt to get in some billable hours.

It’s very strange to wake up in the morning and there’s nothing that HAS to be done. Laundry can be put off a day. Meals can be scrounged from what’s already been prepared. Leaky faucets can be turned off instead of immediately replaced and those boxes in the corner aren’t going anywhere so why do they need to be dealt with today?

It’s not like anyone is going to die if I spend the day reading, watching Star Trek in its many iterations on an endless loop and puttering about.

Is this really living or a strange version of not-death?

So many people dead, of the plague and other maladies. It’s one of the few things we all have in common. We all eventually die.

Dad 3 died in March 2019. What started out as gallstones ended up killing him after about a month in the hospital. I missed his last moments of consciousness. I missed hearing his voice one last time. I’m still feeling his loss, dealing with his absence and most likely will be for quite some time. He was the youngest of my 4 parents (3 living at that point) and the one who was most like a parent, even with all his imperfections. He was sober after so many years of not being so and he was a part of our lives again.

He wasn’t supposed to die of gallstones, strapped unconscious to a hospital bed.

I think his body was just worn out and so very, very done.

May 2020 I was woken up at 3 am by a phone call from the nursing home where Dad 2 lives. That’s never a good thing. He had COVID and they needed me to convince him to go to the hospital. He pulled through after a couple of weeks but I didn’t know that then. I thought I had just said goodbye as I cajoled him into going for treatment.

I woke up the youngling because I forgot to cry more quietly.

I’m usually better about such things.

My mother died in June 2020. She drank herself to death over Dad 3 whom she had walked away from and divorced almost 20 years before. My thought is that he was just a convenient excuse. A “good” reason not to pull herself together, deal with her issues and move on with her life.

Suicide by cheap vodka and liver failure.

The last time I talked to her was Mother’s Day. An aunt called to say she was sick and I needed to convince her to go to a doctor. So I called and tried to talk to her. Asked what she wanted done when the inevitable happened since the conversation led that way.

She hung up on me.

That was the last time we talked.

Up until that point I had been trying to see my layoff as a chance to spend my days as I wished, an opportunity to get my house and life in order and to take advantage of a gift of time that was unique in my life.

Instead I’ve spent the last 10 months cleaning up the mess my mother left behind.

Fucking typical.

First there was a 1300 mile journey down the Eastern Seaboard during a pandemic to her hoarders house to salvage whatever was valuable, distribute what was usable and get it ready to sell. Tidying up her finances was a nightmare. Just finding and accessing her money took months and countless hours digging through boxes of paperwork and on the phone convincing bank officials that I was who I said I was. Twelve accounts across four financial institutions will do that. She also hadn’t been paying the medical bills she was racking up for the last couple of months of her life. I’m still not convinced they’ve all been paid but I’ve signed the legal paperwork that says they are.

The house is almost ready for the market. It’s down to the new carpet and deep cleaning stage and my only duty is to coordinate and pay for it. I hate making phone calls and talking to strangers but the money to come once things are all settled is a powerful motivator.

I’ve spent my life trying to not be greedy or take more than my fair share but I’m viewing her money as reparations for a lifetime of having to deal with her. It won’t erase the past but maybe it can make moving forward a little easier.

I’ve been poor for most of my life so watching people online (the only way I interact with most people these days) talk about their upcoming anniversaries of going into lock-down has been somewhat jarring. While in quarantine, the playing field was more level. No one could go out to eat, or to a movie or show, or shopping, or on vacation. These were all things that I rarely did beforehand so losing the ability/option to do them this past year was meaningless. If anything I liked not having to explain to people why I hadn’t done all these things .

No, I don’t have cable to watch some show or commercial. Haven’t in decades.

No, I don’t go on vacation. Don’t get paid if I don’t go to work.

No, we don’t take day trips to X. If I did, there would be no grocery money for the month.

I’m just treading water here, trying not to drown.

So, one year later, down to the last parent and heading back to work, into the fray of trying to keep body and soul together.

It’s been a year.

There is no deeper meaning behind this photo other than I like flowers and they make me happy.
We could all use more happy.

It’s the end of the world as we know it

and I feel fine?

How could I not have this song running through my head these days on an almost continuous loop? Maybe it’s a Gen X thing.

The last time I had a therapy appointment in person on March 12 we talked about how things were moving to telemed, about the stocking up I’d been doing since late January to prepare for possible quarantine and how I would deal with being in the middle of a pandemic as a person with multiple medical issues that put me in the high risk category.

“How do you feel now that the apocalypse you been preparing for your entire life has finally arrived?” my therapist asked. Still thinking about that. My tentative conclusion? Apocalypse, in one form or another, has surrounded me all my life. Is this one really all that different? At least this time I’ve got a roof over my head, food on the table and I don’t need to leave the house and deal with the wider world.

My maternal grandparents lived through World War II in Ukraine, Poland, Germany and spent time in Nazi work camps, specifically the coal mines in Westphalia and I’m not sure where else. It never occurred to me to define them as Holocaust survivors, we’re not Jewish, but the youngling was doing homework the other day and according to the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, they count. They lost 2 children during the war but managed to walk out with each other and their eldest child. They were so much luckier than so many. My mother was born in a DP camp in West Germany years after the war and came to the United States as a baby with the rest of the family. They might have left the war and the old country behind but they never really escaped.

My grandparents and eldest aunt in a Nazi work camp during the war.

Grandmother’s house was a horders paradise. Nothing was ever thrown out. When you’ve gone without like she did you can’t really blame her for holding onto every little thing. You never know when you might need it.

I have a hard time getting rid of things too. I’m not as bad as my grandmother, or even my mother, but for me objects contain almost all my memories. Without the thing I lose the ability to recall the memory. I don’t live in a horders house by any measurement, I’ll just never run out of things to read.

I hate to shop so I’d rather do it in big trips and then be done for a while. In many ways I’ve been prepping for the ‘poclaypse most of my adult life; whether that apocalypse be a snowstorm or a temporary absence of funds. I have the space and don’t like not being able to bake or cook whatever comes to mind when the mood strikes.

Once they locked down Wuhan I knew shit was about to get serious. I’m a historian. I know what happened during the 1918-1919 flu pandemic. My youngling’s great great grandparents on their dad’s mother’s side died during the flu epidemic. This history is personal. Hell, I’ve got this bit of history hanging right up over my desk as I sit here typing.

Grippe is an old-fashioned term for influenza. 50 million people died during the 1918-1919 flu epidemic.

The end of January was when my thinking started moving away from typical high level anxiety about the general state of my universe and shifting into oh shit, how do I deal with this? The last few years have been lean and the cabinets were bare but I’ve got credit and used it for a solid month to build back up the supplies. I figured, even if it all magically disappeared like some were saying it would, I just wouldn’t have to go shopping for a while.

By the end of February I was advised by multiple doctors to isolate. This wasn’t difficult for an introvert like myself. I’m not out and about much on a regular basis and once the stocking up was done I was okay with just going to work and coming home. There was one last trip to the library but I was already there doing some research for a side job. Once the youngling’s school closed down that was it. No more going out. We’ve been home since March 13 except for 2 trips to the pharmacy drive through. If it can’t be delivered to the doorstep, we’ll live without it.

I’m in an online mom group for people with traumatic pasts. Many of us have commented on how we’re oddly calm. In many ways, life and death situations are the norm for us. I’ve always been great in a crisis, it’s the day to day life I have trouble with. When things are calm I sit here waiting for the next shoe to drop, the bombs to fall, the loved one to say horrible things, get up and walk away. That’s been my experience of life.

But I can also see where I’m so much luckier than so many. I’ve got a house I love so much I never want to leave it on a regular day. There’s food on the table, another human being to talk with, share meals with and even watch a show or movie with at the end of the day. So many aren’t so fortunate.

This disease may end up killing me but for now I’m safe and so are my two younglings and that’s all that really matters. All I can deal with is today, what’s in front of me. Not what’s to come. That’s still too nebulous.

Who knows, maybe the fever induced by this virus will bring about a new era. My youngest and I have been having conversations about this as she works her way through history homework. Discussing how the Gilded Age lead to reforms that were paused by the wars and Great Depression and then came to fruition in the 1950’s and 60’s with a golden age for the middle class. Now that we’re in a new gilded age one can only wonder what will come about after this time apart. The delivery person, those stocking shelves in the grocery store, the teacher and the medical staff are just as important as any of us and in this time of trouble it’s so much easier to see that. Everyone has a place in society and deserves to have a fair slice of the societal pie. We can have hope for the future and work towards a more equal society in the days to come.

Once we finally put on pants again of course.

Weekend in Vermont

Love this photo, she remembered as she excavated it from a deep dive into the social media photo file.  Why not recycle it for the page once again?  It’s seasonal if nothing else.  The shiny black enamel of the rental car he insisted they needed. 

She ended up driving halfway there even though he’d promised she wouldn’t have to.

So many promises broken over the years.  When do they collapse under their own weight? 

What an odd weekend.  Even more so in retrospect.


Slow burn thinker because words are hard.  So many thoughts swirling around from so much – life. 

He’d moved out suddenly.  The announcement made over Sunday pancakes she’d just spent an hour making.


The first words out of her mouth.  Are you fucking kidding me?


Then tears.  So many tears.

And then he was back.  But not.  She kept the sanctity of her threshold but allowed him into her bed.  If nothing else the sex was worth it.  Put her on crutches more than once. 

Even worth this?


Peeling the band aid off slowly while still having the cake and eating it with two for a bit?


When he was there he was completely in but he shrugged it off at the door and left it behind in her keeping. 

She was always the archive. 

Was it time to do a bit of deaccessioning? 

He rented a car so they could go away for the weekend.  The only time, just like the flowers, and bought with the same plastic. 

Money rushed away like water from him.  She was tired of being the dam.


The weekend was odd and frenetic.  She wanted to spend it in the woods.  To sit by a rocky stream and absorb a bit of that peace. 

Instead they wandered through shops they couldn’t afford being shoved about by people. 

So many people. 

She cooked most of the meals to save a bit.    Saw it as her contribution. He said the weekend would be carefree for her but she still had to fill in all the details. And then to get slammed for it instead of it being seen as a joint effort?  Wasn’t this supposed to be a joint effort?

It was very confusing.


Even years later a blur of feelings and conflicted moments.  What was wrong with the people they were?  Why did they have to pay for the privilege of pretending to be someone else knowing that there were extra bills at the end of it? 

Where’s the fun in that?

He’d always been a chameleon but told her, with so many words between them in so many ways over so many years, that the skin she was seeing was the bottom layer. 

The true core.


He was wrong. 

And so was she. 

She really hated to be wrong.


People on the bottom don’t always recover from their mistakes.  Whatever they are. 

There was another layer to peel.


They returned from the Northern Kingdom and he ghosted again. 


And they went through the process.  Kicked recycling cans and garbage bags of stuff sent off into the night and all.


At least they were alone in the house.  It’s difficult to end something like that. 

So much behind it and nothing ahead.


She saw him months later when he was picking stuff up from the garage she no longer went into. 

He didn’t smell like himself anymore.  This wasn’t the person she had known for all those years.  Her person. 

The skin had been fully shed.


At least I got a good photograph out of it. 

It’s all in how you frame it

Was reading an article recently on how the point of a writer’s life isn’t necessarily publication and success, because lord knows how rarely lightning strikes, but in the joy of the creative process.

I firmly believe that we all need a bit more joy in our lives.  These are trying times (aren’t they all in one way or another?) and I feel the need to make the best of it as opposed to succumbing to the understandable despair.

I’ve been bogged down in editing hell for the last few months.  It’ll be worth it once I’m done but damn it, bushwhacking through the jungle is exhausting.  I just want the thing I see in my head to be somewhat close to what others read on the page.

It’s the getting there that’s exhausting.

And frustrating.

I have so many other things I want to accomplish during my limited time at the desk.

But it’s also exhilarating.  (holy shit I actually spelled that right!)

If it wasn’t I wouldn’t keep coming back to the desk, to the page, to the words.

And I have a lot more time to do that now, for good or ill.  Might as well make it for the good.

Trying to focus on the good.

Got to go away for the weekend to the north country.  That same weekend we found out that my sister-in-law had been murdered.  We knew she had passed but this was just…I mean what can you say?  She wasn’t my favorite person and I’m sure I wasn’t hers.  I just wish she could have been the mother my very wonderful niece deserves.  So very young though.  What does she leave behind?

What do any of us?

This same weekend as I was trying to have a nice time with Dad #3, his lovely bride and my two, my sister’s engagement falls apart.  She’s understandably upset, texting for lawyers and we’re all just trying to enjoy the scenery.

Let the drama intrude or go on with the day?

The view from where I got my chocolate.

Find satisfaction in the daily slog of life and the moments of joy when doing what brings you there?

Or drag along, cursing and bitching the entire way?

The only thing that moved was my fingers on the zoom.

I’d rather reframe the view and find the beauty.

It’s self-preservation if nothing else.

Around the house

I’ve been trying to pick up my camera more often these days.

Haven’t had much of a chance to get outside to shoot so I ended up with what’s around me.

I grow lettuce in the window boxes with the pansies in the spring.  It’s the only place with enough sun and it’s easy enough to harvest when it’s time for a salad.  The pansies didn’t do so good this year but the lettuce wasn’t half bad.

The cat is a handful but he has his moments.

I’ve been spending a lot of time at my desk and this little grinning critter hangs off the curtain that’s on the window next to my desk.  His eye fell off so I gave him a pirate patch until I glue him back together.

This is what’s been sucking up all my brain space and most of my time since the late fall of 2017.

Just hope it proves worth the time.

The days are long…

How could it possibly be fucking July already?

It’s really late February or maybe early March, right?

The fact that the garlic is almost ready to harvest tells me otherwise.

I’ve spent more time gardening this spring then I have in years. I’m planting mostly flowers. Everyone needs more flowers in their life.

Especially these days.

Gardening helps slow me down.  You can only weed and water so quickly before you’re not doing the job properly.

I’ve been very busy for the last couple of decades. That’s a very strange thing to say let alone have experienced. Motherhood takes a bit out of one, you know?

I’m not discounting anyone elses experience of trials and tribulations by saying that. I’m just saying, that for me, motherhood has sucked up a lot of brain space.

Had to make it up as I went along and that’s tough.

Had to do the same when I was teaching an AP Organic Chem class as a long term substitute ages ago.

I never took organic chemistry or any sort of chemistry. I was able to fulfill my bachelor’s science requirements with a paper conservation course (relevant to my breadwinner side) and a physics class. I’m horrible at things that are logical and/or involve remembering vast amounts of information.  Physics has both.  Had to paper my dashboard with formulas written on post-its in order to memorize the formulas for the tests, but I passed.

So how the F was I supposed to teach AP Organic Chem to seniors with that sorta brain and background?

I stumbled along, keeping one chapter ahead.  I tried.

Sometimes that’s all you can do.

I am so glad I got out of teaching before I was too deep in the pool. I was able to change course easily enough without having to go back to school. I had been on the fence between teaching and museum work all through college so finally deciding which side to touch grass on wasn’t all that difficult. For a while I was actually doing both.

No wonder I’m so damn tired now.

Museum work has run from terrifying (as in when there was water from attic to basement in a 200 year old house packed literally to the rafters with old stuff, photographs and papers) to as boring as watching a snail race (I hate spreadsheets and databases and that is increasingly what my job is about) and everything in between. I have been at one site long enough, and put in enough sheer hours of labor, that I can see the sort of progress that takes time to add up.  It’s rather satisfying to see what we’ve accomplished.  I have left this small bit of the world in better shape then when I arrived.  The hours and schedule flexibility also worked well with two children who needed tending.

What it has not been is financially lucrative.

My finances and career took a major hit. As they do for many people.  To move up the ladder I would have had to move every couple of years.  I grew up that way and hated it.  Wasn’t going to do the same to my two.  And now I’m really paying for it.

But it was worth it.

My eldest leaves for Great Britain and two years of graduate school on September 3rd. She’s attending the best school in the world for what she wants to do. She didn’t make it in the first time but they encouraged her to reapply.  She did a couple of internships as they suggested and got in the second time around. She’s one of eight in a class with people from all around the world.

Yay.

Yes, she did the work but I (and her father in his home) provided her the supportive environment she needed to take advantage of the opportunities she found.  She never had to worry about a roof over her head, food on the table or clothes on her back.

Not everyone is so lucky.

I’ve been at this motherhood gig long enough to see the sort of progress that takes time to add up.  It’s rather satisfying to see what that little milksucking blob of flesh has become.  If nothing else, I have done this right.

One down, one to go.

I have left this small bit of the world in better shape then when I arrived.

I don’t know when I’m going to see my eldest again.  Probably years.  Neither of us can afford to travel across the Atlantic Ocean.

Ouch.

The youngest is starting high school in the fall.

She’s doing good. The last few years have been tough but I think she’ll find her tribe once she gets there. Sure hope she does.

So the reins are slacking off on multiple fronts.

And they’re at their dad’s three nights a week. It’s strange being alone after so many years. Never had much of a taste of it BK (before kids) because of financial circumstances.  I didn’t live alone for long but I remember it fondly.

Having a problem with finances now as well.

Ugh.

If there isn’t a blue wave in November I’m probably going to die in the next 6 months when I lose my insurance.  I’m not saying that to be dramatic.  It’s just my life.

I’m not as poor as I’ve been in the past but I am one unfortunate thing away from the edge.

Being poor is exhausting.  I’m too damn old and tired to be dealing with this shit now.

At least I’m slightly better equipped to deal with it this time.

Age does have some advantages.

The days are long

but the years are short.

My cheatin’ heart

I’ve been looking at other houses lately.

The progeny’s father has been in real estate in one form or another since I met him.  He was my landlord at one point actually.  So I’ve had a finger in the real estate pie for a couple of decades.  I also have more than one friend who looks at property porn and shares the especially yummy bits.

I’ve always looked.  It doesn’t hurt to look.

But I noticed the last couple of times that I’m not just looking and seeing a pretty piece of property.  I’m starting to actually think about how I would inhabit the space.  What colors would I paint the walls?  Would I get rid of a table in the kitchen and construct floor to ceiling shelving as a pantry?  Oh, that sea of asphalt around the house is horrible.  It would be so much better if it was gravel or clam shells.

As long as the bones are good I can make the space work in a fun and funky way that feels like home.

Am I really thinking about selling and relocating?

One house is out of commuting range and just a wee bit over my budget but still within reach if there was a good paying job in the area.  Those are about as rare as hen’s teeth in my field so a move is most likely not in our future.  Plus the co-parenting issue.  Yeah, so not happening.

The other property is listed at less than my current house would sell for at the low range and I have a decent amount of equity in the house.  You can’t tap equity these days at my end of the spectrum so it really doesn’t do me any good unless I sell.  So if I sold my current house I could not only buy the other one with a 15 year note and a hefty deposit, I could also pay off a good chunk of debt and my monthly expenses would drop significantly because the taxes would be cut in half on a lower priced house.

And it’s damn cute.  Or at least it could be.

These thoughts are scaring me.

I love my house.  I don’t want to leave it but I’d also like to have things like baseboards, trim around the windows and a stove that isn’t literally falling apart.  The French doors in my bedroom lead out to a roof.  Some of the plugs spark when you plug into them and there’s a recessed light that just doesn’t work for more than a month or so once the bulb is changed.

There’s quite a few unfinished projects and lots of deferred maintenance.

The consequences of being busy and broke, in many ways, for more years than I care to remember.

There are roommates as of Friday.  I’ve put off getting some for an entire year.  That was an accomplishment I wanted under my belt and a raised finger to the doubters.

Yes, I am that stubborn.  It’s served me well during my life.

I don’t need the roommates to pay the monthly expenses.  I actually have those covered.  They’re here to pay off debt and finally finish the house after living here for thirteen years.

I should probably finish moving out of the basement next door while I’m at it.

It’s odd having full control of how the money comes in and out and what to do with it.

I kinda like it.  Control of my own destiny and all.

As much as such things can be controlled that is.

Maybe it’s not that I want to actually move.  Just the thought of having to pack the books gives me the vapors let alone everything else.

Maybe I just need to finish my damn house.

Oh, and keep the coffee shop that’s literally two feet away from getting a liquor license.  Yeah, that needs to happen too.  I’ve got a couple of more weeks to rally the troops and hopefully it makes a difference.

If I can slay that dragon I’d love to stay.  Best to have an escape plan if needed though.

Life is certainly interesting.

In all its permutations.

 

Cloud walking

Life is rather busy right now.

Not in a bad way.  Just in a “OMFG how is it almost the end of August already?” kinda way.

The days are long but the years are short.

Working steadily on Tome 2.0.  The word count is racking up and the chapter is ready to be edited, amended and then eventually weeded for extraneous words and thoughts.  Someday I’ll even send it out to my writing group and get to lunch with my ladies.  Every day I work on it is a day closer to that.  Even baby steps eventually add up.

The house is looking a wee bit better by the end of every weekend.  Well, it was until the eldest returned home, till at least the new year, and her room exploded its contents across the rest of the house.  She never really got a chance to scale down and store things after she graduated because first she went to the tropics and then she went to the capital.  All those boxes just got thrown into her room because she wasn’t here anyway and at least they were out of my way.

She made good progress over the weekend on moving things where they needed to go.  Even better, she’s willing to do some of the deep cleaning projects that would probably wreck me, at least temporarily.  And plus, I just don’t want to freakin’ do them.  She already laid down on the kitchen floor and scrubbed the baseboards and lower cabinets.  I’ll hit the upper ones when I do the annual reshuffling of the cabinets and then the kitchen is clean and pretty again and ready for a fresh coat of wax on the floor.

Marmoleum is a wonderful thing.

It’s such a pretty blue when clean and shiny.

I’m making a serious attempt to take advantage of having the eldest back for a few months and spending some time playing as well as working with her and her sister.  We went to the park on Monday for the eclipse.  The ranger station had set up a low-key program and had all sorts of eclipse viewers to play with and people brought their own.  It was a good, communal way to share the event.  So glad we decided not to go to one of the two observatories I was considering.  They got thousands of people.  There were maybe 25 of us in the park, including the rangers, and we were pretty spread out.  Just bumping into each other’s orbits occasionally to pass around the viewers or comment on what was happening.

Just perfect for three introverts out on the town.

Then I got to spend the rest of the day all alone in the house until I left for work Tuesday morning.  Finished up a book I plowed through over the weekend and sorted out writing related paperwork for a couple of hours before dozing off on the couch with one of my favorite monster movies.  I didn’t want to watch anything bright after all that staring at the sun and a literally dark movie was the perfect entertainment.

Didn’t even have to make dinner because we had gone out for lunch courtesy of old gift cards and there were plenty of leftovers.

Everyone needs days like these.  Perfect in whatever way works for them.  This is what worked for me.

I’m making a point of trying to write down the good so I can remember it when things swing the other way.  Not that I’m sitting here waiting for the next disaster.  Just that the memory of the brighter days can help us get through the darker nights.

This rambling is no different from canning tomatoes in late summer.

Pop one open in January and you’ve got sunshine in a jar when the snow is piling up outside.

My brain tends to wander a bit when I’m really working on the writing.  I get wrapped up in the world I’ve created and the mind drifts.

Don’t mind me.

I’ll just be here looking at the clouds for a moment.