Minimalist, schminimalist…

The art of packing.  I wrote in my earlier blog that I spent 3 months packing. I worked diligently to wrap each breakable item, carefully stowing each piece, labeling every box with its correct contents and marking each in order of necessity. Pod 1 holding basic items: beds, bedding, towels, dishes, glassware, sofa, chairs, tables. Pod 2 less necessary items: kitchen equipment, art, decorative items. Pod 3 held winter clothes, outdoor furniture, garage equipment, Christmas decorations and things I wasn’t sure I would be able to use, but wasn’t quite ready to let go of. My boxes were color coded and marked Pods 1-3. I was quite proud of my packing endeavors and when moving day came, I was ready.

Prior to moving day, I had movers take a load of furniture to Brooke’s home and then continue to Austin, stopping at both Brent’s and Lynn’s house. I was delighted the kids wanted items I could no longer use and was happy to send them off to good homes. I made friends with my two capable and kind movers and requested Demetrius and “Jo Lynn” for my next five moves. Ridiculous, I know, but staggered moves were necessary for pod storage and delivery and for city ordinance reasons. 

A little humor is a necessity. “The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.” Robert Burns was one savvy guy to write these words, I wonder if he had tried my “art of packing”? Demetrius and “Jo Lynn” tried their best to fit all my earthly belongings into 2 pods so that it would be unnecessary for me to pay for a third pod. They quickly persuaded me to disregard my color coded method and decided to just start stuffing my stuff into the pods. They carefully positioned boxes and furniture as if they were placing pieces into a gigantic jigsaw puzzle. Try as they might, by the end of Moving Day 2, there were still lots of puzzle pieces left and no puzzle for them to fit. As a result, a third pod was needed, but now, Pod 1 had winter clothes, Pod 2 had Christmas decorations and Pod 3 had dishes, sheets and summer clothes. Humor was definitely needed.

By the end of this hot sweaty moving day, Demetrius, “Jo Lynn” and I had become besties. Writing down their names and contact information in case I needed further help, I realized “Jo Lynn” was actually Julius. Whaat?! How embarrassing. His response was that he simply didn’t have the heart to correct me and was a little embarrassed that I thought his mother had actually named him Jo Lynn. Necessary humor.

When the day finally came for Pod 1 delivery, Demetrius and Julius were ready. Working hard they would read my carefully labeled boxes and ask, “Which way to the office?” Looking a bit sheepish, I replied, “There is no office, maybe stack them in the guest room.” More boxes would surface and D & J would ask, “Where is your utility room?” Oops, I have only a closet for my washer/dryer, no utility room. A little side note here, not even my brand new stackable washer/dryer fit into my new laundry closet (but that’s horror story for another time). The “Utility” boxes were also stacked in the very small guest bedroom. The “humor” continued, ”Storage Room?” Not yet built. “Garage?” Still under construction. Of course, it didn’t take long for the spare room to fill and boxes began being stacked wherever there was an inch of floor space, my house became a maze with only narrow passages to navigate. D & J kept up their unloading pace, yet I could hear them under their breath, “Oh man, poor old girl has 2 more big ole pods to go, what’s she gonna do with all this stuff?” Gotta laugh. Necessary humor.

My well-intentioned pod staging for delivery on Friday, then Tuesday and the following Friday also fell by the wayside. Remember, San Antonio was having rare monsoon weather for August and the rains continued throughout the next few weeks. Not only was my house still being remodeled, but the storage room that was to be built behind the garage, the garage itself, as well as a new driveway were unable to be constructed. 

Picture this, my 80+ year old home has a very old, lumpy asphalt driveway. The excessive rain caused flowing bodies of muddy water to form on both sides of my drive, which now looked more like a pitiful island, standing alone in the midst of the Gulf of Mexico. Normally this wouldn’t have been a problem, as I could have sloshed my way to my car, mud and all, however the pod people ignored the asphalt on my lumpy old driveway. They surreptitiously managed to get Pod 1 stuck firmly in my off driveway mud puddle, hence hindering the pod people from removing Pod 1, nor able to deliver Pods 2-3. The rains continued. I sat with an empty Pod 1 in my driveway for the next 10 days while the San Antonio Aquifer continued to rise, along with the mud surrounding my asphalt jungle. Humor, lots of humor.

Let me cut short this ongoing saga, (yes, there was saga, so much more) by stating that about two weeks later all pods had been delivered, emptied and removed. Now, three weeks later, my last boxes have been hauled off, pictures hung, rugs laid, my storage room is complete, Rubbermaid tubs are labeled and filled and now line the walls of my storage room. 

My driveway, garage, patio and exterior redo is still a work in progress . This process will take some time until completion, but I’m good with waiting now that my stuff is now in place. My little house has quickly become my home thanks to the help of Brooke, Jared, Cindy, Gloria, Bernado and Kris. It takes a village and I live in a great one.

On being a minimalist. Well, that’s most likely not happening. Almost every item in those three large pods has found its place in my small home. I have decided minimalism is simply not in my DNA. Why try to be something I wasn’t born to be?

So come for a visit, I welcome each of you. My new address: 214 Castano Avenue, San Antonio, TX 78209. I’m home and I’ll keep the light on for you!

For what it’s worth,

Janet

Proverbs 24:3-4 “By wisdom a house is built, and by understanding it is established; and by knowledge the rooms are filled with all precious and pleasant riches.”

Hello, my name is Janet and I am a consumer...

Yep, I hate to admit, but I do love my stuff. I really try not to love stuff. I see something cool, out-of-the-box different and it has my name all over it. I try my best to stop and think, where will you put it? Do you need it? Don’t you have 12 white shirts just like it? How many lamps does one need? I ask all the rational questions possible, but when I find a treasure irrational and/or unreasonable, it matters not.

So, here I am, moving for the second time in less than three years and downsizing, again. I have spent the last 3 months purging only to have filled 3, yes, I said 3, 16 foot PODS. I have a lot of stuff, but my stuff is awesome. It has taken me years to collect my treasures. My junk has a boat load of memories behind each and every find. My items are like friends and they cannot be easily discarded. Yep, I am an addict and it is time for an intervention.

1+1+1=A ridiculous 3

The last few weeks have been a needed refuge, not only for me, but for the Meabon family as well. Since mid-May, I have been in the process of downsizing, packing and purging. 

The Meabons, on the other hand, have been in the processing of renovating their home. All of this happened simultaneously, and as a result, a two week reprieve to the mountains of Colorado was not only greatly needed, but a necessity for all of us.

We took daily hikes. We went white water rafting. We rode horses. We rode a narrow gage train. We sat by a fire and wore jackets, in August. It was heaven, if only for two short weeks.

I returned to San Antonio…homeless.  My furniture, all three giant PODS full, is in storage and my very small little bungalow is under renovation.  Whaa, whaa…I know, but at almost 62 years old I have spent the last week sleeping on an air mattress, with my dog Lucy by my side. I have no furniture, no refrigerator, very few items of clothing, no food and I’m realizing that being a minimalist is a great way to live. I have no television, my house is full of paint fumes and my back yard looks like a giant mud puddle, as it has been rainy cats and dogs since last Sunday. 

I think I like this new life. I must admit that Friday morning Pod 1 of 3 will be delivered and I’m wishing I had thrown the baby out with the bathwater and begun living life as a total minimalist, having, nor needing almost nothing. 

Oh, I know that once I begin unpacking all the zillions of boxes filled with all my prize possessions I will find the need to find nooks and crannies to house my treasures. As I unwrap and unearth all of my previously stored possessions I will feel the need to find a special home for each and every item…but, until Friday and next Tuesday and the following Friday when all 3 PODS have been emptied, I think I will relish this moment when, perhaps, in another life I might have been a true minimalist.

For what it’s worth,

Janet

1Timothy 6:8 “But if we have food and clothing, with these we will be content.”

PostScript:  I wrote this piece exactly one month ago but never got around to posting it, as life became ridiculously hectic. Rereading it now, a month later, makes me chuckle. It has been an incredible journey and I am finally coming up for air. There will be a follow up post soon. Stay tuned…  

Janet Boswell reading "Her Grandmother's Hands"

Some of you asked me to post the Listen to Your Mother You Tube video when it was available. It was a fun day, but way out of my comfort zone...

For what it's worth

1+4+ a zillion moving boxes = Crazy Chaos

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder has always seemed foreign to me. I think of myself as a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants, catch-as-catch-can, willy-nilly, pell-mell type thus, the purchase of: 1) an old truck that lasted for 17 days 2) an old dog, I do so love Lucy, and 3) the owner an even older house. I’m sure the list of haphazard things I have done and most likely will do in the future will never find me in the OCD category.

In the last month, I have been greatly enlightened that I may well have mischaracterized myself. Allow me to start at the beginning. Living alone for 3 years, I never realized how set in my ways I have become. Okay, to be totally honest, maybe I did realize that I am now one of those people who has a place for everything and everything in its place.

My epiphany came about a month ago when the Meabons Four sort of moved in with me. Brooke and Jared began renovation on their home the day the contract to buy my existing home was signed. My household of 1 became a household of 5, not counting Lucy, my fish (Johnny Weissmuller) and their frenetic fish (Barbara Bush). This was the beginning of crazy chaos.

Back to the epiphany that I might be a tad OCD.  My morning routine would begin by walking into my kitchen and attempting to make one counter-clockwise sweep around the perimeter of my kitchen gathering all the items I needed to make my cup of lemon water. My goal, not to backtrack. I did this very consciously, it became sort of a game, a challenge to see how many footsteps it would take me to get a spoon from the drawer, then a cutting knife, grab the tea kettle, fill it with water (a small backtrack was necessary here), place the kettle on the stove and continue my rotation. I would grab a mug, a lemon from the refrigerator, vitamins from the pantry and be back to my starting position in as few footsteps as possible. A little OCD?  Absolutely, it simply never dawned on me that this might be peculiar behavior. 

I realized that I also have a similar getting dressed ritual, a 3:00-6:00 ritual and a bedtime ritual. Okay, I’m a lot OCD and I’m now claiming it with great aplomb.

Since May 30, my quiet little world has become pure bedlam. I can’t and don’t blame this totally on the Meabon Four, because added to this little equation are ever increasing mountains of moving boxes.

No longer can I reach for my reading glasses, knowing exactly which drawer I will find them. No longer can I open my refrigerator and find butter, a diet coke or an apple. No longer can I open my make-up drawer and know, with my eyes closed, where each item is placed. 

Nope, I now have readers strewn all over the house, on shelves, in closets, on the floor. I found a pair in Lucy’s dog bowl yesterday. I have no clue if a little Meabon did that, or in my boxing haste, I put them there. 

My refrigerator has not seen as much activity in its lifetime. Once upon a time, it was bare except for milk, cottage cheese, hummus, lemons and wine. Now, it is busting at the seams, stocked full of well, who would know because it’s so packed.  A pair of my readers might well be hiding in there.

My now messy make-up drawer, is strictly the result of a Meabon, a 5 year old little girl Meabon to be exact. Harper loves nothing more than plowing through all sorts of my facial products testing each to see how lovely she can become.

My 3:00-6:00 ritual, watching Ellen, Judge Judy and the Nightly News…gone, replaced by hide-and-go-seek-shoot, Harry’s favorite new game. Cowboy guns in hand, Harris counts (always skipping the number 13, no reason, he just does). I hide among stack of boxes, once discovered, the shooting begins until one of us dies, plopping over low lying boxes that have become rocky mountain cliffs. Not very PC at the moment, but hey, what 4 year old little boy doesn’t want to be a gun-slinging cowboy? 

I won’t even try to explain that my counter-clock wise morning routine is non-existent. Now, my mornings begin with little faces appearing at the side of my bed. Our day begins snuggled under the covers with a wild and adventurous “once upon a time, in a far away land” tales accompanied by lots of back rubs and giggling. Breakfasts consist of frog guts, snake juice and possum spit. The doldrums of continuous packing now goes hand and hand with imaginary adventures that makes our days pass all too quickly.

I've learned its best that along with my quirky OCD stuff, I’m more willy-nilly, pell-mell, loosey-goosey, because in all this crazy chaos, I am as happy as a pig in mud. I love nothing more than a bulging refrigerator, a precious boy climbing a mountain of boxes to pretend he is a knight in shining armor, or a sweet little girl dressed in her mommy’s old dance costumes sitting primly on piles of rolled up rugs because they are, after all, her majestic throne.

  

I’m sure these weeks of togetherness will all be over in the blink of an eye. Too soon, I will be in my new little house and the Meabons will be back in their newly renovated home. My strange OCD routines will more than likely grow and I will long for the crazy pandemonium of the Summer of 2016, but until then, I’m wallowing in this sweet chaos and thankful for every second.

For what it’s worth, 

Janet

Proverbs 17:6 “Grandchildren are the crown of the aged, and the pride of children is their parents.”