Life's a Stitch

My house is fertile ground for certain objects

As moving preparations continue, we find items in the house that that appear to be multiplying.

Pennies: we don't even have pennies in Canada. It seems when they made the announcement to discontinue the copper coins, an army of them hid in every corner of our house, hoping to escape inevitable meltdown. Sorry guys, to the smelter you go, not before being counted en masse in the machine at Safeway that sounds and feels like a slot machine, counting coin and spitting out our favourite gift card in exchange. 

Umbrella covers: Why do they sell umbrellas with sleeves never to be used again? In British Columbia, by the time your umbrella dries, the cover is long gone, only to be recovered hiding with the pennies in obscure corners of the house. Black ones, navy blue and polka dot, I've recovered them all. 

Batteries. Sigh. So many batteries all over the house. Are they good or bad?  This will be determined  by the little battery lie detector, but I can 't yet locate it. Must be in the junk drawer that I won't have the nerve to tackle until the bitter end, when the entire contents get poured into the very last 12x16 moving box.

Tweezers/nail clippers: How many times have I heard "Honey where are the tweezers/nail clippers?"

    "I don't know."  For years I bought both those items as stocking stuffers. "Check with the pennies."

    Truth be told I recovered six pairs of tweezers in the bathroom, and at least that many nail clippers. 

Vacuum cleaner attachments. In 18 years we have gone through a number of vacuums. C is particularly hard on them dragging them over the six sets of stairs in this split level house. It seems that the accessories separate from their handy holders on the vacuum's body soon after their arrival, getting relegated to nooks and crannies when nobody can be bothered to unite the two.  Apparently our house is the Northvanage for vacuum accessories as well as Bryant's friends.. They must have invited friends over because I've found pieces for vacuums we've never owned. How does that happen? 

To keep balance, I've been taking a series of Saturday painting workshops. A couple weeks ago was this Alpine shepherd's shelter. This one was so fiddly and realistic that it kept my mind occupied. I'll bet inside there are the Swiss versions of reproducing items. Besides the sheep that is. 

And then there was the simple calm of this Howe Sound painting:

 

 

The monumental task - sorting and packing 18 years of stuff

C and I decided on the spur of the moment to advance our retirement plans and hightail it out of the rainforest. Where to? Not far. As Canadians we want to stay north of the 49th to keep our medical benefits and be close to our children. But I'm not looking at real estate anywhere until I know when we'll have a cheque in hand. Been there, done that,  buying a house before the first one sold. Won't do it again. Especially in retirement. Now we are faced with the monumental task of sorting and packing 19 years of stuff.  (Note: No worries, Boesen family members, we will still be here for the May reunion.)

I agree with the notion that in time you will eventually fill to capacity the available space in your house. And more. Sometimes I have the feeling that we come across as borderline hoarders; preppers maybe. It struck me that when we move we will be hauling six bottles of olive oil and a case of sundried tomato pesto.

We moved to Vancouver more than half a lifetime ago from a 1600 square foot house to 2300. Four years later we downsized to 1800. That was a healthy exercise in decluttering. Then came the move to 3500 square feet. Over 18 years I have come to the realization that somewhere along the way I broke my personal promise: for everything we brought into the house, an equal item of bulk must leave.

Three kids, 65 foreign exchange students, those friends of the kids who we took into the lovingly dubbed Northvanage (rhymes with orphanage), some leaving their own piles of stuff. You know who you are, this is fair warning.  All I can say, readers, is you don't want to miss our massive moving sale of the century. That is unless you are going through the same exercise in frustration.

We have made four trips to the dump. packed nearly 20 boxes of stuff, gotten rid of plenty, and those were only items that were visible. Haven't even hit the cupboards. In walks the realtor, followed by the house stager this morning. Thier first comment? You have to get rid of the clutter.

Round two was quite productive. I think the house is thanking me for reducing its burden. It sounds different. I detect an echo in destuffed rooms that hasn't been there since we moved in.

I'll miss the forest hikes:

Especially when accompanied by an unexpected hiking partner:

But I'll appreciate a break from the rain:

And we're looking forward to sunnier paths.

 

Cool or creepy?

I was fortunate to take a course with world famous artist Jean Haines,whose loose, ethereal style melts subjects into nothingness. My style is so realistic or illustrative and I was looking forward to pushing the boundaries beyond my comfort zone. I did this painting of my first Scottie, MacTavish and sent a off picture to my adult children. One replied "Cool!!!," while the other two said "Creepy." I'll not identify the owner of each opinion as a matter of respect. 

C came up with a brilliant idea. Do another painting, but instead of leaving half the paper white, paint in a drape as if Mac is peeking from behind. I like that idea so long as I don't have to change the original, complete with Jean Haines signature drip. It was fun watching Mackey come back to life.

Next time: the monumental task - sorting and packing through 18 years of stuff. 

Lifespans

In a time of need long ago, I found a wonderful book explaining death to children. It's called Lifetimes. It calmly explains that every living being has an expected life expectancy and that death is the natural end. I remember changing the age of the human lifetime to beyond the 72 years it mentions, so that I didn't scare them with the possibility of the imminent death of my mother, who was nearing that magic number. Thankfully she lived at least another ten years. 

I need to write a book on the life span of non-living, but very much a part of our lives, things in our house. Let's start with the house, for example. In our neighbourhood a house has a lifespan of maybe 5o years. Seriously, if your house is older, when you sell it, poof (!), it's torn down and replaced by a bigger, better and exorbitantly more expensive model. The house across the street was sold a few years back, having been renovated with dark hardwood floors and granite countertops. Overnight it was gone. It made me uncomfortable as it was nicer than our house. Here are the before and after pictures:

Recently our 1998 VW Jetta, living with our daughter in Calgary and dubbed, Carlos, achieved his lifetime. Then there was Athena, our year 2000 Starbucks espresso machine. Athena was the name of the model, and was know for its longevity, but reached its expiry date the same week as Carlos.

Last month our 1958 downstairs toilet bit the dust, and despite this house being destined for the wrecking ball in a matter of a short time, compared to its long lifetime, it needed replacing. No picture required.

I guess that's the point. This house is nearing its lifespan and will soon be meeting the wrecking ball, or more accurately the excavator, and replacing its contents is throwing money down the drain so to speak. I went to buy replacement floodlight bulbs for the kitchen pot lights and the Home Depot lighting person tried to convince me to buy LED bulbs with a loooong lifetime and a commensurately hiiiigh price tag. I politely declined. I suppose I can unscrew the bulbs on the last day and take them wherever we end up. Actually I had a childhood friend whose practical Dad did exactly that when they moved out of their family home, but that was in the days long before LED bulbs and his kids thought him unreasonable as the house was not being torn down. I don't think I'll be going there. I'll stick with the cheap replacements and let the demolitionists deal with them.

I submitted another assignment to the ink and watercolour illustration course I'm taking online (I LOVE retirement). It's of a Vancouver anomaly, the Vernon Drive Grocery store, which has had an extraordinarily long lifetime. It has existed as a convenience store for over 100 years. It's a different style than the painting in my last post, but I'm really enjoying the change and look forward to trying some of my house portraits using this method (this is the post with the first assignment I submitted for the course).

Maybe I'd better do one of our house before it's gone.