I have mostly conquered the kitchen. Now I fear the garage. But. I found a Reed's Ginger Beer in a cupboard, way in the back. This is excellent news as I have eaten a tiny bit of corm chips I found for dinner. Stale? Who cares? Not me.

I have actually packed a lot of my stuff in boxes already. And I could be totally delusional. I fear the kitchen. Maybe I'll just give everything to Goodwill and start over. I keep buying food. I think I'm heading toward famine because I'm moving a few miles south and they have no food there. I won't be able to walk to my favorite Coop anymore :-( well I could and climb the little mountain to my house with provisions in a backpack. Imagine my muscular thighs after a few months of that.

I shamelessly flirted with a woman at the dog park after I learned she is a plumber. Shameless, I tell you. I got her number. She's impossibly young compared to me. Then again, almost everyone is impossibly young compared to me. I fool people with a lot of swearing and immature behavior.

My tenant of seven years is moving out. It's the end of an era.

I'm watching really bad science fiction right now. Really bad. So I don't have to face the packing situation. I'm afraid all my stuff won't fit into my new house (well, why would it, silly person) because I'm going from many rooms to a few.

I gave my bed away and now I'm sleeping on a pallet among boxes of books.

The whole thing is making me feel queasy. That's what the bad sci-fi is for.

BTW-the sellers ARE fixing the sewer line and giving me $5000 against the electrical so all is not lost. I just thought I'd get some $$ from this house to throw at the new one. We'll see. There must be a rich Amazon person  who will adore my current house and pay lots of cash for it so I HAVE NO MORTGAGE.  This is the point. Besides, the new neighborhood is quiet and peaceful and dead-ended. No cars roaring by. A private back yard, even though it is tiny. I will continue with these stupid updates until a) the house closes and b) my current house sells. All before May, when we go roaring into gear with a lotta babies. Meanwhile, empty boxes call to me to be filled.

My "new" hundred year old house will be taking all my money and ingenuity and pluck to restore, rewire, replumb and that's not counting the stove which I MUST replace and why o why do people insist on pulling huge ceiling fan/light fixtures into a wee bedroom? I wanted a new project, right? It was that or a condo (yetch) with no yard and hundreds of stairs squished next to another condo for density. I will have a yard, dammit and a view of the wide world. So what if the floors slope? I have a fireplace and a roof and sturdy floors. Sometimes we must give thanks where we can.

39 years ago Eden was born in our bedroom with our family doctor Joel and my friend Donna in attendance. My water broke at about 6:30 AM and while Steve scrambled to change the sheets and I tried to figure out what the hell was going on, the contractions were slamming me like a freight train. My sister took Maya, about 2 1/2, downstairs to read books and have breakfast. About 8AM, Eden came flying out, to the amazement of us all.

I had visions of candlelight and soft music (Bach's Brandenburg). I have no idea if candles were lit and the Bach was terribly annoying, all that plinking and the girl was coming on her own time, in a rush of heat and light.

There is one picture of us, wet baby on my chest and my sweaty face and tangled hair. Labor is a roller coaster and all the change flew out of my pockets, leaving me breathless on the bed. Joel left for Passover Seder in New York and Steve went to class. When his teacher found out he'd had a baby that day, he sent him home. Steve wore a tie in celebration.

That girl is now a beauty and a wonder still. Restless, brilliant, talented, a world traveler; she is my fretful lamb, always seeking the stronger view, the higher plane, the wide life she claims for herself. And we tag along after our adventurer, our visionary, our bright light.

Happy birthday, sweetheart. I love you eternally.

Mom

That's my beautiful daughter.

So.

My house adventure gets more interesting. The sewer line is effed up, lots of cracks and holes. A $15000 repair, yikes. My trusty agent will negotiate the price down. Sellers, be reasonable, ok? Then there's the electrical situation, mix of knob and tube (read:old house) with some newer wiring, ungrounded outlets everywhere. And Rosemary says electricians are like unicorns, mythical beasts who don't return phone calls. i'm scouring my friends for someone who will bid it and then we can ask the seller to give us a whopping deal.

I don't want a mortgage. This is the point. And there are cosmetic issues as well as a furnace that doesn't turn on, a terrible electric stove that needs replacing, a busted microwave (don't care) but it needs to be extricated from it's niche and ceilings that are 'interesting'. Maybe asbestos. Great.

The siding is vinyl (yetch) but maybe under the under (which is also asbestos) there are the old clapboards. Fingers crossed.

I'm having these issues because I don't want a mortgage after I move. No mortgage, k?

My future husband Jim walked around during the inspection and we talked about a tear-off so the bedroom no longer slopes and I can have a bigger kitchen and a sun room. Facing the mountains, whenever they appear. I know how to turn a house into a beauty. Money is usually involved.

Still in house limbo. If everyone will play nice and the bank can be mollified and I can get good solid money out of my current house, we can continue to move on moving. In the meantime, my house is a bunch of boxes with the art removed from the walls. I like this process but it might make me crazy.

The weekend was spent in Duvall at a painting workshop so my hands are covered with paint. I made a few decent paintings. However, the teacher wanted us all to contemplate our womanly navels and she even launched or tried to launch a conversation about feminine archetypes. I was with Betsy so we consoled ourselves with significant looks and subtle eye-rolling. We sat together and shared paint and brushes and pastries. And today I brought my ipod so Beethoven gave me solace while I worked. Now I'm exhausted.

Tomorrow is a full work day and I'll wait to hear from Rosemary about the latest wrinkle. I have said I won't do this house if there is no price break. I'm not fixing the sewer line without compensation.

I'm afraid this post is totally boring but I can't help it. It's what I got right now.

Eden's birthday is this week and I'm so lame, I haven't gotten her a present. I bet she'll understand.

Sure, I'm fine. I just ate an entire bag of corn chips. I'll never lose weight for Italy at this rate.

The house I might/will/could purchase is now officially 'in contract' as they say around here. The house inspection and sewer inspection are on Friday and my friend general contractor Jim and I will attend.

Meanwhile I am officially freaking out. I came home with a dozen boxes and spent an hour putting books in. I have a wicked spider bite on my leg that itches like crazy and now I'm in my bathrobe quilting and watching Benedict do his Sherlock thing.

I hate moving and I haven't moved in, count 'em, 13 years. Do you know how much crap I have? Books and art and art supplies and more books and papers and notebooks filled with poems and poetry books and piles of quilting fabric and furniture and shoes. I'm exhausted just thinking about it.

Tomorrow is another day. I'll wake up bright and early and begin again to sort through, pack, throw away, give to Goodwill, save for a garage sale, etc.

It's an old house, the one I'm buying. I'm afraid there is one outlet in every room, lathe and plaster walls and wonky windows. I'm thinking to adopt Jim as my future husband to fix, rearrange, build, sculpt and otherwise make habitable my habitation. I DID say I'd take a fixer house, all I could afford on my plan to live without a mortgage, get sensible ferfucksake, so I can go to Tuscany (tra-la) and semi-retire and tend roses, which my new house has.

It also has a formidable row of arbor vitae on the south side that are about 27 feet tall and totally blocking the south light. ----sigh----- I'm going to appeal to the better natures of my new neighbors to cut them down, trim them, something or else I'll go ballistic with a hedge trimmer and get arrested. The bedroom is a cave, it's so dark. Aside from that, it has a beamed ceiling, a fireplace (!!!!!), lovely old plank floors and a view of the mountains and a huge greenbelt. And I can walk to the light rail and get to downtown or to my old neighborhood for the farmer's market.

The katz are a problem. We're gonna have to have a talk.

I'm going to admit something here and then we will never speak of it again, as my real estate agent said yesterday. We looked at a house with a fantastic view but too much $$, not enough room etc and I really had to, um, poop. So I chose a bathroom (there were three) and after getting some kleenix from Rosemary, made use of one of them.

But.

The water was turned off. Hahahahahahahahahahahaha. No flushing. I came out and told Rose. We had several plans. We'd go to the store and get gallon jugs of water and bring them back. But what if we caused a flood? Maybe I could scoop out the, er, poo and bury it in the back yard?? That seemed too icky. And I would probably get caught.

So we just left. Oh gawd, I'm one of those people now.

Dear house gods. Please look down on this dumb sinner and forgive her. May you continue to guide me with your heavenly light toward a good house, a perfect house even so.

Amen

Really, it's like this. When I was a teen and living at home after I got kicked out of college (too much sex, drugs and rock n roll), my parents decided to throw me out because I was a 'bad influence' on my siblings. (My brother told me recently he had no idea where I had disappeared to until about five years ago.) I was just gone, poof. I stood in my bedroom and threw my clothes out the window. I had been given a half hour to vacant. My boyfriend came over in his bug and loaded me up. We couch surfed until we found a squat where we stayed for a few months. There were padlocks on the doors. We moved to Boston so I could go to art school and we got minimum wage jobs. I worked in a health food store and I would steal food and honey out under my cape. I couldn't afford to pay tuition so I split for the West Coast (but that's another story).

So I'm never really safe. I'm still that sad girl without a family or stable housing. No matter that I have friends and children and a job I love, there is this belief that it could all go poof again. Selling my house, buying another one, freaks my shit out.

House hunting sucks. I looked at the perfect (well anyway) property yesterday but it's gone already. Wee cabin in front with two story handmade house, very eclectic and unfinished on a 1/3 acre with a horse farm down the road. In Seattle! Trees and garden and whaaaaaaaa. Then my lovely agent took me to Vietnamese lunch and paid for it. So today I'm going to an open house which has a purple bathroom. That's what I need. Although we saw a house yesterday that had the most gawdawful ceiling. Someone decided to take globs of spackle and make twirly meringues in a repeating 'wave' pattern. Rosemary took one look and said 'hell, no'. It must have taken hours. Elsewhere the house had heavily textured walls and a terrible sloppy paint job. And sticky floors. And stucco on the exterior. People, this is not the climate or earthquake zone for stucco. Yech.

The magnolia is opening and I cut back the daphne yesterday. I brought a few blooms in and the whole house smells wonderful.

We're in a bit of a lull, baby-wise but lots of new clients. Our fall will be busy.

Going to Tuscany. Did I say? I still can't believe it. I hope my house situation is settled by then.

Gearing up to submit to a journal that rejected me the first time out but has solicited more work. What did I already send them? No idea. Shite. Not usually so careless.

Just ended a four day dance retreat. Wiped out but work tomorrow and the cruelty of the time change.

Just to see the delectable Johnny Depp, I watched a movie with Johnny and the very large Marlon Brando (as a shrink!). Johnny was in full Don Juan dress and claimed to be the famous lover spinning tales of feminine conquests, so many. Marlon was supposed to cure him. Didn't.

The house journey continues.

Really, I want to lie on the couch and fall asleep in an uncomfortable position.

doing what I love

         
                                                          Sweet Maisie Jean

Nope on the house. My bid was '3rd'. In this market, I have to be patient. Patient. Yeech. Actually ok.

 And lowered expectations? When I bought my first house with a wee bit of money my mother left me, I asked for a tree. the house didn't even have a tree. I planted several during the five years I lived there. And this house, many trees and a ton of sweat. So, dear universe, grant me one more favor and send a house this way that I can fix up and care for and love. A house that will keep me warm and dry. And safe.

We had a babe this morning, in the tub. It was a lovely birth. Lovely. Lynn, my partner was there and my student. And I thought, I can't think of anyplace else I'd rather be at 2 in the morning.

I saw a house today that might work. I mean, I might be able to afford it and it has some problems like a wonky gutter and a partial brick foundation (uh-oh) and it's teeny and there's no fence and the whole living room is slanty, like you put a marble on the floor and it would roll toward the kitchen.

However. It's not too expensive and you can see the lake from many windows (at least in the winter when there aren't any leaves on the trees) and there's a gas log fireplace, not exactly a fireplace but still and a yard that needs love and gardening, you know I love to plant trees and flowers and veggies so I could love it.

I could live there by myself and feel like I'm not taking up such a big amount of room and resources in my big farmhouse. And I won't be so trendy, living in the neighborhood I'm in. On a dead end.

The dog keeps nudging me. He wants a walk so I guess we'll go get soaked. It's pouring.

I'm reading tonight in Duvall with the writing group I've been hanging with for the last two months, especially the talented and funny Betsy . And I spent the entire morning with my effing printer, all because I changed the cartridge. In my pajamas. The dog nudging my elbow because he was bored and needed a walk. And I tried everything, including calling HP-did you know they charge you for phone calls?

Eventually I got dressed and walked away. Left the house. Went to the office so I could print there. Debated whether to go to Office Max to buy another printer. Nah.

Came home and lo and behold (as my mother would say), the printer is working. While I was gone the house elves fixed it or else I don't know what. Surely the katz had nothing to do with it.

On the way home, a mattress was propped up beside a defunct restaurant. The spray-painted message was :
                       IT'S NOT ME

                       IT'S YOU

I'm reading a personal PROSE piece and a few poems tonight. There will be wine. I just can't make suicide funny but I'll plow through anyway. The busses have ads for the Overnight Suicide Walk to to raise money for 'prevention'. Walk to prevent suicide. Right. As if that works.