Feng Shui or Phooey Shui

One of the metaphors my Feng Shui friend uses is that water represents money, and so perhaps the water flowing INTO my basement means I should buy a lottery ticket! More than likely though, this water is "moneyed" only in the sense that this drain tile project is costing us $7000!

The project actually went quite well. I arranged to be away for much of the day because I really couldn't bear listening to the jack hammers or seeing the utter destruction of the lower level of our home. There is a fine layer of dust on absolutely everything including the inside of the medicine cabinet in the UPSTAIRS bathroom. So, that's the downside of all this.

But there is an upside! It is yet another opportunity to continue on our mission to de-clutter. Forty-three years of marriage, two houses and two daughters later we have acquired a lot of stuff. And much we don't use or need any more. We acknowledge that the LPs and 45s we saved from our youth aren't really ever going to be worth much, judging from the thousands just like them listed on eBay. If we get rid of the vinyl there is no need to save the Fisher-Price record player, the only turntable we still owned. And the dishes, appliances and household items we held onto for our "someday" cabin can go too. J likes to say our cabin is in our kids, and more precisely in the tab for 16 years of private school tuition, times 2. It's a sure bet if we could ever afford a cabin, we could certainly afford to furnish it - and not with castoffs! The amazing thing is how united we are on this effort to downsize: Wall storage unit we have had since 1974 - gone; unused desk - out with it; extra toilet seat - who needs it; suitcases that don't twirl on wheels or for that matter, even roll - not taking any more trips with us! We have been almost giddy, cleaning out closets and clearing shelves. He questions my need to keep sewing patterns from the 70s and I wonder about the huge assortment of old clothes he keeps for camping and working out, but overall we have agreed on the three loads he has taken to Goodwill.

Is my house trying to tell me something?

I have a high school classmate who has become a successful Feng Shui lecturer, author and practitioner. She has an attractive website that I have visited a few times, more out of curiosity than real interest but one thing that caught my eye was the discussion of her book "Conversations with your home." I haven't actually read the book (not available at my library...) but it seems to be about the connection between us and our homes - how our lives are impacted by structural and spatial aspects of our living spaces, as well as the "stuff" we have and how it is organized and arranged. I admit to a few snickers at some of what I read.

But not any more. About a week ago we awoke to find our basement rec room carpeting soaked by water seeping in due to some eroded landscape and a blocked gutter. If my house is trying to tell me something, I have to confess to being a poor listener because this is the third or fourth time I have been in this situation, having lived in this house for over 30 years. I am feeling like I really should have parted with the $20 for that book!

All joking aside, it has been a stressful week. After our initial attempts to lift the very heavy carpeting and drag out the even heavier soaked padding we admitted defeat and called in the professionals. And after 24 hours of tough talk with ourselves we decided to really listen this time and have the basement drain tiled.

Right now I feel like I have prepped my house for surgery. Absolutely everything is boxed, furniture is moved to at least 4 feet from the perimeter and covered. The carpet is pulled back and the floor exposed, awaiting the jack hammers. I sure hope I heard my house right this time because it is too late to turn back now. Let's get this over with so we can all begin to heal our happy home.

Does a Birthday Matter?

Well, I suppose it really matters, and especially if you run out of birthdays! When I woke up on my birthday (April 2) earlier than desired, I didn't realize right away that it was my birthday. I was having a hard time falling back to sleep so I decided to think of each of the important people in my life, and try to recall a memory of a happy time with that person. It quickly turned into a fun exercise but I soon drifted off, with the sweet memories of cuddling the infant Benj and rocking him to sleep on sunny afternoons that first summer of his new life. When I awoke again it was at the sound of the ringing iphone and a call from N, and Facetime with her and Benjamin. His happy face appeared on the screen and he babbled something in a two year old voice that gets clearer everyday, and I am sure I heard him say "happy birthday, grandma." Nothing matters more than that.

Soon plans were in place for exercise, lunch with C and a visit to the Como Park Conservatory. C surprised me with the exercise/walking poles I have been wanting, and N sent a lovely vase of flowers. J encouraged me to schedule a massage. It was a fine birthday! (Let's leave out the call from the garage about the $400 car repair bill, and the clogged sewer in the basement bathroom!)

But I thought more about the the "happy exercise" that started my day and I think this merits revisiting often. We all have happy memories of special moments spent with family and friends and these are the times that matter. Like all the happy summer Fridays I spent shopping and then lunching out with my mother at the Woolsworth lunch counter, or maybe the Townhouse Restaurant on Main Street. She often let me pick out paper dolls, or maybe some new clothes. I could never understand how she would totally outfit me for Easter Sunday, and get nothing for herself, claiming she didn't really need or want anything. I realized in later years that she probably didn't have two Easter outfits in the family budget. It was during those days together that I grew to love her not only as a mother, but as a friend - a bond that lasted throughout her long life.

Or how about dad? How many of his pancakes have I eaten? And who else would even consider letting his college age daughter drive off in his brand new car to six weeks of summer school?
I wasn't close to my dad growing up, in the ways Jim was close to Nicole and Claire but our adult relationship has been very satisfying.

J - I picture him in our first year of marriage, my young husband hiding all his fear as he joked about my balding head - the grim result of several weeks of radiation treatment for cancer. I was depressed on that bright spring day and he suggested that maybe if I sat in the sun, and he watered my head, my hair would grow.

N brings a smile to my face in countless memories but none matters more than the day Benjamin was born and she turned to me and said, "mom, this is just about the best thing I have ever done."

And C once erased all the doubts I had about interracial adoption which she told me that she didn't mind so much that she didn't look like me, her sister, or her dad. "I just wish you all looked more like me." It matters enormously to me that she is happy as an adopted daughter in a family that doesn't share her ethnicity, but loves her unconditionally.

These things matter.