Goodbye to All That

I am one who is generally in touch with her feelings – sometimes too much so, but I recently had the strange experience of feeling something I couldn’t identify.  It didn’t take long, but there were a few seconds – maybe 20 - while I puzzled to name the sensation.

And then it came to me.  

I was relaxed.

It had been so long since I had been fully relaxed that the feeling was unfamiliar.  Sure, I had been relaxed-ish, but not fully there.  In truth it had been three-and-a-half years since I had known deep relaxation.

The stress began with my husband’s diagnosis of stage-four lung cancer and continued through his treatments and death and a car accident and my selling my house and moving into an apartment.  So much grief and sorting and packing and donating, and then the move, which necessitated unpacking and settling in.* 

Whew!

Only after I had been in my new place about a month did I experience the unfamiliar moment of relaxation. I’m not going to pretend I have been steadily relaxed since that moment, but the feeling is becoming more common and less surprising as time passes. 

And what a blessing this move has been.  I thought I would take it easy for a year and then look for a small house to purchase.  But after only a couple of weeks, I began to appreciate the wonders of apartment living. If something needs repairing, I have only to put in a work order, and it will be speedily tended to. I won’t have to arrange and pay for someone to clean (or replace) the roof or the gutters or to fix or replace an appliance if it breaks.

In fact, just yesterday my dishwasher decided not to start.  I put in a work order, and within two hours there was a very pleasant young man at my door, who made quick work of fixing the problem.

All of which is to say I doubt I will be looking for a house to buy.

Have I mentioned that I am thrilled to have gotten rid of at least three quarters of my possessions and that I love being in a smaller space?  

A friend asked me whether my apartment felt claustrophobic.  

Not at all. 

My 1100-square-foot townhouse is plenty big for me.  The living area feels cozy and the upstairs with its two bedrooms, one of which has room for my desk, feels just right. 

It is true I no longer have a garden, but, in truth, taking care of my many garden beds had become more burden than pleasure.  Here is an example.  A few months ago, I did my last forget-me-not pull.  If you have never taken part in this activity, allow me to explain.  After these lovelies put on their month-long show in the spring garden, the blooms fade and the plants begin to die back.  It is then time to pull them out to make way for other blooms.  The pulling, which scatters seeds for the next year’s display, is easy; forget-me-nots are shallow-rooted. It is also time-consuming and messy. Time-consuming because there seem to be more to pull every year; messy because the seeds stick to garden gloves and clothing.  

 

 

I guess they call them forget-me-nots for a reason. 

And although I love these beauties, as I pulled, I felt grateful that this was the last time I would have to take on this task.  (It was easier when Bill was alive – four hands are better than two.)

Indeed, I have been surprised by how sanguine I have felt about leaving the garden behind.  I have gardened happily for decades--even wrote a garden column for several years, but around the time Bill became sick, the garden began to feel overwhelming. (There was also the addition of four grandchildren in 23 months, a new and happy call on my time.)

So, yes, I am done with gardening for this lifetime.  I am content with some pots on my patio and some house plants inside.  (It helps that there are trees and a green space behind my townhouse, and if  I want to get my hands in the dirt, I can always visit one of my daughters.). 

Now that the dust has settled and the hard work is behind me, I can say unequivocally that down-sizing has been a good thing.  Of course, moving did not change the fact that I miss Bill, but I no longer expect to see him every time I turn around. And although he resisted moving, I believe he would applaud all that I have accomplished.  

As I start over in this new place, I’ve been thinking about the children's classic, Goodnight Moon. In the unlikely event you are not familiar with this charming book, here it is:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sR3Ow61AgWw.     

 

With apologies to Margaret Wise Brown, I have created my own version, changing goodnight to goodbye, which better suits my tale.

 

 

Goodbye to All That**

 

In the house that she left

 

There were boxes to heft

 

And so much stuff that she cried out enough!

 

There were baseball hats and baseball bats

 

And too many books

 

And collections in nooks

 

And kiddie pools and multiple tools 

 

And mountains of towels that made her feel foul

 

And photos to sort and blocks for a fort

 

And picture frames and too many games

 

And tables and chairs and socks not in pairs

 

And so many memories everywhere

 

And a surfeit of clothing that brought on loathing

 

And an excess of pans and a very old fan

 

And multiple candles and bags without handles

 

And dead electronics and potions and tonics

 

And more and more; who could keep score?

 

And a busy old lady, who was heard to say yikes!

 

While keeping her fingers in multiple dikes. 

 

 

Goodbye house

 

Goodbye boxes to heft

 

Goodbye stuff -- she’s had enough

 

Goodbye baseball hats and baseball bats

 

Goodbye too many books

 

And collections in nooks

 

Goodbye kiddie pools and multiple tools 

 

Goodbye mountain of towels

 

That made her feel foul

 

Goodbye photos to sort and blocks for a fort

 

Goodbye picture frames and too many games

 

Goodbye tables and chairs and socks not in pairs

 

And goodbye memories everywhere

 

Goodbye to the surfeit of clothing 

 

That brought about loathing

 

Goodbye to the excess of pans 

 

And the very old fan

 

Goodbye multiple candles 

 

And bags without handles

 

Goodbye dead electronics 

 

And potions and tonics

 

Goodbye more and more – no need to keep score

 

And goodbye to the old lady who was heard to say yikes!

 

(I believe she’s now doing whatever she likes.)

 

 * I bow in gratitude before the friends and family who helped me, especially with putting together furniture that came in boxes.  I have three degrees, but no practical skills.  Well, that's not entirely correct - I can grocery shop and keep myself fed, take out the garbage, do laundry, handle my finances, tend to grandchildren, and organize my life.  But don't ask me to do anything mechanical, and please do not ask me to follow written directions. Without my friends and family, everything would still be in a heap - including me.

** Yes, I stole this title from Joan Didion. 

 

AM I BRAVE?

Over the course of the last few months as I’ve been preparing to sell, then selling, my home, and beginning to look for a new place to live, more than one friend has told me that I am brave, that I am doing great.  They are, I believe, reacting to the fact that I have been tending to most of this by myself, while grieving my husband who died just under a year ago. 

 

My friend Noelle even sent me this postcard to bolster my courage and remind me that I am equal to the tasks at hand:

 

 

I deeply appreciate these words of encouragement from my friends. They have kept me going when my spirits are low and my energy is flagging.  

 

And, yet, I wonder, am I brave?  

Or am I just doing what has to be done?   

  

Do I hear you protesting that this doesn’t have to be done, that I don’t have to move, that, indeed, the conventional wisdom is that one shouldn’t make any major decisions for at least a year after suffering the loss of one’s spouse? 

 

Well, yes, but conventional wisdom does not apply here.  My decision to move was not a sudden one.  I have wanted to move for several years.  This was not a house to grow old in -- bedrooms up one set of stairs and laundry down another. Too much house and too much garden for this time in our lives. But my beloved Bill did not like change and did not want to move. And just when I thought the time might be right to convince him we needed to downsize, he received his cancer diagnosis. After that, any thoughts of moving were set aside, as we put all of our energy into facing this new challenge together.  

 

That was over three years ago. I am glad Bill got to spend his final years in the home that he loved, without the upheaval of a move to disrupt his routines.  But since his passing, I have been rattling around our house, missing him and wishing for much less room in which to rattle. So, yes, I do feel that I have to move, and waiting another year would not make the prospect any less daunting.  

 

And daunting it is. After months of sorting, discarding, donating etc., the adjective I am most often applying to myself is not brave, but exhausted.  Add a sick cat and the search for a new house to the aforementioned emptying out the of old house, and another adjective on repeat play is overwhelmed.

 

Soon after Bill died, I mentioned widow’s brain in a post.  Overwhelm seems to be affecting me in similar ways.  Here are a couple of examples:

 

Yesterday, I got in my car to take my cat to the vet, and almost left before remembering the cat was still in the house.

 

Today, I opened the door from my house to my garage and was shocked to find that my car was missing. After a moment of panic, I remembered that I had dropped it off for service earlier in the day.  

 

These signs of overwhelm notwithstanding, I am continuing to put one foot in front of another as I slog to the finish line of this move.  I don’t know if this is brave, but if it is, I know a great many brave people, people getting on with their lives in the face of roadblocks and challenges, loneliness and sorrow. 

 

Maybe just getting out of bed and moving forward during these times of political upheaval is brave.  And if that is brave, imagine the bravery of those getting up every day in a war zone, and attempting to keep their families safe.  

 

Friends, let us applaud bravery of every description.  And, before I sign off, let me leave you with this unsolicited advice:  If you have lived in your house for over ten years and if you think you might move anytime in, say, the next ten years, start getting rid of things now.  

Trust me, you will be glad you did.

 

 

OF HULA HOOPS AND OTHER DISAPPOINTMENTS

When I was a child in New Jersey, there was a large discount store in our area called Two Guys From Harrison.* My father would take us to Two Guys--as the store was eventually known--on Saturdays, and we would walk down what I remember as wide aisles with goods piled up on each side.  Given the decades that have passed since those Saturdays, my memory of the store layout could be off.  There is one thing I do remember clearly, however, and that is the day we came upon hula hoops - piles and piles of hula hoops.  In my memory, there were hundreds, and I, at age eight or nine, thought them beautiful.  Such a rainbow of bright colors.  

These excursions were generally occasions for looking, not buying, but, I begged to be allowed to take home a hula hoop, and, to my amazement, my father bought me one.

The next thing I remember was my disappointment upon examining my prize during the ride home.  I don't recall what color it was, but I do remember that without the other hoops in the pile, it wasn't much to look at.  It was the rainbow that had attracted me.  

Of course, I enjoyed my new toy, but I have never forgotten that disappointment.  

Our lives begin with small disappointments such as the one I just described.  As we grow older, the disappointments increase.  Here is one I experienced that was more than a little embarrassing. When I first heard "the cloud" spoken of, and for several years thereafter, I understood the term literally. I thought data was floating above us. What can I say?  My mother always said I had a vivid imagination. Can you picture my disappointment when I learned that "the cloud" was a giant data center in, among other places, rural Oregon?  I can just hear Anne Shirley** saying, "There's no scope for imagination in that."

Some disappointments are more consequential.  Here is the one I want to talk about today:  I have recycled for decades.  Long before there was curb-side pickup, I would take my plastic, glass, cans, and newspapers to a recycling center.  I thought I was doing a good thing.  I still think it is a good thing where glass and paper and cans are considered, but a number of years back, I learned that much of the plastic that we dutifully recycle ends up in landfills.  

That was disappointing, but I kept setting out my plastic every two weeks in the special bin provided by our garbage collector, hoping that at least some of it would be recycled. And then, came the disappointment that turned quickly to a feeling of helplessness; a friend told me he no longer recycles plastic after learning that much of it is sent to Africa, where it is dumped in the ocean or burned. He figured a landfill was a better option than either of these two.   

After this conversation, I did my due diligence, reading articles confirming that less than ten percent of plastic is actually recycled; the rest winds up in landfills or overseas in countries that do not have the infrastructure to deal with it, where it is dumped or burned unsafely. Here is just one of many articles that explains what goes on.  I encourage you to read it. 

So what is the solution?  We can take small steps - e.g., replacing plastic straws with metal ones, avoiding items encased in heavy plastic, and, for the love of God, unless we are victims of a natural disaster, can we stop buying bottled water? Spoiler alert:  Much of it is just tap water.  

These small steps, however, will do nothing to stem the flow of plastic at its source. (And is it really possible to avoid buying things encased in plastic?)  As long as manufacturers are pumping plastic into every part of our lives, there is little we can do as individuals to keep the stuff out of our landfills and waterways. 

This brings me to my sense of helplessness.  Other than the small steps we can take to avoid plastic, can anyone tell me what we can do to influence manufacturers or lawmakers?  

Thoughts and prayers aren't going to do it.

Lest I leave you in a state of catatonia, I will offer a couple of hopeful signs.  

We have a company called Ridwell operating in our area.  For a small monthly fee (cheaper if paid annually), this company picks up items such as plastic bags, batteries, flat plastic lids, used clothing, light bulbs, and styrofoam, every two weeks.  The company is transparent about who they partner with and what becomes of the items they collect.  They do not dump items in a landfill or burn them. 

There are also places that will recycle electronics, another big problem -- my research turned up sources reporting that 85 percent of electronic waste winds up in landfills or is incinerated.  Earth Friendly Recycling is such a place near me in southwest Washington.  Free Geek in Portland, Oregon also refurbishes and recycles electronics.  A Google search will probably turn up a place near you.  

Of course, we shouldn't have to search out places to take our difficult-to-recycle items, but while we are figuring out how to influence those who create the waste, it's a start - a small one for sure, but I'm damned if I'm going to throw dead electronics in the trash.

Parting thought:  How about we buy less stuff?

* Fun fact - According to Wikipedia and other sources, when brothers Herbert and Sidney Hubschman opened their first store (after selling televisions from a vacant lot), they wanted to name the store Two Bastards From Harrison because that was what their competitors were calling them. Finding that no newspapers would take their ads, they substituted Guys for Bastards.   

** In case there is anyone who doesn't recognize the name, Anne Shirley is the titular character in the Anne of Green Gables series of young adult novels.  

TOO MUCH STUFF!

I went to the grocery store today, and while in line to check out, I glanced at the items displayed along each side of the narrow area through which I was being funneled. What, I found myself wondering, would someone transported from the 19th century (or early 20th century, for that matter) make of all this stuff?  Even someone wildly wealthy would not have been able to imagine such an array of, well, crap on offer.  There were, among other things, candy bars and magazines, plastic toys and other gee-gaws. 

 

I'm guessing that, once scooped up and paid for, most of it (apart from the candy bars) would soon be in the landfill. 

 

What is it with Americans and our stuff?

 

I have read that visitors and immigrants from less wealthy nations are 

overwhelmed by the bewildering choices in our stores.  Well, of course they are.  Do we really need 15 brands of dish soap or 8 different kinds of toilet paper?  Do we need all the things that come encased in hard plastic? Do we need an entire aisle of water in plastic bottles? Sure, we might keep a few bottles around for emergencies, but what's wrong with tap water for daily use?  (If you don't like your tap water, you can buy a filter for your faucet - yes that involves bringing another item into the house, but if it replaces dozens of plastic bottles of water, I think it’s a fair trade.)

 

And, while I'm on the subject of stuff, let me hasten to confess that there is too much of it in my house. I want to live in 800 square feet. The only stuff I want is a desk, a computer, some books, some paper and pens, some art for the walls, and a few plants.  (OK, sure, I need some clothes and kitchen utensils and some basic supplies - you know, olive oil, shampoo, and chocolate, but you get the idea.) 

 

What is all the rest of this stuff?  

 

I have been trying to go through drawers and cupboards.  How many paper clips can two people use? Or nails?  We have so many nails and screws.  And don't get me started on the 6 or 8 screwdrivers and multiple hammers. How about coats? -- If my husband is reading this, yes, I'm looking at you.

 

Sometimes I buy things and wonder a month later what I was thinking.  Maybe these impulsive purchases are what lie behind the many yard sales I drive past every sunny weekend.  These events are where people pass off their stuff to other people, who later give it all to Goodwill, where the cycle begins again. 

 

And how about storage units?  Is this solely an American thing? Do people in other countries have so much stuff that they have rent space to hold the overflow? 

 

Apart from issues of waste and disposal, I find an overabundance of stuff to be overwhelming and anxiety-inducing.  I can't write when my desk is covered with too much stuff. (I clean it off every month or so, and still it silts back over.) And in stores with a jumble of stuff, e.g., Goodwill and thrift shops, I can't see anything. 

I don't know about you, but every time I cart another load of stuff out of my house, I feel a bit lighter, a bit more relaxed, a bit more able to enjoy my life. 

 

As Roz Chast writes in Can’t We Talk About Something More Pleasant?, her wonderful memoir of her parents’ last years, once you have gone through and sorted your parents’ stuff, you start to look at your own stuff “a little more postmortemistically.” 

 

That's exactly the view I have been taking lately. I hope I have a number of good years left, but I don't want to leave a mess behind for my kids to go through, and I don’t want to spend whatever time I have left taking care of unnecessary stuff.

 

So why not start the postmortemistical cleanup now?

 

 

THE TOP TEN THINGS I LEARNED AT THE ASSISTED-LIVING FACILITY

My mother spent the last 12 years of her life in an assisted-living center not far from my house.  During this time, I spent many, many hours in this building.  Here are the top ten things that I learned from observing, and interacting with, my mom and other residents.    

10.      Everybody has a story. 

            Even those, or especially those, whose lives look diminished and sad have stories to tell.   Ask for these stories.  You will learn that the storyteller’s life was not always so small and that she likely lived a very full and interesting life.  My mom’s assisted-living facility published a weekly flyer that frequently included the biography of a resident.  It was humbling to be reminded that these people had lived long and fulfilling lives before their need for care.        

9.        If you want to know how to approach an elderly person, watch how kids and pets do it.   

            If you want to give an elderly person a treat, bring a dog or a kid to visit him.  Then watch what happens.   A dog will not feel awkward around an elderly person’s disabilities, and generally speaking, neither will a small child.  My mom spent the last 10 days of her life in an adult foster home because she was too ill to stay in assisted living.  It was wonderful to see the delight on her face when the owner’s children would prance into the room and dance for her. 

8.        Start getting rid of your stuff.   

            If you are over, say, 55 or 60, start looking at your possessions with a cold eye.  If you live to be very old, the time will come when you can no longer take care of or use all of that stuff.  And, if you have had to go through a parent’s stuff after they pass, you will know what a burden you are creating for those you will leave behind.  As Roz Chast says in Can’t We Talk About Something More Pleasant?, her wonderful memoir of her parents’ last years, once you have gone through and sorted your parents’ stuff, you start to look at your stuff “a little more postmortemistically.”  So, organize your photos.  Take on a room every year and get rid of what you no longer use or enjoy.  And then start over again.  Not only will you be doing your kids, or whoever is left to pick up the pieces, a favor, but not having to take care of so much stuff will free you up to do what you really want to do with the years left to you.  (Unless, of course, taking care of your stuff is how you want to spend the years left to you.)

7.        Keep moving. 

            No, not your residence, your body.  Here is the bottom line, people.  If we don’t keep moving as we get older, we will stop being able to move.  And then everything will go downhill really fast.  So walk.  Or swim.  Take a yoga class.  Stay limber. Get out of your chairs.  Move your body.  Every day.      

6.        Keep your balance.

            Of course we want to be balanced in mind and spirit, but I am speaking here of physical balance.  Old people fall.  A lot.  So, don’t wait until you are really old to work on your balance.  Stand on one foot at a time for a while every day.  If you want a little more challenge, do the yoga tree pose every day.  Take a tai chi or qi gong class.  Of course, if we live to be very old, we will probably fall, but I like to think that working on our balance before then will forestall that day. 

5.        Make younger friends.

            By the last few years of her life, all of my mother’s friends had pre-deceased her.  This is a very lonely business.  So, don’t put all of your relationship eggs in one generational basket.  Cultivate younger friends.  If you are lucky, maybe they will visit you in your dotage. 

4.        Learn to enjoy your own company. 

            Here is the sad truth.  Most of the people who lived at my mother’s assisted living center rarely had visitors.  Even if you have family nearby and even if they visit you when they can, if you live to be very old and your friends pre-decease you, you will probably end up spending a lot of time alone.   So, if you don’t enjoy your own company, make it a priority to cultivate alone time, and figure out what to do with it.

3.        If you are an unhappy, self-absorbed adult, you will be an             unhappy, self-absorbed elderly person. 

            Any one who has cared for an elderly or very sick relative knows that we continue to be ourselves, only more so, as we grow older or sicker.  So, if you have unattractive qualities, you might want to work on those now.   In this way, you might be more likely to keep those family members and friends coming around.      

2.        Show up.

            If you have a friend or family member who is ill or frail, show up for them.  Be generous with your time to the extent that you have any to give.  Your loved one likely can’t remember what it felt like to have a job and a family and multiple calls on her time.  She just knows that she feels very alone.  Although we can’t picture it now, the time is likely to come when we are the ones who long for a visitor.     

1.               Practice kindness and patience and the gentle art of listening.

            These are the most important gifts that we can give to someone whose health is failing.  (OK, they are the most important gifts that we can give to anyone.)  And they are sometimes not easy gifts to give when our loved one is moving and talking slowly or repeating the same stories over and over again.   I wish I could say that I was always patient with my mother.  I was not.  Here are two things that I did find to be helpful:  (1)  Ask about something that you are interested in, (see lesson No. 1 above), then be silent and listen.  I would sometimes ask my mother to tell me about her girlhood or her experiences during WWII.  Not only did this cut off her oft-repeated stories about old TV shows, but now that she is gone, I am so glad that I asked these questions.   In fact, I wish that I had asked more; (2)  When you run out of patience and the ability to be kind, take a few days off to look away and do whatever you need to do to restore your ability to be present with patience and kindness.  This may help you to ward off burn-out and keep you from becoming one of those persons who never shows up.      

Of course, all of these lessons are aspirational.   May we all do our best to take them to heart. 

Photo by Joshua Hoehne on Unsplash