Progress?

I truly don't know whether I'm making progress on this house or not--or even whether I'm making progress with ANYTHING in my new life.

I think I'm just shuffling stuff around!  Today, I've just started pitching stuff in the trash. 

 

I'm not giving up...not yet!

You might be a hoarder if....

This is your "bin o' pens."  What?  You don't have a bin 'o pins?  Okay, then!  You're safe.  However, I am not!

My serious little man

Poquito is quite content to spend any time that I am sitting on my lap or squished into the chair beside me.

He always has such a serious expression.

Box-hab

Have you ever seen the Internet-famous cat, Maru?  He is fascinated with boxes!  Go to YouTube (Maru on YouTube) and watch him indulge in his passion.

Maru would be extremely happy in this house!  Boxes everywhere!  I'm trying to whittle down the piles, but it's going slowly. 

 

This was the long weekend's work--12 boxes emptied.  I know it doesn't sound like much, but that's 12 less boxes than I had on Friday!  And everything emptied from the boxes has a permanent home--although I may have to do a little rearranging to suit myself later.

 

I also put up shelves in one of the bedrooms for teddy bears and paperback books.  I have moved vinyl records, thrown away magazines, put books on shelves, put away paper, and thrown away what seems like tons of junk.  I finally just moved the city trash bin right outside the door and started tossing stuff.  Just a personal note--use those "just for looks" candles!  If you save them, they will end up melted together in a box and be totally worthless. 

 

 

See that empty space there?  Got rid of three boxes that had made themselves at home here! 

 

I vow to put up the kitchen spices, get rid of five more boxes in the den, and build the teddy bear shelves this week!  Check in and hold me to my promise!

Cow-tastrophe

What a frustrating weekend! 

It started with my lovely dog-child, Sitka, destroying an antique silver box in which I used to keep my valuable earrings.  She is still very angry at me for putting her in boarding last weekend while the movers were here.  It was such a pretty little box too--from 1901, with a Alpha Tau Omega crest on the lid, and engraved with the name and date of an event.  I assume that it was given as a favor during the event.  It managed to last 111 years until Sitka decided to exercise her grudge against me on the poor little box.

The weekend continued to disintegrate when my long-awaited Verizon FIOS appointment had to be postponed because I don't have an external ground--whatever that is.  So, now, I still don't have Internet access at home and I have to pay to have an external ground installed.  Sigh...

But the worst part of the weekend was yet to come.  I invited a friend over so that she could look through mom's quilting material and take what she wanted.  I've given up on sewing!  While she was there, she offered to help me move the boxes with mom's cow creamers in them.  With the boxes of material gone, there was a perfect spot for putting them.  I started stacking the boxes on a table so that she could move them in place, and then it happened--a cow-tastrophe!  The boxes I had stacked tumbled off the side and crashed, breaking about 90% of the creamers inside.  And boy, did they break!  There were little legs and head and pieces everywhere!  I know it's just stuff, but mom would be kicking my butt for causing her cows get, um, creamed. 

Sometimes... scratch that... Often, since my mom died, I feel as though I'm not living up to her standards.  The house is filled with stuff looking for a place to call home, dog hair is everywhere, and they won't stop peeing in the back hall.  It's been seven months and I just now have stuff out of my house, and the house is still not ready to put on the market.  I realize now that I have to go through absolutely everything before I can even have an estate sale unless I want to cart it to Goodwill myself.  Nothing has really been accomplished with the financial accounts.  I feel as though I've spent way too much money--although not on frivolous things, but things like the plumber (been out four times since January) and on moving.  And now I'm not even being a good steward to the things mom and dad left behind:  I've broken all those cow creamers, Juneau broke an expensive lamp, and I'm selling daddy's books for next to nothing.  I just feel like she be so disappointed with me.  Mom was so good at everything; she made everything look so simple.  In contrast, I feel like it's such a struggle for me.

I miss having mom around to be my cheerleader--to tell me that I'm not a total screw-up, even when i feel like I am.  Maybe I'll just go to Target and buy that cow creamer I saw!

The Great Move of 2012--95% complete!

The Great Move of 2012 is now 95% complete!  The pictures below are of the aftermath (and, yes, that is an Easter bunny still out on the shelf.  Why do you ask?):

Kitchen:  one box down already!

Junk on the kitchen table

The study/studio--when it's done it will be my jewelry studio

The gameroom (admittedly a lot of this is items that mom had dragged out before she died)

Living room/library

Den

Living room/library from the other direction

Teddy bear room

Guest bedroom

The first two boxes empty!!! Only one million more to go...

In progress

The Great Move of 2012 is now in progress!  So excited!

Where are we going?

Fond Memories...part 1

I have some very fond memories of my parents and growing up first in Dallas, and then in Garland.  I was so lucky; I had a wonderful childhood and I loved my mom and dad very much, and they loved me too.  Truthfully, I loved being an only child.  My parents were strict with my behavior, but they were encouraging and nurturing too.  And, I have to admit, my dad spoiled me when it came to buying me almost anything I wanted.

That first house in Dallas was off of Northwest Highway, over by Skillman.  One of my first memories involved Halloween.  We celebrated two Halloweens in that house.  Of course, being born in September, I don't remember the first one.  The second, though, scarred me forever.  I was toddling, and on Halloween, mom let me "answer" the door when the trick-or-treaters came.  I could just barely hold the basket with the candy.  At some point in the evening, two kids came by who were dressed like vampires.  They were carrying a kid-sized coffin that they made themselves.  Well, that scared the bejeesus out of me and I fled with the candy basket, dropping it on the way and spilling all the candy!  To this day, I loathe answering the door for trick-or-treaters and I think that first Halloween is why. 

My first memory of my dad comes from Christmas when we lived in Dallas. Someone had gotten me a blow-up Santa, about two feet tall. Apparently it wouldn't stay inflated, and my solution to the problem was to run and get daddy and a screwdriver--because daddy with a screwdriver could fix anything! 

When we first moved to Garland, we lived on a circle drive.  Behind every house on our side of the circle, there was unimproved land--fields and "forest."  We always had something interesting going on at that house, since it was practically in the country at the time!  (Now, South Garland High School is only about half a mile from there)  We had wild horses (yes, wild horses) run down our alley one day.  I was so disappointed because mom made me come inside.

That same house saw more than its fair share of other animls, mostly frogs and snakes, too.  I didn't like snakes, nor did mom.  She killed one while she was working in the yard once and tossed it over the fence.  She got a little too forceful, and the snake ended up hanging from a tree branch in the "forest" next to our house.  Frogs, however, were a different story.  I loved them and showed no fear of touching them or picking them up--in fact, one morning while mom and dad were still sleeping, I found the tiniest little frog (about the size of my fingernail) and brought it in the house to show them.  Mom woke up and in her most patient voice, told me to take the frog back outside.  On the way out, though, I dropped the little thing, and my mom says I ran down the hall screaming, "No froggy no!"  I think it took at least one adult to get the tiny thing caught and back outside!

Another of my favorite memories at that house involves the playhouse my dad built me.  He found the plans in a magazine, and immediately commenced building it in our backyard.  I was entranced from the moment I saw the picture!  He'd come home after work (and this was before he took a partner, so he was extremely busy) and I'd beg him to go out and work on it, even in the dark.  I think I told him that he could just rig up a big light and work that way.  He modified the plans slightly, making the playhouse one story rather than two.  I loved it though!  It was painted pink and had two real windows and a dutch door.  Daddy made a little refrigerator and oven for the inside, and I had a table and chairs.  Mom made a sink out of a square cake pan, and I had a mirror made from an old medicine cabinet door.  I even had a tiny little ironing board.  Playing in that little house was just the best!

This is the original picture that Daddy copied to make my house.  Besides the second story, the only things that differed were the transom window and the lamp post.  My mom even painted the chimney to look just like the picture.

The Great Move of 2012--continued

Sorry for the not-so-great photos, but, as you can see, I'm in the middle of packing. Well, I'm more or less supervising the packing. I can't do as much as I used to!



Just one of the many piles of boxes

Another bunch o'boxes

My teddy bear collection--bagged, if not tagged. 

Those poor men have been working on my studio for three hours now.  I'm sure they'll never want to see another bead ever!

The movers come next week.  I'm both excited and sad.  Somehow, as long as all this stuff was over here, I could sort of pretend that somehow everything was going to go back to "normal" at some point.  Now, with all my things boxed up, it all seems so real.  I've shed more than a few tears all over again. 

I absolutely DREAD having to unpack all of this.  Do they have a service for that?  

Update on "The Great Move of 2012"

So excited to report that I have packers coming on Sunday (the only day they could come), and movers coming next Saturday!  I will finally be able to get everything I want out of my house and into mom's.  The items I don't want from both houses will be consolidated at my house so that I can have an estate sale.   

After the estate sale, I can get the house ready to put on the market.  I am praying that by the end of the year, everything will be complete. 

I'll post some pictures of the process when it begins this weekend!  In the meantime, I'll leave you with this:

This was the last thing I had to move--my office, two years ago!  That wasn't fun either!

What's your "thing"?

I have a group of worldly, accomplished, and successful friends and acquaintances! Each of them seem to have something that is their "thing":  theater, travel, fine dining, music, exercise, movies.  Sometimes I feel like such a dullard--my only thing seems to be taking pictures of my dogs! 

Dr. Robert Rhoads Trostel

Just when you think you're adjusting to the status quo, something else comes along to throw you off your game.

Last week, I received a phone call telling me that my father's medical partner of more than 20 years had passed away.  He had lung cancer that had spread.  And, even though his passing was not unexpected, it still was rather sudden. 

When mother had her stroke in January, Dr. T, as I called him, and his wife Beth, were mom's first visitors.  Then when she passed away, he was quick to offer help.  He accompanied me to the funeral home, and even helped me pick out her casket.  Later, when things had calmed down, he and Beth

checked on me several times as the months passed. The three of us went out to dinner in April, and they even came back and met Juneau, Sitka, and Poquito. We parted with promises to do it again soon. I never realized that I wouldn't see him again.

I called him in May, and he talked about how he and Beth were going on a cruise down the Danube later that month. We spoke of going out to dinner when they returned. I spent the early part of June getting ready for the summer term at school, and the second half of the month dealing with new and returning students. I had my cousin visiting the last week in June, but I was thinking about calling when she returned home. Unfortunately, it was during her visit that I received the news.



The first thing that comes to mind about about Dr. T when I think of him is his flat top crew cut!  He always, always, always had one!  Maybe he picked up his unique style during his Air Force training.  I never asked either of my parents how he and my dad met.  Now, because everyone who knew is gone, I just have to speculate that they met sometime in medical school, or when one of them was a resident.  He always told me that he was in the delivery room when I was born.

However they met, I know that he was Daddy's first and only choice when he wanted to take on a partner.  At the time, daddy was one of the few OB-GYNs in Garland.  He was being run ragged--out of the house six nights out of seven--and mom insisted that he do something.  So, Dr. Trostel joined his medical practice.  They were partners from 1968 until daddy passed away in 1989.  They had similar philosophies of patient care, they never fought, they had wonderful patients, and were quite the "dynamic duo." 

Even though I didn't seem him often, I will miss his presence in my life.  Rest in peace, Dr. T.

Juneau and Sitka

Before Poquito joined the pack, it was just Sitka, and then Juneau.  They're my favorite photographic subjects, if you couldn't tell already.  Sitka is quite camera shy, although Juneau is very photogenic, and something of a ham.  I wouldn't say that they are best buds or anything, but every now and then, they will consent to lie next to each other, and they do like to play (when it's not too hot).  At our old house, Juneau's favorite place to be outside was the patio table.  Poor thing doesn't have a nice table to get up on over here.

They are quite the pair!

One thing accomplished!

I finally accomplished something!  One thing!  But it's something!  I finished organizing all my and my mom's jewelry.  I now have a designated "jewelry closet."  And before any of you start plotting on finding my house and snatching up all of these fabulous jewels, I'll let you know that all of it is costume jewelry! 

The first picture is the only jewelry that isn't in the jewelry closet.  This is a drawer that my mom had painstakingly fitted with handmade little dividers for her earrings and pins.  Over the years, of course, the jewelry collection outgrew this drawer.  I decided to put mom's and gramdmother's vintage earrings in here.  My grandmother was quite the jewelry collector as well, apparently.

The second and third pictures are of the closet itself.  All necklaces are on hangers so that they won't tangle and are clearly visible.  The drawers and cases hold all the watches, earrings, pins, pendants, bracelets, and rings. 

Those eleven cases on the top are all earrings!  Well, one case holds daddy's cufflinks and tie bars.  The top case holds the pendants, pins, and miscellaneous jewelry that is so campy or out-of-date I would never consider wearing it.  The middle case has the watches, the rings, and other miscellaneous items, like shoe and scarf clips.  The bottom two cases hold bracelets!  I had so many, I had to divide them up:  vintage, chains, stretchy, cuffs, and link. 

Boy, it feels good to have at least one thing accomplished!  Only 9999 more to go!



I did the unthinkable tonight:  I took pictures of the things above and then threw them away!  They were on mom's vanity.  The first was a kitty that held perfume.  The perfume has long since dried up and, well, I just thought I could probably do without it.

The "flower pot" was a gift from me in 1971 or 1972.  If you can't tell, the centers of the flowers are lipsticks.  They are completely dried out and discolored, but mom hung on to it. 

I winced, but tried to remember that I need the memories, not the things themselves.  Sigh...no wonder people end up on Hoarders. 

Mom's ride

Before the good people from Dallas CAN Academy came and picked up mom's car, I needed to clean it out.  Have you ever noticed, that no matter how fastidious someone is, there are always personal effects in their car?  For most of us, our cars are our little "home away from home."  I know I spend a lot of time in my car, especially with Dallas traffic.

Mom spent less time than the average person in her car, and yet there were all kinds of things stowed in the trunk and the various pockets and glove compartment. 

I found the whisk broom (remember those?) that she kept to clean off my father's gravestone when she went to the cemetary to put out flowers.  There were also an assortment of maps--most years, if not decades, old.  I even found a travel guide put out for the Bicentennial (yes, we're talking 1976!).  She kept a change of clothes in the trunk too, just in case.  It was so like her to think about the "what-ifs."

The object that I found to be most revealing of her personality was the small notebook that she kept all of her "just in case" information.  Years ago, I gave her a small binder (like a personal organizer) and she filled it with the information she needed just in case something happened.  When she was younger, she carried it around in her purse.  As she got older, and she could no longer carry anything more than her billfold and cell phone, the notebook was relegated to her car.  She had a separate notebook with similar information in the house.  She was "old-school" and didn't have anything stored in a cell phone, like I do.  No, paper was good enough for her.

When the nice tow-truck driver from Dallas Can Academy came to pick up her car, all I could do was cry.  He probably thought I was some deranged lady, crying over a car, but he was nice enough to ask if I'd taken a picture of it.  I said that I had and he reminded me that it was going to a good cause.  I cried anyway.

I just received a piece of paper in the mail, saying that it had been sold at auction (that's how they handle all donations, and why they can take cars that are running or not).  They received $4300 for it!  My cousin's son was only $4000 off the mark!  I hope that someone loves the pimp mobile as much as mom did.

How much...?

Have you ever wondered how much grief one person can take in any given span of time?  No?  I'd never really thought about it either, until this year. 

For the third time this year, someone that I'm close to has died. 

At what point am I going to snap and just be a gibbering zombie in the corner? 

I hope I don't find out!

Family

My closest cousin is in town.  She's from Oklahoma, and has set a world record for my family in coming to Dallas three--count 'em, THREE--times this year.  Unfortunately, two of these three times were under less than desirable circumstances.  I'm so happy that, this time, she's just here to visit and relax. 

We're off to have some shopping fun in Waxahachie tomorrow.  My cousin's never been  there, and I'm looking forward to showing her the gingerbread houses and exploring the antique stores.  Watch out, Texas...two unattached women on the loose with credit cards!! 

I'll post pictures after our little adventure, but for now...a malamute glamour shot!  Juneau also wants you to know that the picture I posted earlier this week has gained quite the following on the website Flickr.  It was chosen for their Explore feature, a daily round-up of the most interesting photos posted to the site.  Naturally, he thinks the honor is well-deserved!  What a ham!

What's been happening in my little corner of the world

Summer has finally, officially arrived, and with it comes the heat!  Goodness, it's hot outside, and the meteorologists are predicting over-100 degree temperatures for next week.  These are a few of the things going on in my life this past week:

This was on the front of my refrigerator two nights ago.  It is a Black Witch moth, also known in Mexico as a Marisposa de la Muerta.  It is the largest noctuid (moth) in North America.  In some cultures the belief is if they visit a home where someone has recently died, they are the spirit of that person coming to say goodbye.  Mom...?  Personally, I think she'd be prettier than that!  At any rate, this darn thing had a wingspan of about 5".  Scared me silly!

Juneau (with a photobomb by Sitka).  He was watching me while I was on the computer.  If that face doesn't tug at your heart, you don't have one!

This is my new motto, courtesy of my friend Eric.  GYST stands for Get Your S**t Together.  Apologies for the language!  This is my reminder to get off my butt and get stuff done. 

And, since it's June, we don't want to wait too long to prepare for autumn and Christmas.  This was the scene in my local Hobby Lobby today.  I thought it was bad last year when this stuff appeared at the end of July; now it's June and here it is.  Do you think this is as ridiculous as I do?

Well, that's been my week--scary moths, sleepy dogs, and Christmas decorations.

Stalled

When you have a huge project that you've been working on for a while, do you ever get stalled?  That's where I am right now--stalled out  Just like a car whose engine is flooded.  I'm stuck and don't seem to care whether any else gets done or not.  My lawyer warned against inertia; it's so easy just to do the absolute minimum and then stop.  After all, the bills are getting paid and no one is beating down my door for anything.  It would be easy just to maintain the status quo.  The only thing keeping me from stopping altogether is that I can just hear what my mom would say if she knew I wasn't finishing up the big move and selling my house, as well as getting rid of all the surplus stuff.  It wouldn't be pretty!

Throw me some motivation, readers!!  What do you do to get out of your ruts?

My daddy

That's my daddy. 

That's what I always called him--daddy--not dad, or pa, or pop, just daddy.  Even though I was 26 years old when he passed away, he was still "daddy"  to me.  He and I were "like two peas in a pod" my mom always said--sometimes in ways that were good, and sometimes not!  We were both Hoffmans through and through, she told us. 

When I was little, I was quite crabby in the mornings.  Apparently, so was daddy.  Mom told me that she couldn't change him since she hadn't raised him.  However, she was raising me and she could change me.  Since I was sort of scared of my mom, I figured it was the prudent course of action to do what she wanted.  From that time on, I was perfectly happy in the mornings, and if I wasn't, I kept my mouth shut and pretended that I was!

Daddy and I shared a love of reading.  Even though he was always very generous with his money (especially where I was concerned), he truly never scrimped when it came to buying books.  Never did I ever go in a bookstore with him, that we didn't come out without a bag of books.  Even though we both loved to read, we didn't read the same kinds of books.  He was into westerns, and I loved science fiction.  I don't really remember ever conversing with him about books that we read.  It was  nice just knowing that we shared the same love of the printed word.

I have so many fond memories of my daddy.  One of the things I remember most about him, and most admire, is how much he loved my mom!  Every now and then, he would call home during the day.  If, for some reason, she wasn't home, and he couldn't find her in a little while, he'd get frantic.  I remember once, he even drove home when she hadn't called him back.  She was outside working in the yard. 

Every year on their anniversary, he'd send her a huge arrangement of roses.  On Valentine's Day, he'd get her one of those big, frilly, lace-decorated boxes of chocolates--the kind they don't make anymore.  At Christmas, the space under the tree overflowed with gifts for her.  Those were just outward shows of his affection for her.  Inside, where it really counts, he loved her even more.  When she was in the hospital once when I was in college, I came home to help out.  I've never seen a more desolate person than my father when he was at home without mom.  I remember his sitting in the den (which he never did; he usually stayed in his study and read, while mom watched television in the den) and just staring at the screen.  I think I could have had a party in the room and he wouldn't have noticed.  He was happiest when she was by his side!

Daddy had a rough start in life.  His family didn't have a lot of money; he didn't even go to high school.  Once he and my mom married, things were still not easy.  He was in school for the first 11 years of their marriage.  Once his career was established, however, he delighted in doing the things he'd never been able to before.

He discovered a love for travel, and never stayed at home if he didn't have to.  When I was young, our station wagon was the favored means of travel.  As I grew older, and daddy's career became better-established, we took some overseas vacations.  His favorite means of travel, though, was his motorhome.  He bought the first one when I was in junior high school.  As the years progressed, each new motorhome got bigger and fancier.  We went everywhere in them--at last tally, we went to all fifty states (although, admittedly, the trips to Alaska and Hawaii were of the more conventional airplane variety).  Oh, how he loved his motorhomes!  He bought the last one only five months before his death.

When I scanned the picture above for this post, I took a minute to really look at the picture.  Daddy has been gone for close to 23 years now.  I was disturbed to find, that when I really looked at the picture, his features seemed almost unfamiliar.  It's been so long since I've seen anything but a picture of him.  Would I know him if, by some miracle, he came up to me on the street?  That's the worst thing about losing someone--forgetting first the little things, and then the big ones.  It can't be helped, I suppose.  Life goes on, and those who remain have little choice but to go with it.

What I will never forget is how much I love him--still--and how much he loved me.  When I was little I always told him, "You're the best daddy I ever had."  It's still true today.  Daddy, I love you!  Happy Father's Day!