The Lure of STUFF

 I have written before about Stuff: the tangible items we fill our homes and lives with. You know what I mean: furniture, books, pencils, cookware, pictures on the wall, dishes—you name it, we all tend to have it (often in excess).

I try hard to eschew acquiring more Stuff at this point in my life. I noted in a long ago post that someone had challenged me on the sparseness of my life,  suggesting I really wanted to live a more luxurious life. The inquisitor loved (and purchased) lots of Stuff: tons of clothes, expensive meals in fancy restaurants, and pricey tickets to special events, to name a few.

Nope, wasn't for me then. Not for me now. If anything, I am often looking for way to lighten the overload of my Stuff in this house. (It's a long journey.)

All the same, I am in the midst of a test of my willpower to stay true to my principles and NOT add more Stuff to my life and this household.

As I have mentioned in recent posts, my father has moved into a one-bedroom apartment in an assisted living facility. (Wonderful move.) As he settles in, he has made it very clear that he wants very few items from his home of 54 years—no photos, the kitchen bulletin board full of more photos, most of his clothes, all but one or two books, and so on. As a result, his apartment is crisp and has a few items that hold deep personal meaning for him, but the rest of the Stuff of his prior life is not in the way. [And, for the record, Dad calls these items "Stuff" too. To quote him yesterday and today when I asked him about specific items, he looked at me and said "I don't want that Stuff here."]

As a result, my brother Mike, his wife Kate, their grandson Arlo, Warren, and I are taking the lead on clearing Dad's house of Stuff. There is a lot. A. Lot. And this is where I find myself being lured...

Last evening Warren and I went out to the house to deliver some items (for Mike and Kate to work with today) and we looked at a few things while there. Look at the pans—oooh. Oh, look at the blue ceramic serving bowl—ahhh. There was a snug-looking hoodie sweatshirt (a zip jacket) in Dad's closet (more about that later). 

My hand was on the bowl to "just" think about it. Warren and I pulled out several of the pans, which match some of ours. Then it hit us both: we have pans and plenty of them. As for the ceramic bowl, I have bowls that I like and those are more than enough. As for the hoodie sweatshirt, it came to me at about 5:00 a.m. (my usual waking time) that I have a hoodie zip-up sweatshirt, one that in fact Warren bought for me on a trip out west when I needed something warmer for a day at the Oregon coast. Whenever I slip it on, I think of that trip and smile. In short, we did not need any of these items, we lack the room for some of them (the pans, definitely), and we are more than okay with the Stuff we already own and use. 

But I confess: the siren call of Stuff caught me in the end.

I was opening various drawers in the kitchen to see what all was there. Potholders galore (decorative and "cute" if you are into that kind of thing, some of them still in the wrapper they came in, but not very functional for heavy-duty cooking and baking) in one. An outdated can of baking powder in another. You get the idea. 

And then in one drawer...

A manual can opener. Not just a manual can opener, but a bright red,  lightweight one. 

We have a can opener at home. It is large and it works well. It is also heavy. This one is red and shiny and light. This one had never been taken off the cardboard backing it was on when purchased for the staggering price of...wait for it...$2.00

I didn't even hesitate, but picked it up and brought it home. I took it off the backing this morning, opened a can zip-zip-zip, and smiled.

Yes, it's one more item of Stuff. But it's red. And lightweight. And...I can live with adding it to our home.

The 2024 Gardens (Part 7) and Some Other Updates

The Black-eyed Susans recently bloomed

I know, I know. It has been almost a month since I last wrote anything. Let's just say a lot (a lot more, that is) has happened.

On the home/personal front: Dad by his own decision moved into the assisted living portion of the facility that he has been at since mid-June. Medicare was ending his rehab stay and he had a few days to make the decision: return home or move into one of their AL suites? He had been speculating that "maybe" it was time to look at leaving the house, which he has lived in since 1970 (so a strong pull there) and which is not well-suited for a person with mobility and other issues. "Not well-suited," I say? Absolutely terribly suited. The house was built around 1840, which means some hallways and doorways are very narrow, and is made of limestone blocks. Large limestone blocks, which means a giant step from the porch into the house, among other things. My brothers and I held off on pushing him one way or another; when he would bring the matter up with me and raise some of his worries about returning home, I would nod, repeat back what he said, and add that I agree. In the end, in a Sunday morning call with his sister Gail (who lives on the west coast), he announced he was moving into one of the apartments at the place where he was currently in rehab. Gail let out a happy shriek, I almost dropped the phone, and we were off and rolling. That following Monday was move-in for us: furniture (yes, we hired a moving company), personal items from home, whatever, and that Tuesday he moved in from his rehab room to his new one-bedroom suite. It is on the ground floor, so he can watch people coming and going. "I saw you walking up," he announced to me with satisfaction last week. Yep, sure did.

The distance from my front door to his is .85 miles. I can walk it in about 17 minutes. Perfect. And Dad is happy. That is the very best part of this move. He is happy. 

Other great parts of the last few weeks: Warren retired officially on July 31 from the Central Ohio Symphony, going out quietly as was his long-desired wish. (How long? Warren told me 18 years ago while attending a retirement celebration for the then City Fire Chief that he wanted nothing like that when he finally retired.) There are still a few loose ends to help tie up; in a very small non-profit, especially one in the arts world, there are no clean exits, but for the most part he is done, done, done. And enjoying it immensely: he just walked into my study as I am finishing this and expressed great satisfaction at being home on such a beautiful morning. 

Actually, we DID have a small retirement gathering. That evening, we invited our neighbors on both sides to our back deck for snacks and sparkers (a 4th of July gift from a local realtor). The two youngest ones, 5 and 8, enjoyed the sparklers, and everyone enjoyed the evening, the root beer, the laughter, and the talk. Afterwards, Warren gave a satisfied sigh and said that was the perfect way to wrap up his career. And it was.

Some folks keep asking whether we are going to travel, what is Warren going to do to "keep busy," and so on. Ha. He has put his business and interests on the back burner for so long that he is now focusing on bringing his business (custom percussion instruments and repairs/rebuilds of others) back online that there is no worry about "keeping busy." Among other clients, the New York Philharmonic (yes, THAT orchestra) is eagerly waiting for his work. 

And then there's the garden. Gardens, rather. This morning I went out and cut basil for the first time:

Some of the basil from this morning

It filled a 13-gallon trash bag (and the lower shelf of the refrigerator); I plan on making the first batch of 2024 pesto tonight. 

Waiting for its close-up 

I picked the first zucchini of 2024:

More to come! 

Both gardens are going great guns, despite the late start. The tomatoes are coming on strong. It should be a bountiful year.

Kitchen garden

Hej garden

It is already a bountiful year, in my book. Between Dad's move (yes, we have a house to empty out and put on the market, but that is small beans given the enormity of his making his own decision to move), Warren's retirement and next phase of his life, and other ongoing projects (maybe I'll write about Justice Bus and my reentry into legal advising soon), we have full plates. 

I still go outside as dusk falls (earlier and earlier, to my enormous satisfaction) and sit and listen and watch. (In the last two months, I have missed maybe 3 nights total. Maybe.) The fireflies are fewer in number, but still out there. Katydids have joined the night chorus (previously mostly cicadas) and are singing fortissimo. And, if I sit long enough, I see the bats dancing in the sky. 

And that is an abundant life no matter how you measure it. 

The 2024 Gardens: Part 6

As I noted just a week ago, the gardens are flourishing. I finally picked my first tomato yesterday:

It's not going to win any beauty contest, but it tasted delicious at lunch today.

I picked that one in the morning. Last night, looking over the kitchen garden after some hard rain moved through, I spotted these on another plant:

Ooh.

There continues to be a lot going on here. My father is still in rehab (starting month 2), Warren is down to a little bit more than two weeks left as he winds up over three decades of being the manager and Executive Director of our local Symphony (there is so much to deal with both at his office and in our home related to that transition), my high school class 50th reunion was last weekend (I/we went and yeah, I might blog about that), and there are my own ongoing matters, starting with CLE. 

But the tomatoes are coming in and the fireflies still light up my evenings. 

Sometimes abundance just rains down on me. 

The 2024 Gardens: Part 5

 I last wrote about our 2024 gardens on June 1, when the kitchen garden was just beginning to come together and the Hej garden was still only a remote (way remote) possibility. 

Let's just say things have changed. A lot.

So let's start with the Hej garden. Amanda, who is gardening alongside me this year, was game to tackle the Hej garden, which was lost under last year's debris and this spring's weeds. Warren suggested we try to do as much clearing as we could by hand, before he tilled. So after a couple of days of rugged work by Amanda and me (and realize that both of us face some health challenges so we're not setting any speed records here), the Hej garden looked like this:

Warren tilled and deposited a layer of leaves on it, and then tilled again:

Fencing followed and then Amanda and I planted the Hej garden, including four (!) additional tomato plants because her friend Andy promised to help weed and care for the garden in return for tomatoes, which he apparently loves. I bought them from a table in a front yard down the street, 4 for $5, honor system, and proudly walked them home:

The neighborhood tomatoes! 

Considering its rough start this year, the Hej garden is showing signs of promise: green beans, maybe a cucumber plant, definitely some zucchini sprouting. Plus, of course, the tomatoes. When I looked yesterday, I saw two of the four starting to put out blossoms.

In the kitchen garden, the changes have also been staggering. This was how it looked in mid-June:

Let's just say it has grown since then. The tomatoes are just starting to take on some color:

The Trail of Tears heritage black beans are reaching for the skies (and they have grown even higher since I took this photo). That's them coming up in the center of the towers:

I am especially proud of those beans. They were dried and saved from last year's bountiful crop and I just sowed them by hand, raked some dirt over them, reminding myself that the beans would know what to do. They did. Those beans are tough, which is why they survived historically. 

And here are the first peppers, picked yesterday:

First produce of the year! 

Considering how far behind the starting line this year's gardens began, I am pleased. I will have to wait a bit longer for the first tomato, but I know it is coming. 

"Grateful" doesn't begin to cover my feelings watching these gardens come to life, sharing the work with Warren and Amanda, and seeing the plants grow. 

And at the Half: Looking at Groceries 2024

Photo by micheile henderson on Unsplash

Well, that was different! 

We just finished the first half of 2024. (Really? Really? 2024 is really moving that fast?) As I noted back in April, I am again tracking our expenditures for groceries and household staples. At the end of the first quarter, we had spent $682.87, which put our monthly average at $227.62.

So what did the second quarter come in at and where are we at the half? Way better than I had dared hope!

Our total second quarter expenditures were $492.76. Of that, $42.28 represented household staples. The rest was food: $450.48. For second quarter, we averaged $164.25 a month. And for the year to date? $1175.63 total, or a monthly average of $195.94. Sweet. 

Now there were some atypical events that played into second quarter. One was that when my son Ben and grandson Orlando came to visit, the limited foods that Orlando eats willingly and joyously were on sale JUST before they arrived. Those foods? Sausage patties ("sausage burgers," eaten on a slider bun) and strawberries. So I stocked up on sausage patties (five 12 oz packages; Orlando downed three of the five) and three pounds of strawberries (which Meijer had as a loss leader that week at $1/pound). As for the rest of us, Ben expressed a deep desire for items he could not get in Washington: White Castle from a drive-thru (not frozen, which he can get out there) and Delco Pizza, a local pizza vendor. So while we spent money on takeout that week ($30.87 on a White Castle 20 slider sack, which lasted more than two days; $24.80 on Delco, which was $12 less because I had a birthday gift card from my local bank that one of the 12" pizzas free; the Delco made it through several meals), our groceries did not spike. (Yes, there was also ice cream and corn dogs at Dairy Depot, the local soft serve a block away.)

A second factor was that we had a road trip at the start of June to my Emerald City (i.e., Rochester, Minnesota, NOT Seattle as my dear friend Pat thought when she saw a post of mine on Facebook) and our eating expenditures were pretty low for that trip (about $100) as well, as friends and family treated us to meals and because we are just not big eaters. Our biggest splurge was Lou Malnoti's pizza (where has that been all my life?), where we spent $21.94 for the best deep dish pizza in Chicagoland that I have ever had, and even then we made two meals of it: late night dinner and then breakfast the next morning. 

The third factor, totally unexpected, was that in early June, my dad had a medical setback and ended up in skilled nursing rehab. I went out to his house and cleared the refrigerator of perishables. A few had to hit the garbage (he had not been eating regularly and not sharing that information with us), but the rest came home with me. (Including a container of cherry tomatoes—I won't buy them, but I will eat them!) That is why in the month of June, we spent only $64.24 in groceries and $14.28 in household items, for a grand total of $78.52.

A few other items of note. One is that I often buy laundry detergent for $0.00. How do I pull that feat off? My pharmacy is CVS, I get CVS bucks (their word, not mine) for my prescriptions, and with those and other coupons CVS sends me, it is almost always free. Almost always, because in June, with expiring coupons and points, I spent a whopping $2.51 on a full-size detergent. Whew!

There was also one splurge of note, so much so that I took a photo of it. Yes, lamb loin roast, $13.41 for 1.88 pounds at Aldi. 

The splurge

Yes, it was a major splurge. Warren enjoys lamb. I love lamb. We almost never buy it, for lots of reasons including price and that most of it in the stores is flown in from New Zealand (carbon footprint, anyone?). (American-raised lamb, which you can buy online, is truly eye-watering in price. I understand why and have no problem with the producers asking those prices, but lamb is way, way, way outside our budget.) 

But here's the thing. That lamb loin roast? We cut it into four (4—count 'em!—4) portions, had one that weekend, and the other three are in our freezer. So even our splurges get maximum mileage! 

So there's where we are at the half. We just did a major restocking at Aldi yesterday: $136.36. But with the exception of a few fill-ins from Kroger of items Aldi does not carry, and replenishing perishables during the month, that should be the biggest shopping trip of the month. 

On to third quarter! 

Revelations

Yes, my work. 

There is the garden project to write about (what changes!). There is the 2nd quarter/1st half grocery expenditures to report on (let's just say there are some surprises there). My father had a medical matter arise that has landed him in skilled nursing rehab for the indefinite future (the same one I spent several weeks in last fall, so it is like Old Home Week for me when I go visit).  There is Warren's impending retirement as Executive Director of our local symphony after 3+ decades (he will continue to play, and he has other significant commitments, so don't worry about him not having anything to do). And it is 4th of July week, which means this household is on buzz level (on the 4th itself, Warren and I will put in 18+ hours from waking up to finally going to bed, most likely on the 5th). In short, our hands are full, our calendars are packed, and our time is on short supply.

Despite all of that, I no longer feel as I am running on overload, a word I have used constantly for weeks now. A word I have used so much for the last month that I have often thought of the old Groucho Marx show, "You Bet Your Life," with the classic "Say the secret word," which would cause the duck to drop down with a prize for the contestant. 

That duck was dropping down daily, even hourly. No prize, mind you, but the damn duck kept dropping. 

So what happened? 

Two things.

One happened early in June, when we had our June Justice Bus, a collaboration between our county Law Library, Andrews House (which has hosted legal clinics since October 2003), and the Ohio Access to Justice Foundation. We come together once a month in town for a clinic focused solely on family law. I am the attorney wrangler, but in June I filled in for one of our attorneys who had a last-minute court matter. I met with the clients, we fully explored the issue that brought them there, and they left with gratitude for the directions we had discussed.

I walked home that day deep in thought, resolving to step back into serving our Justice Bus, not just as attorney wrangler but also as a volunteer attorney. I have to finish my Continuing Legal Education for this biennial (yeah, yeah), but I am back in.

Warren smiled and nodded when I told him my decision later that day. He made it clear that he supported me fully. Then he said he was not surprised; he knew where my heart was.

The second revelation caught me totally off guard, albeit in a great way. And it involves my long love, albeit dormant, of photography. 

I have been taking photos with my old  iPhone (a model X, to give you an idea just how old—new to me, but old). It does okay. It captures moments. 

But the bees are back. I sat on the porch and watched them. I knew I wanted something better than my iPhone. So I went back inside and picked up my Canon.

When I shattered my wrist in January, I could not use my Canon. And, to be truthful, I had not been using it much even before the medical mess of the autumn, let alone the wrist. But with my arm in a cast, I could not easily handle the Canon. When the cast came off in early March, I had significant neuropathy in my right thumb and index finger. That improved with exercise, but then another medical problem on the same arm (and the same nerve) set me back and made clear that I will always have neuropathy. Better, mind you, but likely permanent. So I skirted the Canon, not sure what my right hand could do. 

And the iPhone was so convenient. But it could not begin to give me what I wanted. And my Canon could. 

And did.

I texted my lifelong friend Cindy what I had just done, adding "So excited!" Then added "And it feels so great!"

What I realized and shared with Cindy was that this was the reconnection to photography that I had been hoping for, but was not sure I would ever get back, not just in my hands but in my heart and emotions. I knew Cindy would understand as she and I, besides being lifelong friends, also grew up in 4-H photography together.

Of course, Cindy got it immediately. We are that close, that connected. 

And she totally understood when I texted: "I don't want to lose that feeling ever again."

Truly, I felt like a missing part of me—not just since winter, but long before then—was back. 

Every night I sit out on our back deck as dusk comes on and watch the fireflies come out. It is my retreat; it is my time of quiet contemplation. I am writing this in longhand as I sit here. It is chill tonight, so much so that I am in sweats and a hoodie. The fireflies are blinking off and on, sometimes rising in seemingly choreographed waves.  

As I watch them, I reflect on my finding my way back to advising. I think of my finding my way back to photography. I think of Warren and his support and love, and of Cindy and her support and love.

And I savor the little lights flashing in the deepening dusk.

The 2024 Gardens: Part 4

My seat earlier this morning

As I wrote just last Wednesday, what a difference a day could make. Three days later, there are even more differences. Thanks to heroic efforts by Amanda and Warren, and to my stretching myself beyond what I should do, the plants that absolutely, positively had to be in the ground by today made it into the ground!

There is still a section of the kitchen garden that needs to be weeded and tilled. That will be the basil bed. Maybe some lettuce too, although it is getting a little late in the season to try any lettuce until the weather starts to turn in the fall. We'll see.

The overgrown part is there in the middle back part. 

And Warren, after tilling the weeded part, even swept up afterwards. 

It doesn't get any better than that!

Warren cleaning up last night