Lessons from a House

Grams never had a particular house that she called home. Home was wherever we were living at the time. You see, my parents never owned their own home. We moved frequently from rent house to rent house and sometimes we lived with my Granny in her little country house. A couple of years ago, my sister Bylinda and I counted that over the years we had lived in at least fifteen different rent houses. There were lessons in all the houses that my parents rented.

Granny's house - Bryans Mill, Texas

I loved Granny's house. It was small and cozy and built in the shotgun style of the South. There were no hallways, one bedroom connected to the next bedroom, and there was no privacy, but I was young and I didn't know what privacy was. The ceilings were so low that Grandad, who is 6'5" tall, could not stand up straight inside without bumping his head on a light bulb. It was in Granny's house that I learned about family and love. Life in Granny's house taught me about the wonders of a country childhood. We played outside from dawn to dusk and ran wild through the pine trees. We picked berries and had tea parties with Granny. We slid down the hill into the creek on the seat of our pants. On rainy days we played inside and cut pictures out of magazines and catalogs. We walked to church on Sunday morning and again on Sunday night. We laid in the grass and watched the clouds go by. At night we could actually see the stars that make up the Milky Way.

One of the other houses that I loved was a grand old two-story house in Texarkana. We didn't live there very long and I don't remember much about it except that it was one of the few times that my sister Jan and I shared a room without the two older girls. Our room had obviously been a nursery in the past. It had fairy-tale themed wallpaper that I adored and a huge old claw-foot bathtub. I must have been about seven years old during the short time we lived there. This house had a banister that I loved to slide down. It was here that I began to understand that my brother Jimmy had very real limitations. One day, as I slid down the banister, I collided with him at the bottom. I shouted something like "what's the matter with you, are you blind or something?" For those readers who don't know, he is ... blind. Yep, it was the pinnacle of thoughtlessness. And I got in so much trouble, I got a switchin'! And, yep, I deserved it. There really is no defense for such unkind behavior, but I will say that to me, he was just my brother. I didn't yet understand the difficulties he faced. I just treated him like the rest of my siblings.

In all of these houses we were taught responsibility and we had to do chores. We girls learned to wash, dry, and put away the dishes as well as to sweep, mop, and dust. The boys learned to keep the yard. We were children of the 1950s and 1960s. Women were not yet liberated and bras had not been burned. Mom stayed home and had dinner on the table when dad came home from work. Girls did girl's chores and boys did boy's chores. Most girls of my generation and income level didn't dream of college or careers, we dreamed of having children and homes of our own.

Most of the houses we lived in had three bedrooms. The four girls shared one, the two boys had one, and, of course, Mom and Dad shared one. I learned a lot from those shared spaces ... important stuff like last one out of bed has to make the bed and don't leave your private stuff where your sisters can see it. It also taught me of shared confidences and respect for other people's property.

Another thing these houses all had in common was that almost all of them had only one bathroom for eight people. That taught me to be alert and not lose my place in line. It also taught me not to dawdle when I was taking care of business, because someone else was always waiting. Baths and showers had to be short because there was only one bathroom and only one hot water heater. The last one in the bathtub was fairly certain to get a cold bath.

The summer between my seventh and eighth grade year, my dad lost his job. We moved into a tiny one bedroom garage apartment in central Corpus Christi. By this time, Jimmy and Kay were living at the State School for the Blind, so there were only six of us in that apartment. Mom and dad slept on a hide-a-bed in the living room and the four kids shared the bedroom. We were there for almost a year while dad worked for a local tire company at what I'm sure was minimum wage. I hated living there, partly because I had to share a bed with my brother Charlie. I was appalled and humiliated. Didn't my parents know that brothers and sisters shouldn't sleep in the same bed? What I realize now is that I was lucky to have a bed and a roof over my head and that my parents did the best they could. The lessons in this tiny apartment were many. I learned tolerance and to crave solitude and quiet. I remember that outside the bedroom window was a huge tree that was covered with morning glory vines. I adored waking up to the view of beautiful blue morning glories every morning. I learned that you can find beauty anywhere, you just have to look for it.

From there we moved into a lovely three bedroom home on Corpus Christi's south side. It had beautiful hardwood floors and plantation shutters on the windows. It was bright and sunny and spacious. In this house I learned how to disassemble, clean, and re-assemble a crystal chandelier. That was one of my regular chores. Once a month I meticulously removed one crystal at a time, washed it, dried it and put it back in it's place. I didn't mind that chore at all. It was beautiful and it taught me the value and enjoyment of doing precise and detailed work.

These houses taught me how to say goodbye. When we moved from Texarkana to Corpus Christi I was just a few weeks shy of 10 years old. I'm fairly certain I cried all the way. Unfortunately, the constant relocating also taught me not to make lasting friendships. I don't have a single friend that I've known my entire life. The ability to maintain long-term friendships is something I had to learn as an adult. It didn't come naturally for me. I honestly didn't know how to maintain a friendship and stay in touch. But I've learned its importance and I've built the skills. I know that I have to put forth the effort and I do it when I find someone who is worth the effort.

Interestingly, the transient lifestyle of my parents also taught me that I wanted to put down roots. I knew that I wanted my kids to have a home and a sense of belonging and stability. My kids definitely have a place they call home. We moved into our current home in the summer of 1984. Katy was five and Nick was three when we built this house.

We chose this neighborhood because of it's schools and sense of community. I knew we had made a great choice when I took Katy to her first day of first grade. Her first grade teacher was Mrs. Bode who had been teaching at that school for many years. That morning, as I met other parents who had kids in the same class, I discovered that several of those parents had also had Mrs. Bode for first grade. That was exactly the kind of continuity I was looking for for my kids.

Both of my kids went to the same schools their entire school careers. Both of them graduated with the same kids they started kindergarten with. They have friends whom they've known since nursery school. They grew up in a neighborhood where they know the neighbors and the neighbors know them. They couldn't do anything that I didn't hear about. They have a sense of neighborhood, continuity, and the accountability that goes with it.

I'm proud that we were able to provide a stable home for them. But, you know what? Since Grandad has been sick and not able to help much with keeping up the house and yard, they've both encouraged us to move. They've both told me that home is wherever we are.

So I guess they've learned early what it took me longer to get ... a house is not a home ... home is where the heart is.

This post was inspired by the writing prompt "The House That Built Me" from Mama Kat's Writers Workshop.

Bluebonnets May Be A Brilliant Idea

Grams and Grandad had our house built back in 1984. It's a small ranch-style house in the northwest suburbs of Corpus Christi. We moved in on Grams 30th birthday and we've always loved our house and our neighborhood. Plus, considering that Grams is now 56 years old, it won't be too long before we invite all the neighbors over to celebrate with us as we burn our 30-year note.

Electrical outlet located right above 1980's wash basin.

We had no experience with building a house and had no idea what we were doing. We chose the house plans out of a book and didn't know that we really should have paid a little closer attention to the details. That lack of experience showed up in some interesting little quirks in the house. For example, in both of our bathrooms the electrical outlets are located exactly above and just to the left of the wash basin. It's neither convenient nor safe. And, in addition, in the master bedroom there are two doors about two feet apart. One of them leads into the master bath and the other leads into the walk-in closet. The problem is that the cable outlet is on the right hand side of the bathroom door and the electrical outlet for the television is on the left in between the two doors. It's just a small inconvenience, but over the years it's become a major irritant for me.

The other place where our lack of experience showed is in the direction our house faces. The front door faces due east meaning that the sun sets in our back yard. So on most evenings when we might want to use the back yard and patio for grilling and sitting outside, it's hotter than the face of the sun. It's so hot we rarely go back there between the middle of May and the end of October. It's not unusual for the temperature to exceed 105 degrees on the patio around five o'clock in the summertime.

Mexican Bird of Paradise

For several years we tried to grow a vegetable garden in the back yard and I had a small rose garden that we eventually moved to the north side of the house. The sun gets so hot back there that by late-June anything we've planted has been seared to a brown crisp. In some years it's just not possible to water enough to keep most things alive.

On top of all the usual heat and dryness, in 2009 we had a horrible drought and lost almost everything that was growing in the back yard including the carpet-grass and all of my angels' trumpets and lilies. Some of the grass has come back because this year we've had plenty of rain and it's been perfect for growing things. But other than some Mexican bird of paradise and some rosemary, nothing else survived.

Our Little Princess playing in the bluebonnets

Last spring, about the time we realized that most of the carpet-grass was not going to revive, we were driving around the Hill Country looking for a patch of wildflowers so we could take the traditional Texas bluebonnet snapshots of Our Little Princess. This gave me a brilliant idea. Instead of trying to replant the back yard, why not plant our own field of bluebonnets. (I use the term field lightly. Our back yard is tiny.) 

Bluebonnets are the state flower of Texas. According to the Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center, they're simple to plant and can be inter-seeded with existing growth. All you have to do is mow the lawn down to about 6 inches, rake away any thatch, hand broadcast the seeds, then stomp them down. You do this in September, water them occasionally, and they should bloom next spring. As a bonus, after they bloom, if you don't mow them down until the seed pods mature, they will re-seed themselves and will bloom again every spring. This should give us a lovely blooming yard while it's cool enough for us to enjoy it.

So this weekend, Grams is going on a quest for bluebonnet seeds. Hopefully, next spring we'll have a back yard full of beautiful Texas wildflowers. By the time the bluebonnets go to seed, we won't care what the back yard looks like. Isn't this a brilliant idea? Watch this space next spring for photos of my beautiful bluebonnet patch.

Life is Good and I'm Taking Control

For the past several years Grams has felt like my life has been out of control. There were a number of things that contributed to that feeling. Here's just a brief recap of the major events of the past few years.

With the assistance of Adult Protective Services, my siblings and I removed our mentally-challenged sister from my mother's home against my mother's wishes. I left a job that I loved after 32 years because the new management and I didn't see eye-to-eye. My mother had to be moved to a nursing home which was followed by a series of falls and several surgeries. My husband got sick, had heart surgery and still didn't improve. Mom slipped into a coma then her kidneys failed and we had to make the decision not to start dialysis. Then the same day I found out my husband had to have lung surgery, my mother died. My husband hat lung surgery the same day we buried Mom, so I didn't even go to the funeral. We spent the next three years searching for a medical solution to my husband's declining health with an endless amount of frustration.

I went from being a working woman who never lifted a finger at home, didn't cook, and had a manicure every two weeks to being responsible for everything, and I mean everything, at home. It would have been so easy to just surrender and fall into a deep depression. But somebody had to keep everything going, so I got out of bed every single day and just kept putting one foot in front of the other and doing what had to be done. Honestly, some days that's all I could do, just put one foot in front of the other and keep going. But it's not in my nature to surrender or quit, so that's what I did. I just kept going as best I could.

I'm happy to report that, once again, life is good! Grandad is finally on the road to wellness. He actually feels good for the first time in years and he's back to his old self which means he's pitching in and helping around the house, marking things off my "honey-do" list, and even joking around. We made it through this dark time with the support of our wonderful kids, a great group of friends, and prayers and support from our extended family and friends.

And some great things have come out of all of this. Grandad and I are closer than we've ever been. We've always been each other's best friends, but we've learned a deeper trust and reliance on each other. My kids have shown me what wonderfully responsible adults they are. I've always known they were great kids, but they and their spouses have been there for us in ways that I never even imagined they would be. When we needed something, I had only to ask and sometimes I didn't even have to ask. They knew what we needed and they just did it. I could not ask for better kids ... they are amazing!

But this tumultuous period has had at least one casualty ... my house. We've always struggled with clutter. Both of us come from a long line of hoarders. When my father-in-law died it took three men and more than one industrial-sized dumpster to clean out his junk. Grandad has inherited that need to hold on to stuff in case you ever need it. And five of us spent three days going through my mother's two-room apartment. Then we ended up just selling almost everything to a junk dealer who hauled it away for us. I too struggle with wanting to "collect" stuff like my mother did.

This means that every closet, drawer and storage area in the house and garage is packed to the fullest. I'm afraid to open some of the doors because I know stuff is going to come tumbling out. Now that our kids are grown and gone, shouldn't we have more closet space? Not so! I've learned that, while they don't want to take all their stuff with them, they don't want me to get rid of it either. The clutter has taken over. I almost feel like I could be on an episode of The Hoarders. Seriously, it's not as bad as all that, but now that I'm feeling more in control of my life in general, I feel the need to take control of the clutter. And, I'm determined that cleaning out my stuff will not be such a huge job for my kids in the future.

Bottom file drawer - before de-cluttering

Starting today, I'm going to de-clutter my house one small space at a time. I'm starting with one drawer of our file cabinet. The bottom drawer is full of old computer software and hardware. Some of it is as old as our very first PC which would make ridiculously old and out of date. For years, we've just tossed old software, cables, and small hardware into this drawer in case we ever need it again. Well, enough is enough, it's time for it to go. I bought a new package of 33 gallon trash bags. I have my recycle bins on standby, I've got my Freecycle account ready to list the stuff that someone else might be able to use, and I've dusted off the shredder and moved it into the area where I'll be working.

My new byline will be "if we haven't needed it in the past year, we don't need it." It's going to be tough, but I think the hardest part will be just getting started. Updates will follow ... stay tuned.

The Birds

Grams has a problem with birds. I don't like them. I love how they look and I have a few ceramic birds that belonged to my Mom. I think birds are beautiful, but I don't want to interact with them. To tell you the truth, they freak me out a little.

There are several things that cause me to feel this way about birds, not the least of which is the old Hitchcock movie "The Birds." Then a couple of years ago, when leaving my office one day, I noticed a baby bird on the ground. I didn't really pay it any attention and just walked on by it. So there I was, minding my own business, when all of a sudden, I was dive-bombed from behind. Apparently the mother bird thought I was too close to her baby and she flew at the back of my head. She hit me with her wings as she flew past, then turned around to come back for more. Needless to say, I hightailed it to my car.

Birds don't really seem to like me any better than I like them. I once walked in to my friend Linda's house and her parakeet started fluttering around my head. He didn't really attack me, but it wasn't something I wanted to repeat.

The only bird I've ever been on friendly terms with was my mother's pet cockatiel, Jo-Jo. She had him for several years when I was in junior high school. Jo-Jo was allowed to fly around the house, walk around on the floor, and often sat on Mom's shoulder while she was washing dishes. He would walk around on the table while my parents played cards or dominoes with friends. Jo-Jo could talk. He said, "Jo-Jo's a pretty bird" and a few other innocuous things. He was very attached to Mom. Then, my Mom was seriously injured in a traffic accident and was hospitalized for more than 3 months. During the 3 months Mom was gone, my brothers taught Jo-Jo to swear. On one of the first days she was home Jo-Jo said "G*d dammit" in earshot of my mother and that was it. When we came home from school the next day, there was no evidence that Jo-Jo had ever been there. She gave that bird away, cage and all.

Now, we have a recurring problem at our house. A few years ago, when we had vinyl siding put on our 3-side brick home, we also added an aluminum patio cover. The original cover was lattice and didn't do much to shield the patio, which is on the west side of the house, from the blazing hot South Texas sun. The patio cover is attached to the house with a rain gutter which runs along the edge of the roof. We rarely use our patio and back yard, because most of the year it's hotter than the face of the sun. Occasionally we fire up the barbecue pit on the patio and, when the grand-dogs visit, we go back there to play with them. Otherwise, it's just empty and hot.

For the past several years, birds have nested in these gutters and hatched their eggs. Now, I don't really care if the birds live in my rain gutters. It hardly ever rains here anyway. Since Grandad can't climb ladders any more, it's difficult to get them clean. In order to clean out the gutters thoroughly, someone would have to climb up on the roof. We have had limited success cleaning them out with the leaf blower. But I don't have the heart to clean them out once the birds have laid their eggs. Our best bet would be preventing them from nesting there in the first place.

The problem is that these rain gutters run right down the side of our bedroom. You may have already deduced that Grams is not a morning person. I don't really want to interact with anyone or anything at sun-up. However, these baby birds wake up with the sun and they start to chirp ... loudly. It makes me crazy; the sound is repetitive and continuous. There is nothing melodic about the noise they make. There's no chance that Grams will be able to go back to sleep.

We've looked at various and sundry products that are designed to keep birds out of gutters. Nothing we've tried works. We have screen covers that go over the top of the gutters, but the birds still get in under the edge of the patio cover. For now, I'm just gritting my teeth and trying not to hear them. If anyone knows of a solution, we'd love to hear about it.

Hello ... I'm Grams and I'm a Christmas Addict

That's right, Grams is addicted to Christmas, specifically to Christmas decorations. Since the first year we were married, I have decorated my entire house for the holidays. At times I've been way over the top, covering virtually every space with decorations. I have ornaments for the bathrooms, Christmas linens for the kitchen, Christmas quilts for the bedrooms, etc. One year, I actually "gift wrapped" the throw pillows that go on my bed and sofa.

Since we married in November, that first Christmas was upon us before we knew it. We couldn't afford lavish or fancy decorations. So I made most of the decorations from Styrofoam, sequins and pipe cleaners. A couple of strands of lights and a few inexpensive glass balls made a lovely tree that first year. Grams spent hours pushing straight pins with sequins and beads into Styrofoam balls ... so much so that my thumbs were sore for days. I still have some of those ornaments. They are among my favorites.

That was the beginning of my addiction to all things Christmas. Every year since 1975, I have added to my collection of ornaments and decorations.

Feeding my addiction has never been a problem. At the job that I held for 32 years, we had an ornament exchange every year at the Christmas party. My bunco club also exchanges ornaments. When we travel, my souvenir of choice is an ornament.

When we had our children, I began ornament collections for them. Each one started with a "Baby's First Christmas" ornament and we added at least one ornament every year. When Katy married, one of her bridal shower gifts was a big box filled with her ornaments. And last year, I was delighted to present a box of beautiful ornaments to Marie, my new daughter-in-law, at her bridal shower. Accompanying both of these gifts were "Our First Christmas Together" ornaments.

This year, we'll start a collection for our little princess with a beautiful "Baby's First Christmas" ornament. Her Mom has already told me that she's enchanted with the Christmas tree. I can't wait until she comes to Grams and Grandad's house for Christmas.

We have used an artificial tree since Nick was born in 1981, because when he was little, he seemed allergic. A few years ago, when we had to replace our old tree, I was determined to get a tree with a smaller circumference ... something that wouldn't take up so much room. But when we went shopping, we just couldn't bring ourselves to buy a smaller tree. So, I still have a huge tree that takes a big chunk of my living room. But, I'm willing to admit that I love it. It even rotates on its stand. And considering that, since I passed the kids' ornaments on to them, it now has fifty fewer ornaments on it, I wonder how I ever fit them all on the tree.

In recent years, I've begun to realize that my addiction is out of control. I have so many decorations in storage that I couldn't possibly put them all out at the same time. There are boxes that I haven't even taken out of the closet in three or four years. But I do love unpacking my ornaments and placing them on the tree every year. I can still remember where I got each one. It makes me think about people I don't see any more, trips we've taken, and things that happened which are commemorated by special ornaments. I especially treasure the handmade ornaments that my kids gave me when they were in elementary school.

Grams is wondering ... is there a twelve-step program for Christmas addicts?