lament

I was up long before dawn this morning, unable to sleep even though I've been tired for days. When the light of day finally crept in, I went outside in the drizzle to take this photo of my house.

It doesn't seem so right now, but I always try to be appreciative. I do relish the park setting of my current house, even while I'm in the process of trying to move to the walkable neighborhood near downtown. But my house is tiny, and all of my life I've wanted a large house.

My house is ranch-style (one story), built in 1962. I don't like the architecture of that era. But I love Victorian houses, with wood floors, high ceilings (some even with decorative tin), decorative molding, transoms, and huge windows.

Even more importantly to me, I desire an urban neighborhood where people actually walk and bike. I despise the car culture.

I love this photo, taken in the neighborhood I wish to move to, which strikingly displays the way I want to live.


I will be the first to admit that this is a stunning setting in which to live, and I am blessed. But sometimes when I leave this property in my car, I feel close to tears as I unwillingly enter the steady, never ceasing flow of traffic. The few times I've set out on foot or bike to run an errand from this house, I've nearly been mowed down by drivers of large vehicles who are annoyed that I can't get with the program. I don't try anymore; it's truly not safe.



The mere sight of my photos from last winter sadden me. It was a lonely, depressing time. My house is isolated, especially when my only neighbors take off for Florida for 7 months each year. A couple of the snowfalls this year were so major that everything was shut down. There was nobody around to help me shovel out; I was on my own.

It was at the end of this miserable winter that I had my first showing of this house with my realtor:

This is a side/rear view of what I had started referring to as the "Venerable Victorian." It is way under priced for the gentrified neighborhood, which is why I asked to see it. The interior of this house had been cheaply renovated; therefore, the house was rejected by the typical buyers of large houses on this coveted street. The property is angled in such a way that a garage can't be built, either- a turn-off to many buyers who insist on being able to "house" their cars, even in an urban setting. The other houses for sale in the highly sought-after urban neighborhood are way out of my price range.

I can't imagine ever feeling isolated here. It is across the street from an upscale retirement village, a wonderful grocery store, drug store, video store, deli- and just behind the house, a gorgeous urban park with a lake:

Finally I have reached the point in my life where I know what it means to be true to myself. I don't need the approval of others- if someone else prefers living in the suburbs, that's fine for that person- not for me. I admit that I like the hustle and bustle, the bright lights, the constant activity. And I don't have to apologize for preferring that. My dream is to live in a large Victorian in a prime urban location.

To that end, I came up with a grand scheme to win the Venerable Victorian. It's a scary time in my life- I have recently had thousands of dollars of extra expenses related to my son, and the organization I have worked for since college is on the verge of shutting down. Facing probable unemployment, I thought this might actually be the ideal time to move, since my current mortgage payments are very high.

Here was my plan: I'd take out a HELOC loan against the equity on my current house, and I'd take an early distribution on my IRA even though I'd pay hefty taxes and penalties. I had it planned out to the last dime. I'd make a cash offer on the Victorian- a low offer, reflecting today's poor market. I'd be living in the house of my dreams, mortgage-free! As soon as my HELOC loan was approved and signed, I made my first offer.

I SAID that I knew this was a long shot. I SAID that I was totally OK with the thought of not getting the house.

That's what I SAID.

In reality, when my realtor called to tell me that the seller had accepted someone else's offer, my heart stopped.

It's that time again

It's that time of year again- the lilacs are starting to bloom. It reminds me of college graduation, which in my case occurred during lilac week. In that part of the country lilacs bloom later than they do here, so the calendar dates don't exactly line up, but that's OK. College graduation was a very upbeat time in my life. The lilacs bring it back vividly- all of it- the anticipation of a life yet to unfold, the huge relief of being done with school, the excitment of my upcoming summer working in Italy, the yet unanswered question in my mind about whether to accept the offer of grad school in NYC, the parties that we had put off until lilac time, when our studies wouldn't be ruined.


I have no such association with trees like this one- in fact, I don't even know what this is. It currently blooms in the park in front of my house. This spring it is particularly brilliant. It too has a scent, but nothing compares to the lilac.....



Things are looking pretty good indoors as well. This tulip was a spontaneous gift from Garnet as I was leaving his garden the other day.

Here's my patio with the fountain up and running again. I wish I had more time to just sit there and inhale the lilac-laced breeze. This week I will probably make my first offer on the Victorian house in the urban neighborhood. Those who know me are impressed that I have been so level-headed about this possible house purchase. I am not level-headed- I am apprehensive.

The unexpected significance of Gatorade

This bottle of Gatorade has wielded a great deal of power over me today. This week the Child is undergoing the dreaded 4th grade standardized tests which became ever so ominous thanks to the No Child Left Behind Act. When I picked him up from school yesterday he told me that he absolutely had to have a bottle of Gatorade to take to school the next day (today) to get him through the tests. Apparently other students in his class had sported Gatorade bottles during testing. In his rather strict school, that's a real luxury.

We drove to the grocery store and spent a lot of time picking the best flavor/variation of Gatorade, as pictured above, and while I was thrusting it into the refrigerator at home I thought of how unlikely it was that I'd remember to actually place this bottle into his backpack the next morning (today).

Yep- this morning was more frantic than I'd anticipated, because I had to work extra early, which meant ousting the sleeping child from bed at an ungodly hour. He was uncooperative, to say the least. I was so overwhelmed with getting my own self ready for work that I nearly forgot to pack The Child's lunch.

When we arrived at school for the much despised "early program" for kids with parents who have to leave early for work, The Child asked if I had packed his Gatorade. My heart stopped. There was no way I had time to go home or to a store for Gatorade- I was already running late. I had no choice but to abandon a profoundly disappointed child at school.

It was really unnessesary for The Child to tell me what he thought of me as I raced off- I already knew full well that I had failed my standardized 4th grade mothering test.


Prior to the Gatorade incident, I took this photo this morning while walking the dog. It's some sort of flowering crab apple or something.

And then, just beyond the flowering tree, I came upon this sight of a park worker spraying chemicals so toxic that he needs to wear an astronaut suit while he sprays.

Earth issues

Look closely at this idyllic scene as viewed today in the park outside of my house. Very closely. Do you see a strange object, barely, including a yellow spot, near the center of the photo, slightly off to the left?




Here's a closer look, compliments of both digital and optical zoom. It's a park worker spewing toxins (chemical fertilizers) into the Earth. When I first moved to this house, I raised hell over this. They could've used organic, safe pesticides and fertilizers. Eventually, I came to realize that I was only hurting myself with my ranting and raving. Nothing changed except my blood pressure.

Now, this is going to look suspiciously like an attempt to justify my desire to move to an urban neighborhood, but here's the fact: this downtown park (behind the house I'm going to make an offer on) has been known to harbor dandelions. Yep, you read correctly- dandelions! You know what that means, don't you? No chemicals!! Yipee!

And in my opinion, this urban park looks very fine.

Torn between two worlds

This is the view from the front stoop of my current house. The house is located on a huge park which includes one of the world's largest rose gardens. Just a stone's throw from the house are woods and a ravine with a stream. I have enjoyed the plant and animal life that came with this house, no question.



But here's the price I pay: a neighborhood which does not suit me at all. (I admit to elongating this photo to exaggerate the significance of the street, to serve the almighty car.) Although located just 6 or 7 miles from downtown, it is undeniably a suburb. (Note the annoying lack of sidewalks!) For some reason, whirlingbetty seems to have been born with a strong aversion to suburbs. This particular suburb is especially unsuitable in that it is populated with mostly elderly people. The housing here was built in the 50's and 60's, and the current residents bought their houses then. Whirlingbetty landed unwittingly in a retirement community. There are no playmates for The Child, or for Betty.



Additionally, my current house is isolated. During the serious snowstorm a few weeks ago, the city shut down and I was left to shovel myself out, alone. It was a lonely couple of days, with not a person in sight. The only neighboring house is vacant 7 months of the year due to snowbird migration. Also, a few days ago there was a police helicopter circling above for a long time during the night, shining its spotlight onto my property. Eventually a police car pulled up outside of my house, and I was told that they were searching for criminals who had taken off on foot into the park outside of my house. I did not sleep that night.



This is the venerable Victorian I'm considering buying in the downtown neighborhood which I've always been so fond of. This location is "extremely urban", as my friend Garnet observed. The price I'm offering on this house, if I proceed, is much lower than the asking price. The sellers, who apparently inherited the house, just might be eager to unload it, to settle the estate. Things might go my way; they might not.


That's The Child peeking in the back door of the Venerable Victorian. He doesn't know what to think. I've never lived in a large house like this one; he certainly hasn't. He loves this neighborhood, thanks to having whirlingbetty for a mother, and his school is a few blocks away. When asked whether he wants to move here, he replied, "I don't care where I live as long as I have Play Station 3."

This is a scene from the urban neighborhood. Even at night it's lit up and populated. Not everyone likes that; I do. I am not really torn. You've heard the story of the Country Mouse and the City Mouse, right? Well, I'm both City Mouse and Country Mouse, for sure. But my most satisfying living experiences have been in the more urban settings, amidst the bright lights, the hustle and bustle, and the constant flow of energy.

If I need a nature fix, well, here's the park, right behind the Venerable Victorian. This is my favorite park anywhere, with its alive energy contained in a charming setting of trees, flowers and a lake.

A major decision

Any sensible person would balk at whirlingbetty's latest scheme. But to quote a dear late friend, Gloria B, "I am NOT a sensible woman!" The above house is located in the heart of betty's target neighborhood. It has a stone front, as you see, and......

the rest is brick. Very solid brick. The house is an antique, built in 1890. I guarantee that the "McMansions" being built today will not exist 118 years from now.

Betty was not focused on being a good photographer that day, but here's a bit of a view of the first floor. The house was recently renovated, turning it back into its single family state after a stint as a two family. I don't know much about the person making the renovation decisions except that he/she has boring taste. Everything is white or some variation thereof.

At least everything is new. I like the idea of a new Victorian!

That's why I've cooked up a plan to pay cash for the house. Yes, it involves messy things that I normally avoid, like home equity loans and taking an early dispersment of my IRA, but hey, I'll end up with no mortgage, living in the hip, slick and cool urban neighborhood I've been coveting. Across the street is a grocery, a drugstore, a video rental, and restaurants. Yep, it's whirlingbettyland, part 2.

This is the view from one of the upstairs windows. The yard has a huge oak probably as old as the house, and just beyond that you can see my favorite park in this city- a charming urban gathering place with a lake which hosts concerts and festivals each year. The Child's school is within walking distance, and there's a fenced yard for the Chihuahua. Let's see if things work out.......

I've been tagged!

patti has requested that I list 10 random things about myself:

1. I was mugged once while walking downtown in a major city U.S. at night with a female friend. After one of the muggers snatched my purse, I chased the muggers down, wearing a dress and high heels. After running after them for several blocks by myself, eventually a cop on a motorcycle heard my shrieking from a distance- he zoomed to the vicinity of my pursuit, and shortly thereafter, the cop and I nabbed the muggers. This was probably my finest moment.

2. I won an essay contest in high school and appeared on TV for 30 minutes (filmed in DC) with a NY Senator as a result.

3. I have helped native American ranchers in Montana herd cattle on horseback in the Rocky Mountains.

4. I have never been married.

5. Marriage was never a part of my childhood dreams.

6. The job I've had since college was my childhood dream.

7. I will shop in Thrift Stores only on "50% Off Day."

8. I sucked my thumb until I was 12.

9. I got braces when I was 10. They were necessary due to fact number 8.

10. One of the most horrifying events of my childhood was the time one of my braces came off in the YMCA swimming pool while my school was there for swimming lessons (which I already despised before this occurrence). Although painfully shy, I had no choice but to tell the instructors what had happened. They blew their whistles, cleared all the kids out of the pool and started diving for my wayward brace. It took hours, seemingly, and they were eventually victorious. The horror I experienced at age 10 is as fresh today as on the day it happened.

a whirlingbetty Easter

When I returned home late Saturday night, there was a message on my answering machine (yes, I still choose to use an old-fashioned answering machine) from a friend, J. She was inviting The Child and me to Easter dinner the next day. Short notice, eh? This is her front door.


This is a closeup of her Easter wreath. J is an older woman who plays many roles in my life, although I've known her less than a year. (I remember her roses being in bloom when I first walked up her garden path.) She performs the roles of mother, grandmother, sister, confidant, child (yes, she's entitled to her "needy" moments), rock (as in source of strength), and comforter. I did not expect her last-minute Easter invitation, but The Child and I had no plans, really- I was just going to take him to an indoor waterpark on the other side of town. I hadn't been sure what we'd do about Easter dinner, but The Child cares little of cuisine so I wasn't overly concerned.

This is the idyllic setting of J's house. It's in a wooded area across from a bird sanctuary. All of this is just a few blocks from our house- a big plus for the travel-resistant whirlingbetty.

These little gems were basking in the sunlight in J's front yard on Easter Day.

In the bird sanctuary, this populous patch of yellow wildflowers held court.

Here is The Child posing with J's bespectacled and finger-pointing nephew, S. S provided a striking contrast to The Child. S has a complicated list of issues going on- for me it's impossible to determine whether the boy is simply ill-mannered or whether his ADHD medication is rearing its ugly head. At any rate, he proved to be impossible for his attending adults to control. I left the dinner appreciating my comparatively angelic son.

This is J's Easter dinner table, set long before the guests arrived. Her house is loaded with character, inside and out. The first time I set foot in her house, I was taken aback by her many collections, of spoons, ceramics, flowers, photos, fine dishware, teacups. Now I consider the collections quaint and fascinating, now that I'm over the shock of it.

Here is one of J's place settings, complete with bunny napkin and party favor. The food was what one would expect an older person to prepare- ham with pineapple rings and cloves, buttered peas (cooked a long time), asparagus (obligatory, of course, and buttered and cooked a long time), mashed potatoes (you guessed it- buttered and cooked a long time, but at least they were homemade), rolls (you guessed it- white- The Child was thrilled by this rare treat), cranberry jelly and Sierra Mist on ice.

Here's the coup de grace: homemade chocolate cake decorated with peeps and malted milk balls, served with J's special jasmine tea which she bought in China. J is a retired schoolteacher, divorced, with a very worldly past. The more stories of her adventures I've heard, the more I appreciate connecting them to the mementos scattered about her home.

It was a whirlingbetty kind of Easter.

in a bit of a funk

These guys aren't really in a funk- they just know how to pose that way. Actually, The Child and his overnight guest had a fun weekend. Knowing I'd be a drag, I told The Child he could invite a friend over. They entertained each other admirably.

The threat of shutdown of the organization I've worked for my entire adult life has finally taken over my mood, at least some of the time. The effects in my life would be far-reaching. Until this week, I had maintained an attitude of, well.....denial- but prominent articles in the local newspaper warn of possible impending shutdown. Having it spelled out in black and white tends to have somewhat of an impact.

Maybe, if it does happen, I will finally write about what it is that I do for a living. But until then, I intend to stick with my original blogging intent: to attempt to forge an identity which does not include my job title.

My sister's cancer surgery has been cancelled due to the unexpectedly rapid growth of the tumor on her tongue. Removal of the tumor at this point would apparently require the removal of too much tongue tissue. So they've installed a chemo port in her tongue and yesterday she was in Dana Farber in Boston receiving various types of infusions of toxic medicine for 16 hours. All I can say is, I hope she believes in conventional medicine a lot more than I do. Faith is everything.

And I believe in spring. Here it is, as evidenced in this photo taken yesterday. (I didn't intend to memorialize the garden hose, but I didn't notice it until now.)



This bold bellwether was the first to bloom. Actually a crocus, it serves to remind me of the rampant buttercups of my youth, as well as the soon-to-appear daffodils which will forever remind me of my dear friend W who died with the daffodils 4 years ago in April.

Happy Easter, everyone.

mathematics

I read the above pictured news story this morning about U.S. students' math deficiencies. Some of us like math; some don't. I personally have a soft spot for math.

Today's article rings true for me since I have a son in elementary school. His teacher last year had a master's degree in math, so I backed off when I noticed that The Child didn't seem to know his multiplication tables. He brushed it off, claiming that his teacher had taught him some sort of scheme which I didn't understand for "coming up with" math facts.

Well, now I wish I had stood my ground. This year, he seems to have forgotten that scheme which replaced multiplication tables. I now fear for his future.

Is it possible that there really is some validity to NOT teaching basic math facts? The longer I live, the more I realize that indeed, anything's possible. But I also have learned to speak for myself.

I have fond memories related to math from my school years. I was good at it and I loved it. What little self-esteem I had as a child probably resulted largely from math.

In New York State where I grew up, public education was top notch. Each course was offered in levels, and I was in advanced math, with challenges aplenty. As early as 6th grade, I was being offered college-level algebra problems.

My parents didn't have a clue how to solve such problems, but my big sister's husband, who was actually a math major in college at the time, did. He didn't give me the answers directly but he taught me how to come up with them myself. It was a thrill to solve a difficult math problem- even more so when I was the only one in my class who got the right answer.

After my sister and her husband split up, I missed his help, but he had taught me to fish, as it were. One time in 8th grade our school's math department gave all of the classes an extraordinarily difficult problem. I spent a long time on it, and when a friend called me on the phone for help, I broke down and gave her my answer.

Later that night when checking over my work, I decided upon a different answer. I didn't tell my friend though, figuring I had helped her enough since I had even given her the steps involved.

The next day, the school was turned upside down when my friend, known to be somewhat slow (especially in algebra) proved to be the only student with the right answer. The math teachers had never expected anyone to solve it, least of all this particular student! We never told anybody what happened, and our math teachers scratched their heads over that one for a long time afterwards. It was especially baffling to them because no other student had the right answer!

My job requires no mathematical ability, but I enjoy working with numbers whenever life calls for it. I spend a ridiculous amount of time on my budget, and I am an eager bookkeeper at The Child's school bookstore. I just finished doing my tax returns. I do own a calculator, and I use it to check myself. I derive pleasure from working with numbers, and still experience that old sense of accomplishment after I finish.

The Child doesn't know what he's missing.

not about the weather

Lately I have written about nothing but the weather. That would be fine if I had nothing going on in my life besides acts of nature.

There are a few other things, though. My sister, who lives 800 miles away, has been diagnosed with cancer for which she is facing a 10-hour surgery next week. Being a single parent, travelling to Boston to help her is highly impractical, so I'm standing by, waiting.

I am still being sued by The Child's father for full custody and child support (even though he has never paid me a dime of child support!), and I am facing 2 dreaded court dates in May. This court case has been going on for a year, so I ought to be used to it by now. I'm not.

Then there's my job. The organization to which I have dedicated my life and labor since college is likely to shut down on April Fool's Day. I've always read that men derive their identity from their jobs, but I can state with absolute certainty that there are women thus afflicted. The field I'm in is notorious for job scarcity, and there are no more opportunities where I live. Because of my above-mentioned court case, I am obligated to remain in this city.

The above-pictured house is financed by a 15-year mortgage, which means the monthly payments are sky-high. Working at Wal-Mart will not cover my mortgage.

Then there's The Car. I am the proud owner of a 1991 Honda Civic. You know, they say that those little Civics are not good bets in crashes, but The Child and I have always been 100% safe in that car. The Car broke down once, only once, and that was last summer in the parking lot of the Rose Garden where I was dumping recycling. My house is situated on the same Rose Garden, so I had to walk but a few yards to get home, where I waited in air-conditioned comfort for the tow truck.

The Car is in the shop today. The Car always knows when it's convenient to show that it needs attention. I don't have to go to work today, and The Car's key began struggling to turn the ignition switch yesterday. Today was the best possible day for me to rise long before dawn to take The Car to the repair shop and then walk home 2 miles in time to walk The Child another 2 miles to his school bus stop. Had this occurred last week, I'd probably be institutionalized by now.

So although my original intent was to present The Car as yet another "issue" that I have to deal with, actually, The Car is on my side. It's cheap, reliable, considerate and cute.

And if I really stretch my perception, there's a positive side to all of this. The job loss will create an unprecedented opportunity for adventure. My sister's illness provides reminder of the fleeting nature of life and the wisdom of living each day to the fullest. The court case takes the problems between father and son out of my hands. So far, the father's unreasonable behavior has resulted in no visitation rights, not even supervised, which makes The Child happy. If I really wanted to, I could refinance that 15-year mortgage to a 30-year with lower payments, but I choose to hold onto my current loan with its 4.5% interest rate.

And besides, I've always wondered what it would be like to work at Wal-Mart.....

The Blizzard of '08

OK, I stand corrected. Spring is NOT here, and winter prevails. This is the most snow I have witnessed since my childhood in upstate New York.




The blowing of the blizzard has added to the effect of the snow, creating impressive drifts.




My chances of traversing this driveway anytime soon (in my low-to-the-ground Honda Civic) are slim to none.




It would be easy to lose the dog in such massive snow. After a brief romp he was ready to retreat to his warm bed.

I thank my lucky stars that my house hasn't suffered a power outage like some houses in the area have. Amazingly, my cable and internet access are also unaffected by the extreme goings-on outdoors. And in an act of utter defiance, the amaryllis began blooming today.

spring thaw

Three days ago, this was the scene outside of my front door. Most of us around here have grown weary of the storm warnings and weather alerts. Still, there's no denying the pristine beauty.

This was what my house looked like.

Today it's challenging to find any remaining snow or ice. I placed The Child's snowboard and saucer sled back in storage.

Notice the narrow ribbon of stubborn snow on the edge of the woods. Is it my imagination, or is the grass looking slightly green?

Most of the world outside of my house today looks like this- devoid of any hint of winter. I spied a chipmunk scurrying about, hopeful that his world was coming back to life. I imagine his legs were a bit stiff, but his speed belied that notion.