Crying Uncle

OK. I get it. I am not in control.

I move across the country because my husband has the call.

I move into a temporary house, and I weather the storm.

I put in an offer on a short sale, and wait... and wait... and wait... for it to close.

We move in, and work hard to surmount all that Murphy and his damned law throw our way.

I pray and pray and pray that our home in Louisiana will sell.

We finally get and accept an offer. This week.

And then...

Yesterday.

A geiser. In the master bathroom. Flooding through the ceiling down to the living room below.

Water. Everywhere.

A new ceiling. New hardwood? New carpet? New plumbing.

Calls to the insurance company. Trying to answer questions about the catastrophe 1000 miles away.

No idea what's going to happen to the offer... the SIGNED offer PENDING INSPECTION... scheduled to close the end of this month.

I realize that there are people facing worse things. Earthquakes and tsunamis and nuclear disaster, for instance.

But still...

please.

I am waving the white flag.

I am crying uncle.

Enough already.

Big Girls Do Cry

**warning - small spoiler alert for Ramona and Beezus**

Tears streamed down my cheeks. I glanced over at The May Queen, and she quickly looked away from me. Bagged crying again, I thought. But then I heard her sniff. She was crying, too. Her knees were pulled in to her chest. I lifted the arm separating our cinema seats, and rested my hand gently on her shoe. I thought she might cuddle into me, but she didn't.

For the rest of the movie she laughed, a little, but not nearly as full heartedly as she had before.

When the movie ended, we walked out, hand in hand.

What made you sad? I asked. I thought I knew, but I wanted to make sure I didn't go delving into stuff that hadn't bothered her.

When the cat died, she sniffed, and began crying again. I picked her up and held her while she wept. Wept. People walked by us, looking both sympathetic and curious.

I'm not sure if it was only the cat dying, and her thinking about OUR cats dying, as she said. Maybe it was that Ramona was probably going to have to move, and we have just moved away from her friends and her house and her school and the only life she's known. Maybe it was the fighting parents. I suspect that, like me, a sad point in a movie gave her a chance to cry and release all sorts of emotions we've been struggling with for weeks. These past few have not been easy. So yes, it's the cat, but it's so much more...intangible things that had everything and nothing to do with the movie.

Regardless, my child has cried over her first movie.

And I forgot to pack the tissues.

When it rains... it floods

So we have this house that we're staying in, for free, until we're able to buy a house here. It's smaller than our old house, so we planned to leave approximately 1/2 of our belongings in boxes, which we unloaded directly into the basement.

When the movers left at about 6:30 Friday night we were whipped, and went out to eat. When we returned home my husband went down to the basement to discover water. Everywhere. Several inches deep in some places. You know, those places where our boxes were.

We've been on damage control for the last 24 hours. Every box has been examined, and any box that was wet has been unpacked, with the contents spread out to dry. Miraculously enough, we managed to save just about everything, except a few magazines (which, truth be told, we didn't try to save). The sump pump has been replaced, the basement floor mopped and bleached, and all of our belongings now sit on pallets, raising them several inches off of the floor, in case that new pump doesn't do the trick.

I still have no idea where my pots and pans are. It took me until about an hour ago to get the smoke detectors to stop beeping (the batteries were dying, and then the replacement batteries were apparently also too weak).

And as if all of this weren't enough... while we were out to eat on Friday that storm that soaked our basement knocked out the power in the restaurant where we were eating, and at my in-laws. They aren't due to have power again until late Sunday night. So my MIL, FIL, and SIL (plus her two dogs) are also staying here, because my FIL can't sleep without his breathing machine.

I'm trying to keep positive, but I have to admit, this song keeps coming to mind:

Moving

I stood in the kitchen, staring at the cabinets. I thought If I just look at the cabinets and the counter, everything seems normal. I let my mind swim blankly for a moment, took a deep breath, and looked up. Past the kitchen counter was the living room, which was decidedly NOT normal. The couches and chair were gone, blue padding crisscrossed the hardwood floors, and assorted boxes and other furniture awaited loading onto the truck rumbling away in front of my house.

That was two days ago. Now everything I own is currently inside of a semi, which is somewhere between here and there. I'm in a hotel room outside of Nashville with The May Queen and two fairly pissed off cats.

And I'm exhausted.

We have not sold the house, but someone at our new church in Michigan has a house that THEY haven't sold, and are allowing us to live there until we can buy. It all came about very quickly, and I'm still spinning from the flurry of activity that led up to where I am now.

I did get in one fabulous trip into the city with friend, a trip that include dinner uptown, music on Frenchmen Street, a trip to some bars in the quarter I had never been to, and one I had, watching the tourists make idiots of themselves on Bourbon Street, an early morning snack, and a return home at 4:30am. Now THAT'S a proper good-bye to NOLA.

I got in some good farewells with some friends, and just didn't have time to even check in with others, and feel a bit like I skipped town.

I'm excited and sad and basically just emotionally whiplashed, but haven't had much time to actually FEEL anything amid the long list of things to get done.

And now... it's time to sleep.

Here I Am

Here I am to worship
Here I am to bow down
Here I am to say that you're my God

This morning I sat in a strange sanctuary, singing these familiar words, as tears streamed down my face. The May Queen watched, confused. She snuggled in beside me.

Last week we bid our farewell to our congregation here. There was a big goodbye BBQ, and a final service. It was a bittersweet celebration of our time there and a sending off to our new home and calling. During the service last week I sang with the praise team for the last time, and looked out over the faces of the congregation that has been my family these last five years.

Don't you just hate goodbyes? We had a weekend full of them. It was hard. But today was even harder.

My husband flew to Michigan on Wednesday and is already a part of our new congregation.

But I am still here.

Our national church body has rules. Once the pastor has said his (or her) farewells, the family needs to leave as well. I understand the rules, and how they allow the congregation to move on, etc. Prolonged goodbyes are hard.

But I also don't understand the rules. Not only was that congregation my husband's job, it was MY congregation. The youth volunteers I organized, the kids I led in song at VBS, the praise team that I sang with (and laughed with) each week, the women with whom I studied the bible and prayed. My friends. Like any family things weren't always perfect. But there was grace and much love.

I nearly didn't go to any church this morning. I had a bevy of excuses, not the least of which was that as a pastor's wife I don't ever get to just decide "I feel like sleeping in today." I also had an open house to clean for.

But it was Sunday. I knew I needed to be in worship. The body of Christ is larger than one congregation. I picked a church, and a service, the night before. I had a hard time sleeping last night, and lay in bed this morning praying.

And I got up, got dressed, and went to worship.

It was harder than I imagined. But I showed up, and I'm glad I did. The sermon was on obedience, and quite timely for me, as I struggle to obediently follow the call we've heard from God.

I knew I needed to worship. It wasn't an easy worship this morning. Not at all. It was a broken hallelujah, to be sure.

But... I was there to worship, to bow down, to say that you're my God...

wishing and hoping and thinking and praying

I'm not beyond performing a little Catholic Voodoo (as Rima refers to it), even if I am Lutheran. We buried St. Joseph a week ago.
Do you think St. Joseph would approve of the champagne I have chilling in the fridge, waiting for the offer to come?

adrift

Today the Big Guy got on a plane for Michigan.

The May Queen and I are still here. We are trying to sell this house. Tomorrow it will have been on the market for 7 weeks.

We've sold two houses before; both in California, both during the housing bubble. We put them on the market, the next day we had lookers, and the following day we had offers at or above our asking price.

We knew it wouldn't happen that quickly this time. But we never imagined that we'd reach the point where The Big Guy was heading to Michigan and we wouldn't be under contract yet. That we wouldn't have a date set for when The May Queen and I would join him.

I was supposed to be teaching camp this week and next, but due to low enrollment, I was downsized. The good news is that The May Queen still gets to go for free. I'm trying to take advantage of the time to get some things done, visit with friends, and enjoy a bit of Louisiana while I still can. But it's throwing me off. I had imagined teaching camp, then maybe having a week or two to close up shop, and then making the move.

I'm not teaching. And there's no end in sight.

I am at sea.

(and a sea filled with oil, at that)

Saying Yes to Michigan

I was born and raised in Michigan. I graduated high school there. I worked my summers there during college. I met my husband there, and we were married there. Then, a week after the wedding, the moving trucks came. They took us to Philadelphia. Later trucks moved us to Los Angeles, California's central valley, and then to here... north of New Orleans.

Later this summer, a truck will move us back to Michigan.

I won't technically be moving "home," although my husband will come darn near close. In high school he worked two jobs in our new town, a small island community southeast of Detroit.

It's a twist in our narrative I didn't see coming. Nearly 6 years ago, when we ended up moving here instead, it was contemplated... being closer to family as The May Queen grew up had its appeal.

We've made a home here in a way we haven't anywhere else. We love New Orleans, and Louisiana. We've stuck through some pretty rough times here.

The reasons are never simple, but the simplest reason for our move back is the health of my in-laws. Both of my husband's parents have had strokes in the last 6 months. My sister in law closed up her home in Massachusetts to move in with them and help care for them (she started a blog about her journey, you can travel Through the Looking Glass and give her encouraging words if you feel so inclined). We feel a need to be closer to help with the care and the decisions. To give the May Queen more time with her grandparents.

We will also be closer to my family... the May Queen will be about an hour from her cousins, and another half an hour will bring her to my parent's home. I still have dear friends there from high school and my days at camp, and although they won't be next door neighbors, I am looking forward to reconnecting with them more than once a year.

Autumn. I can honestly say I am looking forward to fall.

There are good things about this move. But there are big questions, too. What will the new town be like, and will I fit in there? How will I break into yet another theatre community, one that appears quite smaller than the one here. Can I handle snow again?

I'm trying to be excited about the new possibilities. But honestly? I'm tired. And a bit scared. And quite a bit sad.

Yes is not always an easy word to say.

____________
When I was a child there was a marketing campaign with the jingle "Say Yes to Michigan! Say yes, yes, yes, say Yes!"

I couldn't find that song, but this was obviously part of the same campaign.

Buying and Selling

So we're moving. Which means that we are selling our home, and buying a new one.

The markets here and there are quite different.

We painted most of our home beige. We moved out furniture to try to make things look bigger. We replaced some light fixtures to look more modern. We keep our house darn near spotless for potential buyers. We had our home pre-inspected and then went about fixing most of the problems we found, from the air conditioning (new coil and condenser, thank you) to the latches on closet doors. (A bonus in all of this is I am discovering that I can do all sorts of things around the house myself, like fixing the closet door that we rolled a handheld weight in front of for YEARS to keep the cats from opening. 10 minutes and a screwdriver were all it took). We have put our home at a lower price than comparable ones in our neighborhood because we do not have granite countertops and a tiled floor.

The houses we looked at in Michigan (We're moving to Michigan! Sorry... didn't mean to keep that a big secret... you all keep asking... I'll have to write a post soon on the how and why of all that) were much different. Not a single one was freshly painted. Many had lots of old wallpaper (a huge "no-no" according to our agent here) and nearly all had linoleum flooring in the kitchen (Horrors! Oh wait, so does our home...). Only a few had updated kitchens.

We have put in a contingent offer on a home, and just got the inspection back. There were quite a few things wrong with the house. In the market here, I know our agent would encourage us to fix everything the buyer asked for. Up there... we are only asking for the safety issues (one of which is HUGE... sagging ceilings in the whole home. A deal breaker). Asking for anything else would be considered crazy, greedy. (and it's not like houses up there are flying off the market. They sit and sit. In case you haven't heard, the economy in Michigan sucks)

We have spent, literally, THOUSANDS of dollars improving our home to help with the sale. I have put in hundreds of hours of personal labor. But the home owners where we are headed, where we are buying, have not. The market there is just different. The expectations are not the same.

The good news is: homes there are cheaper. And maybe that has something to do with it, but I don't think it does.

Ultimately, I think I like their way better (I'll paint the house the colors I want, anyways). I just wish it were reversed.

(We have a family that seems very interested in home... have asked for information on our yearly energy bills, etc. We're really praying an offer comes in soon. Any prayers and good vibes you could send our way will be much appreciated)

A broken hallelujah

Last night I went down to Frenchmen Street to hear John Boutte. After 2 years of Jazz Fest performances I've wanted to hear him in a smaller venue, and am thrilled I got to do it before I leave. I sat on the wooden floor and watched and listened. The thing about John Boutte that gets me - it got me from the back of a huge tent at Jazz Fest and it got me from 5 feet away in a tiny bar - is how every song he sings is personal. You can see the connection he makes to every single song... each heartbreak and each triumph, each question and each proclamation. It's written all over his face, right through his body, and out through the tambourine he holds in his right hand.

At this year's Jazz Fest he sang Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah. I sat in the tent with tears streaming down my face. I knew that it very well could be my last Jazz Fest, or at least my last Fest as a Louisiana resident.

Love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

I seem to be drawn lately to an exploration of finding the joy even in the sorrow. Of celebrating the good among the bad, hard things. I don't know that I'm doing it well, but I'm trying. Because I want to experience this joy; here and now. But I also need to honor the fact that I am mourning. These things are not mutually exclusive.

I have to put on a fairly happy face about this upcoming move. And there are good things about it, there are. But most of my time, outside of this blog, is spent behind the mask composed of mostly the good things. so here... here I am doing some mourning. Thank you for bearing with me.

It doesn't matter which you heard
The holy or the broken Hallelujah

He sang Hallelujah again last night. It was even more beautiful. Later I bought two more of his CDs, which I had signed. And then we went out onto the street. Where a band was playing and people were dancing. Somewhere in the festivities I managed to lose my car key. My husband had to come and rescue us.

Still, it was a wonderful evening. New Orleans magic.

And I keep singing...

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Compulsion

I have been overcome with a sudden desire to purchase every New Orleans thing I see. If it has a fleur de lis, I want it. Tshirts, magnets, jewelry. New Orleans artwork and photographs. Foodstuff. CDs. Christmas ornaments. Books.

I want to grab hold of this place and not let go. To take with me all that I can get my hands on.

For the most part, I've managed to control myself. Except for the CDs. My CD collection has grown a lot in the last month or so.

I will probably give in a bit here at the end. Buy a few of the things I keep coming back to.

I'm afraid, though, that if I take too much of NOLA with me... if I hang too much of it on my walls, around my neck, from my Christmas tree... that it will make me more heartsick. Do I need that kind of constant reminder of what I've left behind? How will I embrace my new home if I am constantly yearning for the old? Who will understand these earrings outside of New Orleans?

I can't put NOLA in a box. I can't wrap her in paper and hope she doesn't break, then take her out and install her in Michigan. New Orleans is here.

And in my heart. Always in my heart.

Good fences, good neighbors?

Hurricane Katrina knocked down much of the wooden fence in our backyard. When we were putting it back up we decided to put in a gate between our house and the neighbor's house. That way, we reasoned, the girls could go back and forth between the yards without going around the front. However, after we got the posts and cross beams up, we decided we rather liked having no fence there at all, and left it. It remained that way for 4 1/2 years.

We walked through the open space many, many times. For crawfish boils and Easter egg hunts. Games of hide and seek and and tag and soccer. Even a Louisiana snowball fight. The first time I ever ate raw oysters I was summoned to the neighbor's back deck.

We would see the neighbors outside playing and send the May Queen out to play, too.

Now that our house is for sale, the fence has had to be completed. A wooden wall now divides us from the neighbors. Even the area for the gate was filled in. No hinges.

They say that good fences make good neighbors. We found that no fence made the best neighbors of all.

An Owl on the Side of my Road

I was driving home this evening, about 11:30pm and saw a sight I've never seen in my neighborhood: an owl. The bird was sitting atop a sign, looking away from me. I nearly missed seeing it.

Nearly 2 years ago, around The May Queen's 6th birthday, we had a hawk visiting our backyard. Several commenters wrote about the associations and meanings assigned to hawk visitations. So I decided to see what an owl is supposed to represent.

It may be a symbol of mourning and desolation,"a bird of ill omen".

OK... I'm about to make a move across (up?) the country, and am in a bit of mourning about it. Ill omens are not welcome.

The owl could be seen as a keeper of a spirit, "winging it's newly freed soul from the physical world into the realm of spirit".

As far as I know no one close to me has died today.

According to Native Americans an owl can indicate either insight or deception.

Clear as mud.

Of course, everyone is familiar with the idea of an owl as being wise.

I don't feel particularly wise these days. Rather, I feel frazzled, unsure, and fraying at the seams.

I'm not particularly superstitious. I suppose I can wait and see how things play out and then assign this owl the meaning that fits. Regardless, it was a beautiful and haunting sight, this owl on the side of my road.

Thank You for Singing

I stood in the back of the room and watched as their names were called. The students came forward and were handed their rolled up diplomas. They posed and (hopefully) smiled for their parents, eagerly and hungrily snapping pictures. Then they returned to their seats where the rolled diplomas quickly became spyglasses, trumpets, and even guns.

Yesterday the preschool where I work had its first ever "Stepping Up" ceremony for the 4 year olds.

At the end of the ceremony the 40 or so kids stood at the front, singing the words we sang together at the end of every music class I've taught there over the last 4 years:

(to the tune of Frere Jaques)
Goodbye Friends, Good Friends
Time to Go, Time to Go
Thank You for Singing, Thank You for Singing
Love You So, Love You So.

I stood in the back of the room, signing along with tears in my eyes. Because the kids aren't the only ones moving on. I will never again sit in a circle with those kids, singing those words. Waving goodbye. The hugs and the high-fives that followed will go to another teacher next year.

I fell into the job when the previous teacher moved on to a full time job, and the director of the preschool asked if I was interested. I protested with my lack of formal music training. She said she knew I could sing and do hand motions. And that I would love the kids.

And I have loved those kids. True, there were days I wanted to duct tape a few of them to a chair. But even those kids... I have loved them. It has been a joy to watch them grow. It has also been a joy to watch the teachers who work with them. If you haven't thanked a preschool teacher lately, do it today. It takes an amazing kind of person to do that job.

It has been a gift to me to share music with so many children. One morning as I left for school I said to my husband "I'm off to instill a love of music in small children." I hope that I have. They have helped deepen mine.

Operation Beige - the reveal

I have been working for some time on an undercover operation. I will later write more about it, but these pictures will let you know what's been in the works.

From this...to this...



From this...
to this...


From this...to this...


From this...to this...



From this...to this...



From this...to this...

From this...to this...


From this...
to this...


AND FINALLY...

THIS...

all original color photos from this tour of my colorful home. All current photos are now Sherwin Williams Biscuit... aka "beige," except the previously polka dot bathroom, which is now simply white. And for the record, I did NOT paint any ceilings beige.