Wednesday, August 26, 2015

Transition - AKA -" RIGHTS OF PASSAGE"

       It's that time of year: Happy Birthday
Kathleen Nora!
 
       Just a little footnote to my last post: I did not remember where the picture I USED CAME from.  I now know that it is of a very old clock on a street in Czechoslovakia. 
 
       It was time.  Could feel it in my bones.  Husband of 47 years and I are down sizing, as they say.  (And as you may recall my feelings  about that last phrase, I do and will keep my promise to tell you who these powerful, trend setting "they" are the nanosecond that I find out.)
       Out of context, of course, the word is meaningless.  Are we losing weight?  Cutting down on the number of group meetings we attend?  Having a spine disc removed?  What?  In the interest of clarity, I am using this feckless word in its "living quarters" application.  We reluctantly admitted that we simply cannot do what we did easily in the past.
       MIND: ultimate IRONY - when the productive, 'take-care-of-things', travel long distances by car with four children and a dog years are finally over and you have the time and spirit, this body with nothing but time and holds us captive, screams at the mention of motion.
       It made sense, then, to have a smaller house, less property, fewer 'things' and consequently more energy without physical complaints.  Lists were made - what stays, what goes; locations debated (where do the majority of grand kids live?); budgets discussed and a decision (with the help of a loan officer son-in-law) was made to build a ranch-style - tweaked with touches of Southern Italy - in Suffolk Virginia. I guess you might say it's the last development frontier in South Hampton Roads.  Or you could say, "what's a Suffolk"?  Or nothing. Probably the most sensible option.
       You are correct in surmising that all of the above activities were conducted while seated. Then, when "Let's make the list happen" time came, I, our beagle and, of course, Do Tell, my frog, were left with the happening.
       Just going through the 'what stays' was a protracted, bumbling trek down ole memory lane.  Organizing books provided a natural order of our life histories - pre and post marriage.  A true fan of the 20's, I relived all of my favorite buddies' worlds.  Still enamored of Dorothy Parker's humor and writing style, I also relived the frustration of never being able to master her 'story-within-a-story' technique.
       Had I been able to, I could  use this juncture to seamlessly slide into the reactions to  the "For Sale" sign erection by the neighbors as well as the neighbors themselves.  Some smiled wanly, murmuring expressions of sadness before dashing home for an evening of toasting cocktails, culminating in what must have been their shared erections.
       But, alas, I am constrained to the vagaries of meetings, glossing over a myriad of decorating books, and all of the other non-fun aspects of downsizing with the exception of our book, "The Tome of Plans for the Leavy Erection Residence".  Most of the decorating books stress the importance of a home having good bones.  More concerned with our bones, we invested healthily in plush carpeting and Cork wood plank flooring.
      It is hoped that the massage tubs will be entertaining rather than therapeutic.  If ever in our 'hood', you definitely have an invite - no, a RIGHT to pass into our little courtyard, share a transitional toast and a few laughs under the grapevine-covered pergolette.  Salute!
Later, Lorane. . . .
      
    
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