The Apocalypse, Books and Selling my House

I have stripped my house of so much stuff over the past year it looks naked. And I can’t believe I’m about to say that I kind of like the look. My library, though, still has eleven feet of totally empty bookshelves in it and my crafting and guest room just has an area rug, a small keyhole desk and two running board picnic baskets (circa 1910), one sitting on top of the other. Both of these rooms are actually bedrooms so the openness should help buyers visualize them that way. The open shelves in my guest bathroom that once housed a large collection of seashells now has neatly folded towels and covered baskets. The living room without the roll top desk, without eight pieces of art including three sculptures and without my husband’s collection of vintage western memorabilia it looks a lot less Old West. But because I still have six large prints on the walls---three of contemporary Native Americans and three of contemporary cowboys---the living and dinning rooms now look more New American West. A staging company would take them all down and put up a nondescript cityscape or an over-sized sunburst made of gold gilded plastic. I’m sorry, but if people are so dumb that they can’t look past my artwork to see their own stuff on the walls, then they’re too dumb to live here. (And yes, a staging company who gave me a quote last year raved about what the sunburst could do for my room, a sunburst I've seen a dozen times on HGTV and I disliked that lady from the minute she stepping into my house.)

In my dinning room, though, I still have all my keeper books that tells a story of who lives here---a no-no according to staging companies. Screw the staging companies! It’s a seller’s market. Besides, it’s not like I have a collection of military manuals for Navy SEALS or Delta Forces on Fifty Ways to Kill a Person or books on how to dissect and dispose of bodies from Psycho Press. No prepper books on how to live through an apocalypse either. Although I just finished reading a series of seven books by Kyla Stone that has me thinking I need a few. 

Ohmygod, those books were the perfect thing to keep me distracted from obsessing about my own life. The series is based on the premise that a high altitude nuclear bomb detonation caused an electromagnetic pulse that destroyed all the power grids and fried anything with computer chips in them---cars, planes, communications, media  and medical devices; sewer, power and water treatment plants, gas station and food distribution hubs. Even modern generators. All of it rendered useless across America and beyond.

 I’ve read a few dystrophy books in the past year but these books were set in my home state, all over the state, and featured a nasty-ass militia group not unlike our real-life militia group that tried to kidnap our governor because the candy-asses didn't want to wear masks during the pandemic. The books were action packed and full of villains and good guys and instructions for how to do things like build a solar powered oven, make hand-warmers and convert a mop pail and a swimming pool noodle into a toilet.

Threaded through the first five books a girl who’d been held in a basement prison for five years by a psychopath escaped when the power grid went out. It was in the dead of winter in the middle of the national forest and she was eight months pregnant. Yup, the psychopath was tracking her when her path crossed with an x-Delta Force guy armed to the teeth who was trying to get to his cabin in the middle of no where to ride out the chaos. It was just a little light, bedtime reading that made me forget to worry about how much my life is about to chance.

It’s a good thing so much of my reading fare is on my Kindle because I do wonder what kind of impression I’d make if someone were to see the titles of the books I’ve been reading since the pandemic started. Looking at my shelves of "real" books sitting in plain sight of the herd of Lookie-Loos who will invade my house in a few days, I’ve combed over the titles for anything that might turn off a perspective buyers. The staging companies turn all your titles to the back so no on can read them. Joanna Gaines on HGTV does that too when she does a remodel reveal. Drives me crazy. If the home owner doesn’t read, don’t use books for props, Joanna! I only turned one title to the wall, a book about back alley abortions that was written before Roe vs Wade and helped push the issue up to the Supreme Court.

It crossed my mind to dust that book with baby powder like I used to do with my diary when I was a teenager so I could tell if my brother touched it. The joke was on me because my brother was smart enough to know where my mom kept the baby powder. But a snoopy person wondering what I’m hiding with the title not showing probably wouldn’t notice that my Nancy Drew detective trick was in play. Just to be clear, I’m kidding. I’m not going to set up a trap. If a Right-to-Lifer finds that book she/he will steal it to destroy it like they do with pro-choice library books in my part of the county. That's the reason why I didn't donate to the library with my other women's history books. 

 Over the years my husband and I had looked at a dozen or two houses for sale and only once did a person’s art and reading influenced us enough to seriously consider putting in an offer. The guy was elderly and had drawn and written over every square inch of his walls in the style of William Blake. Mythical little creatures and poetry, so mind-blowingly strange and beautiful we wouldn’t have wanted to paint over it or to live with. We thought about cutting the walls out and selling sections as art. We researched him, hoping he was famous enough that his "walls" could end up paying for the mortgage. No such luck. His walls were also not sheet rock but rather the old style plaster lath and they would have fallen apart if you tried to preserve sections of it.

Over the years we’d often wondered what happened to the art inside. I used to tell my husband that when I got to be his age I was going to throw convention to the winds and do the same thing with my walls. He’d scowl at me, trying to gauge if I was serious. I never told him that if I had half the talent that old guy had I would have done it in heart beat and not wait until I'm the age I am now, but I’m not so the walls in my new place are safe. ©

 "Enlightenment means taking full responsibility for your life." 

William Blake 

 

William Blake, an artist and poet who was often labeled insane, genius and prophet all rolled into one.

The Grand Tour and the Books I’ve Been Reading

I don’t sleep well at night anymore---damn pandemic and moving related stress---so I read from 10 PM to 12:30ish when I take a sleeping pill. Currently I’m reading book three of an eight part series by S.W. Hubbard called The Palmyrton Estate Sale Mysteries series. I’m thoroughly hooked and know I’ll end up reading them all. I’ve never been a fan of the mystery genre but this series centers around a woman who owns an estate sales business and she’s talking my language of art and antiques, architectural history, social norms history, collectibles and downsizing---with a little murder and mayhem thrown in. Some of the books are billed as read-all-night-mysteries, some are billed as psychological thrillers but the first two are labeled ‘romantic psychological thrillers’. A long-time fan of the romance genre, I was looking for something a little different in my Kindle Unlimited subscription which is how I happened on these books. I just remembered, at one point over the past few years I was hooked on series of books written in a dog’s voice. I don’t even remember the author or the dog’s name but that dog helped a private investigator solve crimes. So I guess I have read more in the mystery genre that I originally owned up to. I was thinking of the Agatha Christie type books that I tried to like but I just couldn’t get into. Back then I decided anything set in England and/or by an English author I would avoid like walking barefoot through a fire ant hill.

But I broke that English-author-set-in-England rule recently when I read another romantic psychological thriller by Keri Beevis Every Little Breath which I read because I follow her on Facebook for her daily laugh-out-loud memes and I get so much pleasure out of them that I felt should at least try one of her books. I have since read two more of her thrillers. They are definitely creeper than Ms. Hubbard’s books and I’ve decided I need to learn the ‘code words’ that reviewers and publishers of this genre use because I don’t want to get too deep into the minds of sadists and serial killers but I also don’t want to work too hard to decipher the subtle nuances of old-school mystery writers who seem to unfold clues in slow motion, boring me out of my ever-loving mind. Romance reviewers have ‘code words' like “sweet”, “hot” and “steamy." “Sweet” meaning the bedroom door slams shut after the couple swap a little spit but with “steamy” you get a play-by-play of everything that happens when couples get their faces down in each other’s crotches. “Hot” is full of verbal foreplay and totally tricked out alpha guys. Too much information?  Yup. Sometimes you just have to skip right over some of that stuff like I’m guessing some readers of hard-core psychological thrillers do when someone is getting sliced and diced.

Moving on: I went on a hard hat tour of the campus I’ll be moving into. After taking us through a fully furnished model unit and some of the public areas the Sales Director I’ve been working with since this whole process started decided to take my niece, me and the others on an impromptu tour through my unit. As we walked through the door, we were all wowed by the light coming in window area at the end of my living space. It wasn’t even a sunny day but at 3:30 the wonderful light came in from three sides. It was amazing! I could picture my painting easel sitting in that north light. I could picture my writing desk sitting in that north light. In the model they had a desk sitting in front of the window in their office so I’m rethinking the whole computer hutch against the wall idea, taking my time on that decision which might have me working on a card table for a while but, that’s okay. Wouldn't be the first time.

The photo at the top is of the apartment model. My unit will have the same flooring, the same subway tiles, cupboards and appliances. My counter tops will be a darker gray than this place has and I don't have an island. Where the island is I'll have my Amish Oak table and chairs with my restored oak ice box on the wall to the left. (That will be my food pantry.) When I first saw this photo I was bummed out because above the cupboards is solid with no place to display anything. But when the Sales Director took me to my unit she pointed out that in my unit it's open....just like I prefer. Not sure what will go up there yet but I have several possibilities---my 1940s sand and beach tin toys which are colorful or my tin whaling and ship lamps which have interesting shapes but no color but they'd go good with the stainless steel appliances.

The walls in my unit are painted and the kitchen and bathroom cabinets are in but the countertops and flooring are not. We borrowed a tape measure from a workman and measured a couple of places that were stressing me out and now I know what will fit in those two places. I was happy with almost everything I saw except for where they put the intercom. I had wanted to put a mirror there but to look into it I’d have to stand on my toes. But what a great day I had. After the tour my niece and I went out to dinner. I hadn’t seen her since last summer and since we’ve both been fully vaccinated we could be in the car together and in the booth at the restaurant without our masks. The taste of freedom was in the air. If people keep getting vaccinated we could all be mask free by the fall. ©

Books and my Killing Spree

Some people bungee jump or go sky diving or do other dangerous things to get an adrenaline rush. I kill wasps while being allergic to bees. They’ve taken up residence under my siding near my front door and close to the ground where I can’t spray up under the aluminum to get at them properly. I put on a long sleeve jacket with a high collar, a hat, gloves and safety goggles (mainly to keep from accidentally spraying Raid in my eyes) and I keep Benadryl on the countertop just in case I get stung. I’ve only managed to kill seven wasps and I leave their tiny bodies stacked up where they fell out of the nest hoping it will act as an eviction notice to the others flying in and out above their dead comrades.  So far, it’s not working as a psychological deterrent.

Why didn’t I think of this before but---duh!---I just researched the nasty beasts on the internet and I found a couple things to try before I give up and call an exterminator or end up killing myself via wasp venom. I’ve got to buy a 2 liter bottle to make a homemade bait trap and hang it near-by with something sweet inside like honey, wine or pop. Evidentially this time of the year they are always looking for sugar to bring back to the nest. And if that doesn’t work I can get a can of DW-40 that has a little plastic attachment that can shoot the oil up under the shingles where they go in. Supposedly you do it at night when they’re all back in the nest doing whatever they do in the dark and I hope that’s not making whoopee leading to more flying death machines. I’m starting to hate home-ownership and if anyone had told me I’d get to this point I would have poo-pooed them. I’ve been a homeowner since I was twenty-seven. But this year I’ve finally had enough of dealing with maintenance woes, and that’s in no small part due to the pandemic when we went months without being able to hire help.

Okay, I promised myself I would write a post without mentioning the unmentionables hanging over everyone’s heads---the pandemic, politics and---well, the pandemic and politics. Blah, blah, blah and you all know how to translate that so enough said on those topics. But first let me add that unmentionable number one is keeping me at home and without outside stimulation to think or write about it's making Jean a boring writer, and unmentionable number two is making Jean a grumpy writer. So my advice is to turn off your computer and go outside and read. That’s what I’ve been doing non-stop which, of course, I shouldn’t be doing when I have so many other things lined up on my Downsizing and Moving Job List.

My reading is out of control. I figured that out when I realized that I’ve got three books going all at once and am lusting after a new book by one of my favorite authors that's due out tomorrow. With Book One, Steve King’s The Stand, I’m reading a chapter or two every late afternoon while sitting on the deck. It’s the unabridged addition at 1,436 pages. If I ever finish it, it will be the longest book I’ve ever read knocking The Goldfinch (771 pages) from that claim-to-fame in the life of this suburbanite. The Stand is about a pandemic that wipes out 99% of the world’s population. Yup, I know…you don’t have to say it.

Book Two I’ve been reading at bedtime and it's Jill Biden’s Where the Light Enters. I’ve read every book by every First Lady in modern history and while Jill isn’t a First Lady---yet, fingers crossed---she was and still is officially called a Second Lady of the United States. Being a long-standing college professor of English Composition at least we can be pretty sure she didn’t use a ghost writer. The Third Book I’m reading is what I call a popcorn/smut book. It’s official genre is called a Special Forces/Military Romance which means they're fill with action/adventure and violence mixed with raw and very detailed sex and sometimes I skip those pages if they drone on too long and I want to get back to the plot, which leads me to believe that the guys who claim they only read Playboy for the articles could be telling the truth. (I should have used the past tense in that sentence since Playboy quit publishing in March.)

The book I’m acquiring tomorrow is one by Pippa Grant. She specializes in silly romantic comedies and I say ‘acquire’ because while I’ve read twelve of her books, most of which are all structured around a hockey team, a baseball team and a shared hometown, I got them free on Amazon Unlimited. I enjoy Amazon Unlimited so much it makes me feel guilty, worrying about whether or not the authors get any money out of the deal. Back to Pippa: it fascinates me how an author goes about writing so many books with interrelated characters occupying the same turf. Can you picture the charts with crisscrossed strings on the wall in her writing nest? Talk about contact tracing! Character A in book three has a walk-on part in book five and Character B goes to the same fundraiser as Characters D, F and P in book seven. As much as her process fascinates me, Pippa's books have no literary value other than to distract me with quick, easy and forgettable reads. I’d drink to that if I drank and that circles me back to my War on the Wasps. A popular movie quote says, “If you build it they will come,” so wish me luck that wasps like Ernest & Juli Gallo’s Cabernet Sauvgnon because that's the only wine I have in the house and it's what I'll use as bait in my bottle trap. ©  

Mercenaries and Toilet Tissue

I’ve been walking around the house singing, “Stop the world and let me off. I’m tiring of going round and round.…” I’ve had those lines suck in my head for days. I can’t remember the rest of the lyrics but I’m pretty sure they don’t have anything to do with a Pandemic or being on a path to environmental suicide or being a flaming liberal living in a country run by an alt-right president. Nope, belting those words out this week may have started as a reaction the Pandemic but on closer examination I found nothing but good memories attached to the song including the first time I was introduced to those lyrics. It was back in 1958 and Patsy Cline was crooning them out from my cousin, Shirley’s record player. It was the summer I was unofficially indoctrinated into the country/western music fan club.

That summer she and her three toddlers were living in a small travel trailer parked behind our cottage, while her husband was overseas in the Army. She was a good singer and in the evenings when she wasn’t playing the likes of Hank Williams or Johnny Cash records she was playing her ukulele and leading us ‘cottage kids’ in sing-alongs. Other nights she’d make a batch of fudge or popcorn that we munched on while we played poker sitting at a picnic table under a single light bulb strung in the trees. It was a good summer of laughter and music and a naive belief that the world would always be that way. Shirley was a beautiful woman back then and not much older than we teens she entertained. Her life filled up with bitterness not long after that summer and I never saw her happy again. “Stop the world and let me off.” If only it was that easy to escape our woes. 

I got my credit card bill for the month when I went crazy reading books on my Kindle. $55 worth of downloads, mostly books about Navy SEALS, Mercenaries and Delta Force military types. I took one look at that $55 and went directly to Amazon and signed up for Amazon Unlimited, hoping I understand the fine print correctly. For $9.99 a month I get to read unlimited books and I can cancel at any time. With the state of our clusterfucked nation I can’t seem to stop reading trash books about muscled-up men who are out to save the world from all the bad guys. I have, however, branched out to other authors than the first one who got me hooked on the “military elite” genre. I'm shocked at how many of them are out there.

Today I had to laugh at myself, though, when I realized I used military lingo in a conversation with my brother: “We need more intel on that” and “copy that” I said in our phone call. If I start swearing like a Navy SEAL please do an intervention. If these books are 75,000 words long (just guessing) at least 7,500 of them are the F word. And if I start planning a trip to California with aspirations of becoming a Frog Hog (aka a slutty woman who sets her goal on bagging a Navy SEAL) handcuff me to a chair in a shrink’s office until I’m cured of turning fictional alpha guys into my safe place. The world doesn't need anymore cougars.

I woke up at 3:30 a few nights ago and couldn’t fall back asleep. My niece is very sick. She says it’s the croup. Her two grandsons had it and she was taking care of them. Then her daughter and son-in-law got it. My brother stopped to visit and he said she was really mad that he walked in the house, fearing that he’d get it too and she made him march right back out. If they all get the coronavirus on top of the croup, when their immune systems are so low---I don’t even want to think about it. Apparently my subconscious mind has no such qualms about doing just that. Since I couldn't stop the world and get off, I grabbed my Kindle at 4:00 and relished the thought that I, too, could be a sniper who gets a clean shot of an international terrorist, making the world one less bad guy safer. Yup, some of the women in those books are as badass as the guys.

Seriously, these books are so out of character for me that I’m afraid to reveal that I’m reading them except to my blogger friends. Not that that’s anything new. I tell you guys things I wouldn’t blurt out in my offline life. For example, I rub my eyes way too often, given the fact that it's one of the ways you can put the coronavirus into your system. It’s eerie how something I’ve probably done subconsciously all my life suddenly becomes a death threat. God, where is my SEAL when I need one? I'm pretty sure he'd have a cure tucked away in one of the pockets of his cargo pants. Oh, yes, you know you're old when you find yourself lusting after what's in a man's pockets rather than what's behind his zipper. (Did I just type that? Ya, I'll do anything if it makes someone laugh.)

I haven’t been to my first senior shopping day yet at the grocery store. Tuesdays and Thursdays between 7:00 AM to 8:00. (Health care workers get other special days and times.) Ohmygod, how am I ever going to get up that early? One of my friends who has gone said most of the shoppers were wearing plastic gloves and the employees were all cleaning floors and the check-out lines. Toilet paper is being limited now that they have it back in stock---why didn't they do that early on? Stories of people helping each other are all over internet and the funny memes about toilet paper are making me laugh right out loud. There’s the bouquet of toilet paper a florist cooked up and an 18-wheeler that had a single pack of toilet paper strapped down on the bed of his trailer going down the expressway. The miniature toilet paper earrings and a cake made to look like a roll of toilet paper both tickled my funny bone. Did you ever think you’d see a day when the world would be obsessing about toilet tissue?  ©