Red Cedar
More apocalypse, less angst
Moving introspection.
Another Monday, another day in the cube. Though I’m not complaining much here – if I wasn’t at work I’d be home among boxes my half-packed apartment. Not to mention the looming stack of paper which needs sorting. At least I’m down to the “important” paper, but still there is a lot of it to be sifted for the gems which must be filed while the rest gets shredded.
And I’m trying to be ruthless this time – since I don’t plan to move again for several years (decades hopefully) – it seems to be the ripe time to get rid of the belongings I have carted around “just because”. My wedding dress from my failed marriage for example. Stereo speakers I ceased using five years ago. Craft supplies that haven’t seen the light of day since I moved back from the Sunshine Coast. Books that I am never going to read. Floor cushions that have crammed at the back of my storage closet. Etcetera, etcetera – I’m sure you all know about it because we are part of a culture with a tendency to hoard and consume, a civilization built on the detrius of who we used to be when we bought this or that item. Purchases being a part of our identity, it is difficult to let go of the past in the form of a piece of clothing or picture-decoration we once loved, but it is impossible to hold onto it all as well.
For the most part, I have not overcluttered my life with things, and the only collection I own is the wall of books, now safely packed away in 20 or so boxes awaiting their move to the new home – but even still there is a lot of life re-examining that goes on with each and every decision in a move. Does this go? Does it not? What does it say about me that I don’t want to do xxx anymore? Am I torching my past if I let go of yyy? What was I thinking when I did or bought this thing? Am I an overconsumer even though I try not to be? And then of course the guilt sets in. All the paper, all the things going into the landfill, all the broken electronics that will end up getting shipped to china for recycling. It’s just too much for me.
This is the twelfth time I’ve moved in eighteen years, and as I was saying to Brian last night, it never gets easier or more fun or faster – but as I get older it provokes a lot more soul-searching. Particularly in the past move where I have moved with no reason other than my own individual desire to move – then you really start to grill yourself on what’s going on and whether you are doing the right thing. At least this time I know why I am moving and I know that it’s the right thing. But it still doesn’t stop my existential consumer angst, my growing older why do I own so much stuff ennui, my change of address one more fucking time crisis. Nope. Moving sucks for all these reasons.
However.
The flip side is a clean start, a new home, an organized bookshelf, nice clean cupboards that are well appointed and set out right, a new bedspread maybe, a new way for my furniture to occupy space, a new yard to work in, and a different view on the neighbourhood and north shore mountains. Not to mention a life joined with my partner’s, and a home we own together. And so, as with every move it’s important to keep that perspective in the midst of the ennui and angst, the crisis of remembering one more phone number. And it’s only 19 sleeps until I stop asking myself those difficult questions, and turn my attention instead to the business of resetting my life one more time.
I am glad to be rid of the wedding dress finally, the unused craft supplies are next to go.
An open love letter.
I woke up this morning feeling incredibly lucky and incredibly in love. A little tired from a late-night at the WISE mind you, I’m trying to get this post out before the patina wears thin and the real exhaustion sets in later today. You know, the not-quite hangover that creeps up around noon? Fortunately I don’t think it’s going to be all that bad.
Which is only one of the reasons I’m grateful at the moment. But really the overwhelming positivity today has much more to do with the relationship Brian and I are creating than whether or not I’m bound to develop a headache after lunch. It’s just been so damn good lately, all of it, and the fact that we’re 23 days away from moving into our new home just makes it all more exciting. Finally, a home together! After a year and half of being together, almost a year of that spent shuttling between homes every other week… we’re so way beyond ready to merge our two households, even three weeks seems interminable. Brian has pretty much packed half of his house already in anticipation.
But it’s not just the house, the house has actually been less on my mind than the way we have been working together lately on putting this life of ours together, the way the relationship has grown little by little, and how every time I think I can’t be more in love or it can’t get better I am proven wrong. Because it just keeps expanding – these feelings of belonging, compassion, gratitude, desire, and hope, continue to envelop me on a regular basis. Rushing over me when I wake up in the mornings beside my lover, when I look at him across the room at a party or in the bar. I am so glad he is the one who belongs with me, so gratified that we crossed paths at the time we did. Which seemed like bad timing in the moment, but turned out better than either of us could have imagined.
The fact that neither of us felt entirely “ready” to enter a new relationship when we arranged to have drinks at Wazubees in September ’07, meant we didn’t rush recklessly into things without getting to know each other. The fact we were delayed by circumstances from living together sooner means that we’ve had lots of discussions about values and goals in the meantime, and are going into a fairly large purchase together without flinching. And the fact that we met when we did – in our mid-thirties – means that we’ve both got some baggage, but that we come with a lot of relationship experience. Enough to know what we don’t want, with a mature sense of how to get what we do want.
In essence, each potential flaw has turned out to be an asset – this mainly I think because we are two people extremely suited to each other in temperment, values and interests – otherwise we would have gone our separate ways pretty early on I’m sure. Brian wouldn’t have rocked the boat with his ex for someone he wasn’t serious about, I wouldn’t have stuck around to see whether he would extricate himself from her if I hadn’t realized he was the right one. And on it goes. Two people meet, and if they are bound to click, then any circumstances can be worked through – the relationship stronger for it.
A couple of weeks ago I read Jose Saramago’s All the Names which I wish I had in front of me because it had a great passage in it about the nature of relationships. In the course of the story, an old woman discusses an affair she had as a younger woman. Her husband had discovered it, and though he stayed on in their marriage it was never the same again. She says, that the person truly harmed wasn’t either of them, but when two people come together they create a third person who is a combination of the two. Angry words, violence, affairs, they may hurt the two original relationship parties – but the third party is the most wounded of all, and it is that “person” who never recovers.
That conception makes sense to me, that idea that love is a co-mingled third personality that has it’s own life in between the originating couple, and that third personality is strengthened or weakened by their actions. Because it has occurred to me on more than one occasion that my relationship with Brian both feels that it flows directly from us, and is also somehow a discreet entity from either of us as individuals. It both supports and directs, even when our individual impulses may be somewhat different or counter to what is the greater good of the relationship – helps us achieve compromise and resolution in order to stay intact.
Whatever it is a couple holds between them – a shining precious orb, or a whole third person huddled there during good and bad times – I am so incredibly grateful to have found someone to create and share that with. And so confident of its potential for longevity, for a lifetime commitment, even though it seems naive to say such things after only eighteen months. But I figure I’ve got the best shot of that with Brian. That we make the best combination I can imagine. That we each have the experience and patience to navigate the difficult bits that are sure to come. That our love for each other is mutual and matched, is healthy and not grasping in the slightest.
Which I suppose is why I feel so damned lucky today and why my blog post turned into an open love letter to Brian, and to the “third” who resides between us. For one who thought she would always be solo, this has been a year and a half of relearning myself and relaxing somewhat into the trust and love which he has offered. The next phase, from that perspective, only seems to promise more of it all, and that makes me count the days. 23 minus one, two, three……
Craigslistin'
Today it’s the lawyer’s office and the end of what has been a pretty roller-coasterish process since December when we put Brian’s house up for sale, and even though we’ve had a few days for it all to sink in, I’m just starting to really accept it now. We’ve got a new house. A new, beautiful house to move into in less than a month!
And so I’m Craigslisting both to give things away, and to find a couple things for our new house. I’m lining up movers, I’m thinking about what can just go in the garbage about now. I’m trying to do this with as little clutter as possible because I want to start clean here. I don’t need to move the files and the old wrapping paper, the wedding dress and the broken mirror around with me anymore. At least I hope I don’t. It borders on a compulsion towards hoarding we don’t have room for at the new house. At least not in the short term while we have to keep the basement free for the renos. We’ll be a little space-tight for the first couple of months, and then all shall even out.
Still and all, it’s time to get rid of some of this stuff.
It’s been awhile since I got into the secondhand furniture and household goods online, and I have to admit I find it highly addictive. Not because I want to buy most things, but because of the opposite reaction which is the wonder at all the ugly furniture that exists out there in the Lower Mainland. Sure, there are some nice pieces, a couple of things I’m even following up on, but 90% of it is ikea or just plain ugly. And I’m not talking about the cheap stuff either, I’m surprised at the horrible fabrics and impractical designs of some of the more expensive stuff listed.
My favourite post by far today is for the six-foot tall metal knight advertised as “a great addition to your decor”. Really? I can only imagine how classy my living room would look with the addition of a man-sized metal statue in the corner. It would be even better, I think if the knight was posed with his sword up in a lancing position, or as though he was about to cut your head off. God damn, some 19-year old boy out in his own apartment for the first time is going to think that’s just the raddest thing ever. I suspect the guy getting rid of it thought the same thing at some point but has now grown up enough to move in with his girlfriend. Getting shagged regularly does require some sacrifice, which means the six foot metal knight has got to go. Fair enough.
What I am actually most fascinated by though is just the sheer volume of stuff that seems to move through Craiglist furniture section in the Lower Mainland. Hundreds of posts per day, refreshing every few minutes to another ten or twenty items. So many people moving. So many relocations and whole apartment sales. So many people upgrading their furniture or selling off a dead relative’s worldy treasures. It’s a bit like the casual encounters section in terms of sheer volume, though much more appropriate for work surfing (I think casual encounters is now actually blocked from my worksite, as are all dating sites) – and people often include little snippets from their lives as they post. “Antique Rocking Chair; Used for both of my children but now they are full grown”, “Sudden relocation to India; Apartment worth of furniture for sale”, “Grandfather recently died; Estate sale”. A little window into the motivation for selling, it helps to bring sympathy to the seller’s side of things.
The posts that bother me the most though, are over in the jewellery section (yes, I admit to wasting some time on Craigslist lately) where beautiful, heirloom pieces are posted for quick sales. Need to pay rent, need to pay for courses, just lost my job. And perhaps none of that is true and it’s all hot jewelery – but just the idea of someone selling their grandmother’s ring in order to make rent or grocery money is pretty distressing. And I suspect there will be more of that as the economy worsens.
I’m hoping out of all of this that I manage to sell off or give away that which I no longer want, and to acquire a small writing table and perhaps a decent wooden highboy for the master bedroom. The trick is quickness on the draw for the good stuff, something that keeps me obessively refreshing as I work on my deadline-project. The eternal hope that Craigslist provides, is getting me through as I wait for our house to finally materialize.
Crossing the threshold.
This is the end note to the last post. A fact I almost knew as I finished writing but wanted to wait on until it was finalized. After all, we have already lost two houses in the search process, why cry wolf one more time?
But today we inked the final papers, after financing and inspection were arranged and completed over the last few days. We removed the subjects and this one is definitely ours. One final step tomorrow and the deposit cheque will be released. Move-in date, April 11 at 2663 William Street.
It’s quite a step above what we were looking for originally – both in price and quality – but once we got down to looking at houses we realized that anything cheap needed tens of thousands of dollars worth of work (if not hundreds) and that financing a house is a whole lot easier than financing renos these days. Lower interest rates made the higher price affordable, and once we put in a suite the financial stuff will work itself out over the next year. Still and all we got a good price on this one given the fact that it’s all been redone and *everything* is brand new in the last five years. That means no unexpected roof repair or hot water tank springing a leak – it’s all recent and under warranty.
Besides all that, the neighbourhood is perfect from a family point of view and only nine blocks from my house now which means I can still walk everywhere I want to go. Huzzah.
It’s nice to have that settled, the house and all, but I’m way more excited about finally getting to live with my sweetie after all this waiting than I am about any particular place. Living in two houses for the last several months has really worn thin for both of us, as has our impatience about not being able to share in household in the way we are both inclined to. The fact we’re getting into this in a month just makes it all the sweeter.
So tomorrow it’s the lawyer with Brian and his ex so we can all sign all the requisite paperwork (she’s a seller on his house so this involves her as well). And then we’re done except for the whole moving in part of things. Out of liminality and into the new space 🙂
Liminal space.
“There are people like Senhor Jose everywhere, who fill their time, or what they believe to be their spare time, by collecting stamps, coins, medals, vases, postcards, matchboxes, books, clocks, sport shirts, autographs, stones, clay figurines, empty beverage cans, little angels, cacti, opera programmes, lighters, pens, owls, music boes, bottles, bonsai trees, paintings, mugs, pipes, glass obelisks, ceramic ducks, old toys, carnival masks, and they probably do so out of something that we might call metaphysical angst, perhaps because they cannot bear the idea of chaos being the one ruler of the universe, which is why, using their limited powers and with no divine help, they attempt to impose some order on the world, and for a short while they manage it, but only as long as they are there to defend their collection, because when the day comes when it must be dispersed, and that day always comes, either with their death or when the collector grows wearing, everything goes back to its beginnings, everything returns to chaos.” Jose Saramago, All the Names
It should come as no surprise to anyone in my life that my least favourite patches of time are those spent in transitional space and liminal (threshold) space. I do extremely well when my life is ordered, patterned, routine; there are buses to catch and jobs to go to; my hair is brushed at the same time every morning right before I sit down to write or eat breakfast; my rent gets paid in the same fashion every month, pulled out of the bank account before I prioritize and pay the bills via my computer; etc. etc. This is definitely where I find the most comfort in my days, and as bland as that might sound, when what’s expected of me is somewhat obvious my mind is much freer to roam and create elsewhere all together. It’s the routine that allows me to explore and create really, I don’t write at all when I’m in chaotic space, I don’t write well when I’m full of questions about other things.
Ever since Brian put his house on the market in December we have felt on the edges of transition, though at the same time static while we waited for the real estate Gods to deliver us a buyer who wouldn’t flail at the last minute or drop the ball on their financing. You know how it goes, “hurry up and wait” while a parade of people tromp through the house every other day and there is always cleaning and animals that need to go in the garage and you wait after every viewing that sounds promising, hoping an offer will come. It’s not even my house – I don’t even live there – and still it has been a stressful and often annoying time due to the fact most people appear nuts to me, and there seems to be a particularly bad strain of them who like to make offers without having their financing arranged in any way beforehand. This is why the first offer we had in December collapsed, and last weekend we finally closed with people who had essentially done the same thing though were in better shape with their down payment. In the end, I am relieved someone bought this place after two and a half months of waiting, but was also annoyed with the buyers for a whole host of reasons including an early possession date which put Brian out of a home within six weeks of the sale.
Of course, this threw us into the all new dilemma of purchasing – something we hadn’t really dreamed we would have trouble with until we realized the paucity of things on the market in East Vancouver these days. It’s either really fancy and very expensive, or really crappy and somewhat expensive. There just isn’t much in the middle, and the odd house that comes up that is only somewhat expensive and pretty good is usually snapped up within 48 hours of going on the market. While most of the city is sitting for months unsold, those rare gems of almost affordable and nicely done don’t have much of a shelf-life. In Grandview-Woodland/Hastings-Sunrise there are some lovely homes if you don’t mind living on 1st, 12th, Broadway, Hastings or Renfrew (all of them highways to “better” neighbourhoods.
So in this context last weekend, feeling pressure to put our hands on something, we offered on a house at 8th and Victoria that we could get for $610,000 and believed needed $30,000 of work or so to be really nice. A bit of a strange location, but a house with lots of space potential and an interesting look about it – we figured we could meet the renovation/landscaping challenge and make a nice home for the three of us. Got the inspection set up, started planning potential renovation ideas with builder friends – nothing official, just setting ourselves up mentally for the tasks that would face us once we moved in. It’s hard not to plan when you think you’ve finally found what you want, and we figured that while the inspection might turn up a few things that would lower our offer, we were nowhere near prepared for the fact that the house had these following (undisclosed) problems: blocked drainage in every part of the house, damaged and clogged gutters, the need to replace all drain tile, rot in the eaves and porches, potential asbestos in the vermiculite insulation, roof tile missing in several areas and a roof that would need taking down to the shims to be redone, knob and tube wiring, probable rot behind two of the bathroom showers, ungrounded outlets, soft walls, and potential foundation damage. No kidding. It was that bad. So bad that we just started to laugh at it part way through – I mean you’ve got to get some enjoyment out of spending $500 on such a dismal venture.
Not only was it disappointing because our desire to purchase the home all but vanished within the first fifteen minutes of the 3 hour inspection, it was also bitter because we felt the seller was well aware of the problems and had wasted both our time and money. The fact that he knew about the vermiculite/asbestos problem came out in a later conversation with the real estate agent, and I expect he just hoped whoever bought it wasn’t going to go for the inspection. I was both stunned and depressed to yet again realize how rotten and dishonest some people can be. (For the reference of Google and y’all, this house is located at 1854 East 8th in Vancouver, BC so don’t be tricked into buying it).
While transitional space gives you room, thresholds are terrible places to get caught. You can see inside the room, or at least envision what is just on the other side of the foyer. But denied entry you are reduced to an angsty wavering, wanting to move one way or the other (to even take a step back seems desirable), unable to “be happy where you are at”. Since December we have had several threshold periods and the rest of it has been transitional without a clear end point. Constant low level and occasional high level anxiety much?
The only good thing about the liminal is it eventually must resolve. Obviously, these are spaces meant to be moved through, and even when the room isn’t quite what you imagined, you will enter it eventually. The dilemma is resolved, the question of what next is answered. There. A door and another threshold awaits.
In the meantime we work to make order out of chaos again and again – at least those like myself who require patterns and habit in order to free intellectually and creatively. I don’t collect matchbooks or stamps, but I do order my life in a way that meets the same need for control over creation (what hubris!) the collectors exhibit. The liminal time has made it impossible lately, has resulted in more psychological angst than I care to admit, which is less about waiting and more about my inability to order and predict my life while I wait.
I once again believe a resolution is coming soon, which is why I can finish this post I started on Monday now. Like everything else important that happens to me, the end to this story will be written and published here and my life re-ordered in transit will slowly reappear.
Red Cedar 