It's Almost Been A Year Since My Last Visit Here!

 

Miss Bertha worries that she can't climb stairs to get to the bedroom!

Wow! Where has the year gone? So much has happened and my idea of the perfect home has changed drastically for me. Reality bites. Ouch! I am looking at buying a small yellow ranch house in Athens, Georgia, after drooling over turn of the century Victorian homes in Florida and Georgia. Why the change and what the heck has been going on?

First, last fall I had my house on the market for less than thirty days. I realized I could not move - not my home - but my body. My left hip caused me so much pain I literally stopped in place trying to walk from the jolt that went through my hip and down my leg. At that time I so wanted to move to Florida, to be closer to my mother, and to a little town forty miles from her that offered a wonderful pink Victorian home, three levels, mostly renovated, for a price that was hard to believe. Being in metro Atlanta, it is hard to find anything I can afford now. I could not afford to buy the house I am living in now if I weren't already here for so many years!

 

My Florida dream house currently pending sale to another at $149,000.  Seriously . . .

 

The holidays were a bit of a blur since I also popped something behind my right knee that kept me off my feet for a week, all my party plans on hold as I sat with six dogs, ordered food to be delivered, and sobbed with every romantic Christmas movie Hallmark had to offer.

 

I still got on the computer, Zillow my constant companion, next to the dogs, of course.

 

In January, my right hip started bothering me. Walking on a cane I felt like I was a hundred years old with both hips hurting. Still I postponed surgery. I hate the idea of surgery and I needed to figure out who could come take care of my six-pack of hounds while I was gone.

 

Finally I gave in. Surgery was scheduled for May, but I had almost two months to think about it. To distract myself, I pulled a book together, a picture book about one of my dogs, Miss April in Paris, who dreamed of visiting the city of lights. With the help of my talented sister/designer ( PD King Design) the picture book became a reality and posted on Amazon a few days before I had my surgery.

 

 

Available on Amazon. A portion of all sales goes to animal rescue.

 

While my dog dreamed of Paris, I still dreamed of a cottage style house, a farm house, a Victorian beauty. I wanted an acre or two, with maybe some chickens, or a goat. I still dream of that house, but have found a house that suits me well. And once again, I am off my rocker while still on my walker recovering from hip replacement surgery.

 

I found my perfect little ranch house in Athens, Georgia.

 

 

A far cry from the pink Victorian from last fall, but I do love this house. It is perfect for me and the dogs. Maybe I've watched too much HGTV while stuck at home recovering. OMG what they find behind walls when renovating older homes. The last thing I want - more house problems. Perhaps that Zillow ad on HGTV got to me . . . You are not just buying a house, you are buying a lifestyle. (The wording on TV may have been slightly different, but you get the idea.)

 

What do I want for my lifestyle? I don't want to be secluded on a farm away from civilization. How do I run get dog food at midnight? And I don't want stairs. Yes, I am still having trouble with stairs, but I will mend. I have dogs that could not go up stairs and I want them sleeping with me. Right now I yell "bed!!!!" and six dogs race down the hallway to the bedroom. They are waiting with wagging tails when I appear. How would some of them get up a flight of stairs . . . they wouldn't. So, nix the stairs, I'm down to all one level.

 

I have so many other dreams aside from my house fantasy, the cottage in my mind has changed in shape and appearance. I want to write, paint, make jewelry, do shows again, have fun with friends, perhaps attend classes at the University (when you get to be my age you can audit for free!) and find a way to be out of the house more, instead of constantly dreaming in my head!

 

I spend so much time figuring out where to put my stuff (and lots of that stuff is left over from my antique shop, still trying to thin it out) how to get rid of the last of my late husband's stuff (my three outbuildings are full of office desks from thirty years ago, paint cans, insect sprays, and rotting garden chairs from as many years back). I am weighted down by stuff, stuff that doesn't matter to me. I still love the stuff I love and will haul as much as possible to a new home. But I want to feel lighter in my house so I can enjoy everything on one floor. The cottage above still gives me as much square footage as I have here, minus the basement I can't even get into at the moment. It is perfect for me and the dogs. With four bedrooms and three baths, it will be perfect for friends and family to come visit, too.

 

Now it is up to the universe. I am ready to go. My house just went up for sale. It is a crazy thing to be doing this now. I am over one surgery, but still healing, and I may have to have surgery on my other hip. I am on a walker and can't bend down yet. But I believe that things happen when they should. I've done my part, now let's see if the time is right.

 

A fortune cookie at the beginning of the year had a fortune I liked. By the end of this year your dreams will come true. It took me a few months to figure out just exactly what my dream was. My dream versus my fantasy. There is a difference.

 

I want to be in my new home and walking with my new hips. It can happen. Anything can happen. Perhaps the universe has something entirely different for me. Time will tell. But for the moment the cottage in my mind is a little yellow ranch house that makes me smile thinking of a new start.

A Skip & A Hop From Madness

Dreaming In Brown

(photo Pinterest)

 

I woke up today to a dark sky and rain. We've had beautiful spring-like weather the last week, a huge contrast to the horrible winter snow that kept visiting my neck of the woods. Soft pink blossoms are on my fruit trees, a few daffodils have poked through the weeds in my overgrown flower beds, my dogs ran joyfully through the yard. This morning, six dogs stood in my kitchen doorway with me as we looked out at the wet patio. Only one dog would venture out, the rest turned and trotted back to the sunroom. I can only image how this day will go!

My coffee was ready so I filled a cup and sat down at the computer. Yes, I failed to mention, the dogs did get fed. They do not allow me to do my thing until their thing is done. Their thing is dog kibble before my coffee. The rain is making me feel restless. Is it time for change again?

I took a sip of my lovely warm coffee, looked at the dogs sleeping on the couch behind me, the chair next to me, and Chloe, the little Chi, tucked behind me in my wicker chair. Then I went to Google and typed in Pinterest. I needed eye candy to brighten my morning. What I got was a heap of trouble brewing as the Cottage In My Mind started to change its style. A thought came to me as I looked at photos - not of my beloved old painted furniture - but of  brown furniture as my antique dealer friends and I call it. Not lovely soft pastel cupboards, the paint with a patina only age could bring - but wood, stained lightly, darkly, with only a patina that age could bring.  Ah, is there anything better than a patina from age. . .

A thought crossed my mind briefly. Why not have an estate sale - sell everything - and start over? A second thought followed that. . . . I have finally lost my mind. This is the second time within less than a month I have seriously thought about a different theme throughout my house. I wrote about a more colorful bohemian European style change on my Sparkle Blog titled Post-Op Delirium. Maybe that title spells out what is wrong with me. I had surgery mid February and am still in a holding pattern while I mend. (I am fine thank you if you asked - just can't move furniture, work in the yard, and do the heavy things that tire me out so I stop thinking of how to change my house!)

There is a truth in all of this that I need to recognize. Perhaps you have the same problem with things that excite you. Mine is decorating and houses (oh yes, and six dogs, how did I forget?) with others it could be clothes and shoes, or men, or travel, whatever your passion is. If you love something is there ever enough?

I remember my first house, a charming forties bungalow, I loved loved loved it, until I filled it up. I needed more rooms. I still had 'stuff' - but I had no space. For some stupid reason, I never worry I don't have money. . . but I do panic when I run out of room to put things. There is always a piece of furniture, a photo, that triggers, not just the yearning to own it, but a series of other items that flash through my brain, to design an entire room around it.

My psychic shopping experience, I used to label it. Back when I did antique shows, and still had space to add things to my ranch house, I could see an antique and within the week, I found and purchased everything I needed to set up my booth or redecorate my house. I would be out on an errand and suddenly a shop would catch my eye and I'd think, I need to stop there. I'd pull in and find just what I needed to complete the room in my head (which has now grown to the cottage in my mind). I was convinced it was a psychic experience, because I'd find things when I hadn't planned to shop. Yet on days  I set out to look for a treasure, I'd find nothing. That lasted for a few years.

I thought my talent for psychic shopping had left me. Until. . .

It happened this spring when I did my ranch re-do. Yes, my handyman did the physical changes, but I knew I needed to swap out a few old pieces for a few new old pieces. I had a dresser in mind I'd seen in a book, a sweet Eastlake piece with a tall gingerbread trimmed mirror. I dreamed of that dresser. I never thought I'd find it.

Then one afternoon I went to a different town to shop with friends. We'd been to three shops and nothing appealed to me, nothing exciting, nothing to buy. Our last stop sparked something in my brain (deranged as it is) that made me know this was the place I'd find what I needed. The first piece of furniture as I walked into the shop, was a version of that Eastlake dresser. I bought it. (FYI, so you know my crazy runs deep, it is in my back shed. I have no place for it. . . just yet).  Two booths later, I found the perfect pieces for my kitchen. Bought them too. I acted like a rich gal rather than a nut case with no money, but big ideas.  The lady at the desk treated me with respect. I dropped a bundle that day. Pleased I'd found exactly what I needed, I had to return to pick up my purchases a few days later. I looked and looked, wanting to find something more that I loved (those of you addicted to the chase will recognize that feeling). Nothing. Nothing excited me. Nothing made me think . . . maybe. My psychic shopping gene found exactly what I needed for my kitchen (Okay, and a piece I didn't need, but dreamed of!) and then it was over.

The purpose of this post, rambling on like it is, I've managed to get my desire for change under control for the moment. The estate sale sign is back where it belongs - hidden far from my view. The rain is still pouring down, the sky a little lighter, the tension of being slightly bored, recovering from surgery, wanting to do everything, and not able to do much at all to move things around in my house, has been replaced by something I can handle. Food.

I wonder what I can eat now. Is there something fun in the fridge?

Sometimes a bit of craziness is a great way to pass time. Dreaming is a good thing. But I do know, eating is my answer today. Excuse me while I head to the kitchen. Oh look, there are two lovely painted cupboards against the wall, that I found against all odds, but thanks to my psychic abilities. I love love love them.

Silly me. I love things just the way the are in my house. What was I thinking?

 

My Happy Dance

 

I haven't given up on the farmhouse either.

If you are going to dream, take it all in!

 

 

I Can See Clearly Now ...Revisiting My Back Yard

Before

On April 25, I posted about my back yard nightmare! You can visit the post here. The back of my house was a jungle I didn't know how to tame. Several years of neglect sprouted small trees and Privet in all my beds. What you can't see here is the tall wrought iron garden cart to the left and the five foot tall iron angel to the right.

Right?

Well take another look now!

In my book The Unfaithful Widow I talk about my garden. It is a garden full of memories more than one I plant in each year. Some of those memories were uncovered yesterday with the help of two great workers. A tree service I've used before came to clean my roof and gutters and get my yard back to where I can work in it again. There is still much to do, but a great start don't you think?

                                After                           

My vintage garden angel taller than I am.

There she is, my angel Anne, named for my late husband's cousin. She left here a year after he did. I found this angel at an antique store and knew I would always remember her when I looked at it. She has been hidden too long! Morning, I heard her voice in a soft whisper that brushed past me when I took this photo earlier. She was a psychic so you never know!

Garden cart and trellis topped with a huge rose bush ready to bloom!

 

The tall garden cart came from the Atlanta Botanical Gardens gift shop when I worked there part-time my first year alone. It was black, but a coat of pink paint made it perfect for a cottage garden. The back wood trellis was built by my husband over twenty-five years ago. Both are covered in roses that are ready to bloom. The bush came from a small plant purchased at the grocery store, grew out of control in its pot and was transplanted into the garden. With all the neglect, it comes back and blooms every year. Now I can see it! Look for photos when my roses take off.

Brace yourself for the next change. It gives me the willies actually, but everyone says Crepe Myrtles grow back. The one in my center back yard was cut back to the nubbins! I cringe on that, but it will be beautiufl again. Down my street the county has done the same with all the Crepe Myrtles that bloom there. I see new sprouts on them and it has only been two weeks since they were chopped down! My butterfly bushes grew into the top of the Crepe Myrtle, now are trimmed back and shaped. I can see the side chain link fence. The dogs love the freedome to run through the beds now! I feel like the world can peek in my yard and see me. Actually, beyond the fence is the rest of my property and a right-of-way that goes down to a creek. Visually it is so open now I feel exposed but there is a huge buffer between me and my neighbor!

Before

After. Ouch!

Bray can't hide in the butterfly bushes anymore!

A few more after shots of the yard!

Another Crepe Myrtle trimmed painfully. Trellis built by my husband many years ago. Remains of a David Austin rose bush by bottom window. One tiny pink bud on it! I bought that rose from a catalog as many years ago as the trellis was built and on occassion it blooms. It is amazing to me it is still alive.

Annabelle checks out the yard from my deck.

Annabelle prefers the view from the patio. She is my oldest dog (as in age) and the second rescue dog I adopted.

The Lady Of Lilburn has a clear view now that the Privet has been cut away. Small statues in the bed by the pea gravel patio are for Foxy and Jake, my old German Shepherds that lived a great life.

Another old iron piece in the yard and doesn't everyone need a plastic Flamingo, this one faded from the sun. End of the bed with the pink cart facing the outbuildings.

Rosemary for Remembrance
My Garden of Memories will bloom this year!

I see a party in the future! Perhaps I too am a psychic.

My Back Yard Nightmare

  


Bray on the patio


      My back yard scares me. The grass (if you can call weeds grass) sprout up within two days of being mowed. My shrubs reach up so high it is hard to tell them from the trees. Even my dogs hate to walk off the deck into the lawn, as I loosely call it. Chloe, my little Chihuahua, disappeared in one area this morning. All I saw was her tail bobbing in the distance. Is it the natural fertilizer with six hounds stepping out to do their business that is the magic ingredient that makes things grow so fast? I head out after the dogs and think, today is the day I'll cut the shrubs back. After I poop scoop, I am too pooped to garden.

     The cottage in my mind has a lovely yard, with flower beds and art at every turn. I could have that cottage garden if I could find the energy to deal with it. Some days I still wonder if I should move, find a house that is smaller, one I can maintain better by myself. Those are the days I look around at all that needs to be done on the inside and outside of my house and want to crawl back to bed with a quilt over my head. I love all the changes that are happening here, but I still cheat on my ranch house late in the still of the night. Yet I wake up in the morning happy to be home in my house. Maybe I just need to pace myself better and not look at the entire picture, but each little part that will add up to the wonderful whole I'll call my cottage. Just maybe, I need to go to sleep before 2 am and I'd be more rested! But I am a creature of the night and love to write then.

     Today is yard day. The Reverend will be here at lunch. It costs me ninety-five dollars every two weeks in the spring and summer to try and maintain some order on the property. The right-of-way, that gives me the privacy I love, is expensive to keep up. It is a huge yard to mow.

      “Please cut the weeds in the back lower to the ground!” I whine every time he shows up.

      “No ma'am, the heat will kill the grass if it is too low.” He wipes he brow with a bandana as we talk. He is seventy plus years old and has been taking care of the houses in the neighborhood since he was sixteen. He also preaches on Sunday at a charming little church down the road I have visited on occasion. Yet for all his work, within a few days my yard looks as bad as ever. I am not happy with that!

      Reminds me of when I used to have my hair cut at a beauty salon. I paid big bucks only to go home and wash and restyle it. I gave up having someone else do my hair when I was in my thirties.  Is it time to do

the same with my yard? At least the back yard. Take control of it myself.

      I have to go to Home Depot today to order the tin for my front awnings. Perhaps I'll slip into the garden center. There may be a little lawn mower purchase in my future. I'll get back to you on that. This nightmare has got to end!

My Back Yard This Morning. Last Mowed Three Weeks Ago.



Can't tell the weeds from the shrubs.



A sea of weeds in the yard.



I need a blower. All the debris from pollen and rain.



View to the basement door.



Bertha passing over the hidden pavers. She is the brave yard dog in these conditions.






Walkway to the back shed. Can you find it?

 



Please don't make me go out in the yard again today!



For The Love Of My Dogs....

For Sale In Monroe. View the Keller Williams listing here.

I'm working on my new book about living with my pack of dogs. "Six dogs is a way of life. Six dogs define your lifestyle." I wrote those sentences a few weeks ago. I learned more of the meaning of  those words this weekend. Six dogs define your back yard too. I'd forgotten that when I fell in love with a cottage in Monroe this past week. A perfect early 1900s bungalow in move-in-condition. The cottage in my mind was close to becoming a reality.

Friday, my feet barely hit the beautiful hardwood floor in the living room when I turned to the agent, my voice just over a whisper, "I want this house, I know."

I'd seen all the photos online. The house in person took my breath away. The price, amazing at $115,000. It had to be mine.

I could walk to my antique booth at Hodge Podge Art, Antiques, and Interiors. Almost two thousand square feet of hardwood floors, nine foot ceilings, two bathrooms, one with an old tub, the other more modern with a shower, and a built in pantry in a small side room off a white kitchen. The center hall, which closed off with doors, would be the perfect place for a couch and chair, a dog den so to speak. The six-pack could sleep there, have access to the kitchen for water and food, and I could go about my business during the day. The dogs would be safe and comfy.

It didn't stop there. Storm windows outside, pocket doors inside. Lots of natural light. My heart raced as I entered each room.

Did you see the white porch swing? I saw myself on it this spring, waving to the neighbors as they passed by. A lovely space for summer reading and dreaming. A side screened porch with steps that went to the back yard would hold all my old rusty (with charm) iron garden chairs and tables. Lunch with girlfriends on the porch was put on my mental calendar.

The back yard would make a sweet cottage garden  Small and easy to manage. Not like my big yard that required a hired yard man to mow it. My dogs did not even cross my mind. I pictured rose bushes and a white picket fence.

The nicest agent met me and listened kindly as I rattled off my dream...the cottage in my mind! The paint outside was rough, but brown is not my cottage color. All the colors of the rainbow swirled in my brain as I thought I could paint the outside!

The double garage might make an artist's studio.

All my large painted cupboards and cottage chests would fit. My Tommy Bahama plantation sofa ( a thrift store major find) was made for the living room.

The wide tree lined street was full of old houses. The street was one I'd driven many times looking at houses. It was one of the streets in downtown Monroe I loved best.

Creative financing, lease purchase, owner financing. I needed time to sell my house. If I could do a lease purchase, I'd move the dogs and my furniture up, then put the house up for sale in Decatur.

"Do you think the seller would work with me?"

"I'll check with the broker and let's meet back here on Monday to make an offer."

Yes, let's!

I knew the universe had found my house. I was on my cell as soon as the van door slammed shut. I called a few friends. I ran into my booth at Hodge Podge, "I think I've found my house!" A friend at another antique shop knew the house well. "We'll do things when you move."

All the pieces of the puzzle were coming together.

One large piece, the one that finishes the puzzle, was still missing.

The dogs vs. the yard.

How did I miss that in all my excitement?

It still had not crossed my mind later that night when I met the Decatur Boomer Babes ( a small group of girlfriends I'd recently met and get together with regularly. We'd named ourselves that!) and told them about the house.

I would be sad to leave them.

After dinner I drove home. As I pulled into my drive the hounds from hell heard my car, and the barking and howling inside the house, could be heard before I turned off the engine. The dogs barked and yapped as I opened the kitchen door and let them into the back yard. Six dogs ran out growling and rolling over the other. Bray barked his deep bark, the one he started sharing with the world six months ago, to announce he wanted dinner. It doesn't stop until his kibble is placed in front of him.

Loud, barking, yapping, howling dogs. Six dogs. All in a yard that is large, private, and safe. No one cares they are there. No one hears them except me. My huge yard is their haven. My yard keeps them from annoying the folks next door.

The yard in Monroe? My neighbors would hate me with the noise my pack makes. The dogs would bark everytime they saw someone next door. There was no privacy for the dogs, no place for them to run. Just a tiny yard I would make into a larger pen, that would not work for anyone. The yard in Monroe was a two-dog yard at best, no matter how many privacy fences would go up, there was no room for a six-pack.

I was blinded by love. I loved that house. I love my dogs more.

Sunday I called the agent back. "I forgot about my dogs. The yard won't work. I don't want you to waste time asking about financing. Six-dogs are a way of life for me, and six-dogs won't fit in the yard."

When you live with a pack of dogs you love, they come first.

I watched TV surrounded by my dogs in my Decatur house last night and smiled. What a silly bunch of dogs. I wouldn't trade them for anything.

The cottage in my mind? It is still there. Only this time I've expanded my dreams to include at least an acre of land!

"I loved that house!" I cried to my good friend.

"You love all the houses you see." She was laughing at me, not with me. I knew that tone.

Perhaps she is right. Each house brings something I love better.  If the yard had worked for my dogs, this cottage would be mine. Each time I learn something about living with dogs and what works for us. Perhaps in the long run I'll realize I'm already home.


This house is still for sale. You can contact the broker by linking here  . Isn't it perfectly wonderful?

Mother Nature is a B****

Rascel (front) and Bertha (back) enjoying the sun today!

The storms ripped through north Georgia yesterday and a small town suffered more damage than the mind can take in. My dogs and I were huddled close waiting to see what weather would come across Decatur. We were lucky here, only some heavy rain. My downstairs basement room had some water trickle in from the baseboard, as it always does when it rains. One day I'll fix the problem. For now, my idea of home repair is to drop a few quilts to soak up the puddles, and file the problem away for tomorrow.

It is a scary thought to loose everything to mother nature. She is really mean spirited lately. You can't turn on the TV without hearing another weather related horror story. I pray for my home when she gets riled up and I weep for those who have suffered under her rule. As a nester, I know how much my home means to me. It is my safe harbor. What if it were gone?

Last night I started to think, what makes a home? I love all my possessions, as most everyone does of their things, but they just fill a house, with beauty, with clutter, with memories. Home is different when it holds a family, a husband and wife, life seems to be in constant motion. Sometimes by myself, since I've lived on my own now as a widow almost five years – single woman, my new title - how different the space feels. The energy level is different when it is just one. Good, but different.

Even with six dogs by my side, there is a quiet that you don't have when you share your home with someone. My house is very still this week, since my teen foreign exchange student moved on to another host family. I was her welcome home for five months. There are no text messages, no dogs howling and carrying on to greet her, no waiting up late to be sure she got home in time, and no late night conversations and laughter before she headed downstairs for sleep. It is a quiet that stands out from the last months. It is a quiet I needed. My head was about to explode from all the teen activity! (A note: I have never been around kids, so this was a new and wonderful experience).The timing for her to move on was perfect. She is with kids her age and I am with my dogs, writing again at my computer.

Have I gotten so used to living by myself that I am happy with just my dogs? I needed my life back to be able to connect with friends, a hard, almost impossible thing to do, when you are on call for a teen. Now I am home alone, but not lonely.

I am back in my social groove, a new groove actually, for I've met some new friends. After months and months of looking at real estate ads, it dawned on me, maybe I need friends in my neighborhood, rather than to change my neighborhood to make new friends. I got online and started a meet-up group for boomers who want to get out more in Decatur. The response was amazing. Over sixty members in a few weeks. Many from outside the area who want to come to Decatur to be social. As great as that was, the best news is a small group of ladies who live close by joined and we get together on a regular basis. I love my friends outside the perimeter (that beltway that circles Atlanta) but it is a joy to drive only a few miles to have fun.  I plan to keep up with all my friends, but it is good to be grounded close to home.

So, to answer my question on what makes a home? Family, friendships, love and, for me, a pack of dogs. Those are treasures you can't replace. I like living with my dogs, our house is a happy place. I am more content here now since my list of friends close by is growing. And because I know my mother will read this, I love that we talk every night, even though we are miles apart.

I'll still worry myself sick when mother nature comes to visit. I'll pray for my safety, the safety of those I know, and those in the direct path of such a wicked turn of weather. My dogs and I will snuggle together and I will remember that home means love, and I will treasure that above all else.

Rascal. Oh to be a dog on a sunny afternoon!