Left Behind

The last time I bought a house, it was pristine the day I moved in. The guy I bought it from, Larry, called me a few times in the days before he moved out to see if I wanted to keep anything he was thinking of leaving behind. I didn't want his cooties despite his excellent taste in paint colors so I politely declined and moved into a junk-free house.

This house, however, has lots of prizes left behind. It is like one big treasure hunt - you never know what will greet you when you open up a closet door. I made a few giant donations to Goodwill when moving out of the old house, and I'm collecting lots more for a new humongous donation courtesy of the new house.

Here's a random sampling of what Will and I have found:

Half empty bag of cotton balls - why thanks for sharing these nifty soft things, I've never seen them before!

Cleaning supplies - ironic because I don't think they actually got used before we moved in. I kept the Mrs. Meyers cleaner & the laundry detergent and tossed the rest of the mostly used bottles.

Assorted kitchen stuff - my parents came up to help us on Sunday and I gave my dad the task of taking down the multiple paper towel dispensers and magnetic knife racks in the kitchen. Really, who needs paper towels in two different spots? In the same kitchen?

Super sweet lamp - this nifty little ditty was attached to the wall above my desk in the office. It had a pee-yellow metal lamp shade with a Norwegian type flower pattern on it. I couldn't concentrate on a conference call it was so distracting. 

Iron - perhaps original to the house, circa 1960. My dad thinks I should take it to an antique shop, my mom and I disagree.

Light bulbs - not in light fixtures, mind you. Just laying around the house, in the back of closet shelves, in the laundry room, on the kitchen counter top.

Coat racks - I love coats a little too much, but even I don't need more space than the coat closet allows.

Spiders - seriously wondering if the previous folks bred spiders for research and had an unfortunate escape episode. I'm normally a capture-the-spider-in-a-glass-and-release-it-outside girl, but I have to admit I've become jaded and I squished one last night.

Canadian coins - eh?

And that, my friends, is my assessment of the great moving adventure week 1. 

Totally Worth It

I was a pretty rule-abiding kid growing up. Getting into trouble never really held much appeal. I had some friends that loved to push the limits, though. My neighbor, Marcy, was one of those kids.

I spent the night at her house once and we decided to make her parents dinner. Marcy knew how to turn on the oven to cook our gourmet meal - which consisted of a plastic Sesame Street Big Bird. When the burning rubber aroma filled the house, Marcy's mom ran into the kitchen to see what was going on. I still remember her opening the oven door to the sight of a sagging Big Bird head and twisted, melting Big Bird body. It was gruesome and I was sent promptly home.

Another Marcy adventure involved another neighbor's house in the spring. They were out of town and Marcy was in charge of watering their garden for them. I went over to help her one afternoon. Her brother, Robby, tagged along and I'm guessing that if Robby was there, my brother, Mike, was there too. Given the natural state of the world as it relates to sibling relationships, there was some bickering going on.

The bickering turned into Marcy grabbing a snowball flower off a bush and throwing it at her brother, who grabbed another snowball flower and threw it back, resulting in a regular snowball fight. The puffs burst into a giant flower shower upon impact. Nothing sharp or cold to cause actual harm. The snowball fight ended only after every puff within reach of 6 and under kids had been removed from the bushes. The yard was littered with white flowers and we were all laughing hysterically at ourselves.

The neighbors weren't at all pleased when they returned home. We had to clean up their yard and apologize for our actions. But I got my first taste of thinking that it was totally worth it to get in trouble.

Old Pecos Trail

Will and I headed down to Santa Fe a few weekends ago. Will had never been and our friends, Brian & Amy, invited us to join them for the weekend. We had a great time, and Will even drank a margarita.

Anne & Will

Really, Will wanted a beverage with a salt rim and Brian and I ordered margaritas that were really weak. Amy didn't drink margaritas because, well, see photo below. We convinced Will he could handle a weak margarita, so he joined us for the second round - and the margaritas this time were wicked strong. He toughed it out and tried not to make too many funny faces while he choked it down. 

Will, Anne, Brian, Amy

(I never realized how much shorter I am than everyone else...)

Letter Writing Campaign

I had a goal in high school to get into as many yearbook photos as possible. Being editor of the yearbook my senior year helped, but so did joining a boatload of school organizations. I had a bunch of friends in Amnesty International, so I thought, "I can go to a lunch meeting once a month to protest against torturing people. I mean, that's bad stuff."

One week, we started writing letters in protest of the death penalty. I pulled our advisor aside and told him I thought I'd have to drop out of the group. I believed in the death penalty. I believed that if you killed someone, your death was a logical punishment. An eye for an eye type of thing. Fortunately, the AI advisor said I could stay in the group and focus my efforts on another letter writing campaign. If you look at the 1995 Manual HS yearbook, I'm totally in the Amnesty International group photo, probably rockin' my favorite red & blue rugby shirt and some sweet ripped jeans (ah, grunge).

Fast forward 6 years after high school graduation...

I got a phone call from Jon's mom. Jon was a childhood friend that I hadn't seen in about a year. I knew it had to be bad news because why else would Jon's mom be calling me? I thought maybe someone's dad had a heart attack. 

It turned out that our dear friend, Roberta, had been brutally, brutally murdered out in LA. Her body had been found in a park by some joggers and the killer was still on the run. The police had an ATM photo of the killer from the night before when he'd forced Roberta to withdraw money from her bank account. They knew who he was, they just didn't know where he was.

It took about three days for the killer to turn himself in - he had taken Roberta's car and driven all the way to Michigan. During those three days, I thought a lot about this guy. Was he mentally stable? What happened to him that he could be capable of the horrible things he'd done? What made him so powerless in life that he felt the need to violently dominate another person? 

Faced with the stark black and white reality of Roberta's murder, my stance on the death penalty was all of a sudden very gray. I'd think about what Roberta's last moments alive must have been like and that this guy was responsible for those last minutes consisting of fear and pain. I wanted him to feel those same things. To feel what it was like to know someone else held power over whether he lived. And yet if this guy was executed, it wouldn't bring Roberta back. It wouldn't make me feel any better.

The crime qualified for the death penalty - kidnapping, robbery, rape and murder. The trial was relatively quick. With DNA and photographic evidence and the car, there wasn't really too much to defend. The killer got life in prison, and the relief I felt at his sentence was surprising. The death toll ended there. One life was gone, but another life still held hope for something good to somehow come of it. 

This year, the Colorado legislature has been considering a bill that would take away funding for the death penalty and instead put the money toward solving cold cases. In effect, this would take away the death penalty from Colorado courts without jumping through the hurdles of declaring it unconstitutional. It looks like opponents of the bill will defeat this legislation by providing alternate funding for cold cases. 

If the bill does face defeat, I think I can pick up where my teenage self left off and start up that letter writing campaign.

Happy Gardening Anniversary

The small xeriscape garden bed

I just got an email that made my day. It was from Gardner's Supply Company wishing me a Happy Anniversary since my first order with them was April 18, 2005. 

I ordered a Tomato Success Kit from Gardner's Supply so I could grow some vegetables in pots even though I didn't have a garden. I've had some huge success and huge failures in the 3 seasons that I've grown in the success kit. Cherry tomatoes = OMG I can't eat another tomato by the end of the season. Heirloom tomatoes = it's October and I'd really like one ripe tomato before the frost kicks in.

The gardening project I'm most proud of though is my xeriscape garden. When I first moved to the townhouse, it had two giant, spiderweb infested, fire-hazard dry evergreen bushes straddling the front walk. When I'd leave the house in the morning for work, I'd put both arms straight out in front of me and scissor them as I walked to keep the spider webs from hitting me in the face. I lived with this for three years.

But then, Will moved in and our first project was to tackle the outside - rebuild the back deck and do something about the evergreen bushes. We braved the heat and prickles that summer and spent a miserable weekend cutting back and hauling away the bushes. 

My initial plan was to grind the stumps so we could have a flat garden. But, being smart and responsible we had the utility company come out to mark where all of our pipes were and the gas line went right under one of the bushes. So, Plan B emerged and we used leftover wood from our big deck project to build raised garden beds.

I knew I wanted a xeriscape garden out front because it gets so much heat and sun. I had fallen madly in love with the Xeric Aroma Garden from High Country Gardens. It was sold out for the spring, so I had to wait until the fall to get my plants. They were tiny when they arrived, and Will was embarrassed by our teeny tiny plants randomly spaced our huge planters. But the next spring-summer-fall, they went gangbusters and grew into giant behemoths that gave off the most amazing scent whenever it rained. Rather than defending myself against the plants in the front, I touched them whenever I walked by to release the herby scents from each of the plants.

I can take my Tomato Success Kit with me to the new house, but I have to leave behind my aroma garden. It will be so hard to leave behind something that I've spent so much time nurturing. The good news though, is that I'll have a blank slate (once I clear out all of the new house's weeds & sucker trees) to start over with a new garden that I know I'll love just as much as this one.

The Trappings of Fame

I'm famous at my grocery store. Or, maybe more accurately my reusable bag collection is famous at my grocery store. 

I did a light trip to the store tonight to pick up some essentials and veggies and my ever-refilling Rx. As I cruised up toward the front of the store to ring up my purchases I passed by two check out lanes with the weird cashiers and picked a lane with a bit more of a line, but no weirdo at the helm. 

The cashier gave me a knowing smile as he rung up the rest of the groceries for the woman in front of me. I had a moment of, "Oh my God, he knows who I am. Why does he know who I am? Does he recognize my green coat? Does he think I'm cute? That's giantly weird if he does because I usually shop with my husband."

As the cashier started ringing my groceries, he asked, "Did you get a new bag from another store?"

Ah, that's how he remembered me. We had discussed my vast collection of reusable bags before - and he always gets confused by the reusable wine bag from Zupan's. I try to pick up a bag from every grocery store that I visit for work. Oddly enough, this means that while I have reusable bags from Wegmans, Hy-Vee, New Seasons, Central Market, D'Agostino's and others, I don't have a bag from Safeway, where I do 90% of my grocery shopping.

"How many of these bags do you have?" the cashier asked. 

I had no freaking clue, so I made up a number.  But when I got home tonight, I counted up my reusable bags. I have 12 bags from grocery stores around the country, and six others from other places. And I think I actually have a few other bags in the trunk of my car. So there might be more. I could do the shopping for about a dozen Thanksgiving dinners and have room to pack it all up.

But for tonight, it meant that I had three bags of groceries, and 15 empty bags leftover to haul home. At least the boy scouts would be proud of me for being prepared.

Inching Toward Moving On

At what point do I start the break-up process with my now-under-contract-townhouse? Or did I already start it the minute I signed the paperwork to put it up for sale?

I love this house. I have since the minute I walked in the door while house hunting and saw two Birds of Paradise flowers on the dining room table beneath the orange pendant light. It was totally over my budget and my realtor was only showing me the house because he wanted to set me up with the seller. It was love at first sight with the house, not so much with the guy.

This is the last house my old-man cat lived in. This is the house where Will proposed to me. This is the house where I got really sick, and then got healthy again (and again). I still call the guest bathroom "Carrie's bathroom" after my roommate and dear friend who lived here with me for the first three years. Somewhere in this house is the ring that my mom gave me with the green stone that I'm super bummed I misplaced (okay, lost). Will and I have put a lot of work into this house - we've rebuilt the decks, redone the bathrooms, painted and painted again, replaced crunchy dead evergreen bushes with a xeriscaped garden, and so much more. 

I want to move (believe me, I wouldn't go through all the headache of house hunting for nothing). I want new and bigger projects to tackle with Will. I want potential to make a house a home without an HOA dictating how that can be done and what colors can be used to do it. I want a garden with room for more than a pot of tomatoes. And the new (potential) house is perfect for all of these wants. 

But I'm still wandering around the current house, thinking about all of the things that I'm going to miss. That will go away, right?