Discovering Surprises

A little over a week ago I sat down in our new home, starred at the piles of

My Blue Blogger room

boxes and cried. The tears were a blessing as they washed away my sadness from moving away from my close friends, but somehow the cleansing opened my heart and my eyes to a new stage in our lives and in our marriage.  Jack and I found adventure in every turn on the busy streets of Norman.  Since the kitchen was boxed and hidden from me for a few days we found a variety of restaurants and grocery stores.  We've made daily trips to Lowe's and Home Depot for something simple.  We are slowly learning our way around a town where Jack grew up, and where I spent 17 years of teaching.  The times and the town of Norman, Ok have changed dramatically since we left in 1996, but all for the better.

Della's tiny books

It took me a couple of days of unpacking before I began to look forward to the tasks at hand. Very quickly I discovered that every box was full of surprises: I found a tiny leather bound hand sized book with only a passage from The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam.  How appropriate the first lines were, considering I'd been awake that day since 4am:

       "Wake, for the Sun, who scattered into flight 
         The Stars before him from the Field of Night..."

What a delight to sit on the floor and read through a pile of tiny leather bound books that my Aunt Della had owned.  She, too, found these words precious to her long before I came into this world.  Then I read from my favorite book The Prophet by Gibran.  The inscription read: Merry Xmas, from Lillian and Bill, Dec. 25, 1960.  Randomly picking pages to read in books like the Prophet bring their own surprises:  Speak to us of Prayer...When you pray you rise to meet in the air those who are praying at that very hour, and whom save in prayer you may not meet.

The Pro, Johnie F. Stapp

Unpacking dad was even funnier because the silly doll truly is a replica of my father, The Pro.  My father died in 1989 six weeks after my mother.  I have carried them with me not just in my heart, but in my moves and in my boxes even now.  When I uncovered Dad yesterday I pulled up a pile of newspaper and there he was sitting comfortably in a box with pillows, glassware, and golf books (it was a random moment of packing).  I laughed, then pulled him out and found an empty corner in the living room for him to sit and watch the chaos around him grow. 

This morning I found my squeaky mouse mixed in with a scattering of glassware, puppets, and teacher collectibles. Naturally, I picked up the little mouse and squeaked it, only to have Lucy dash into the blue blogger room, and attempt to rescue me from the beastly mouse.  I laughed.  

I'm down to a few manageable boxes, then we will ponder our collections of artwork, golf books and trophies, glassware, and what nots.  In time each piece will find a new home, either under our roof or someone else's.  My mantra for this move remains:  In life and in words...Less is More...Usually the most concise way is the most elegant.

Painting a Canvas of New Memories

I wonder why we become so attached to our old homes?  We are leaving a 1962 ranch style home with a most unique layout.  It flows from room to room with open doors and halls connecting like a figure eight.  The double sided large red burned brick fireplace with the dining room on one side and living room on the other stole my heart when we first saw the home.  The cream colored mantle
lines both sides and is deep enough for

Christmas decor or seasonal vases filled with fresh flowers.  That was all I liked about the house when our choices came down to only three houses in town.  I looked at the lacy window trimmings and the blue flowered wall paper and felt old and sad.  Jack couldn't see past those old faded colors, so we walked on through the house, stepped down to the sun room, then our eyes were captured by the deep green yard, and it was October.  How could there be a green yard?  Fescue, a grass new to us, added beauty to our lives for eighteen years.  A fireplace and a yard gave the house the character we needed.

Slowly, over the years the home became ours.  Long gone are the lace trimmings and baby blue wallpaper in the kitchen, dining room, and living room;  long gone are the poodles dressed in bright yellow green and pink circus tutus riding unicycles that adorned the bathroom walls.  So many more walls changed to create our home.  I loved my blogger room in muted pink with one last remaining window trimming of lace, faded lace, that pleased my soul to know that I kept someone's memory alive.  Last month a professional painter came in to repair two walls in my blogger room, making it ready "For Sale".  My muted faded pink walls that made me feel happy and vibrant dissolved and were covered by a neutral beige.  Suddenly, my creative mind felt betrayed, where had our space gone?  I began that day to separate myself from my home.

Tonight as we experimented with a new paint color on the entry hallway of our Norman home, I felt like I was still intruding on someone else's home.  I could see and feel in the burnt yellow tones of the walls how  much the previous owners loved this spacious open aired home with tall wide windows facing East and West.  We were captivated with this home because our eyes saw right through the open spaces and large windows to the backyard.  We both saw the familiar brown toned yard of an Oklahoma winter that wouldn't turn green till the heat of late spring and summer. Ha, I thought, good old bermuda.  It doesn't waste energy or water trying to stay green. Then we saw the fireplace, not our beloved red brick but a new look of fresh sand colors--yellow, brown, and rosy pink.  Our eyes followed the fireplace up to the small mantle that

seemed to support a massive wall hanging of golden oak. Then we noticed the wood trim and crown molding in every room of the home.  We were beginning to feel comfortable and knew we could make the change. When we turned to leave we realized that the home was filled with sunlight and that anytime during the day we would have abundant light keeping us warm and smiling.  Sold.

We're merely camping out this week making a few changes and looking for colors, for furniture, for counter tops that define us.  The furniture comes on a heavy truck in a few weeks.  I've found space to write in a blue room.  The twin bed coverlet of faded pinks, blues, and greens turned pale and lifeless against the bold ocean blue room, so I covered my bed with one quilt after another looking for something to fit.  Nothing yet, but months and years from now this room will change as I change.  My old desk now sits in front of a large window facing the rising sun and a large two story house.  When the barren tree in the front yard opens it's new leaves, my eyes will once again feast on green.

 As we change the appearance of our new home I wonder what changes our old home will see when a new family buys it and calls it home.  Will they appreciate that basement as much as I have during the season of sirens?  When I moved to Hutchinson I cried all the way, and now as I move back to Norman I sense I will cry all the way.  Someone once told me that your house is where your furniture is, but I believe your home is where you frame your memories.  A toast to our new canvas....