The Wrong Turn

There may be a GPS in my future. I have been fighting getting one. But today made me think strongly it is time. With Amazon Prime it will be here in two days. Once again, I got lost on my way to someplace really great. I did MapQuest the directions. I don't know if it is just my experience, or a flaw in MapQuest. There is always one missing street, the essential street that gets me on the final leg of the journey. The street that is on my printed instructions, is nowhere to be found on a sign on the road.

And when that happens, I panic. All common sense is gone. My vision blurs. I get a headache. I know I will never get to my destination. But some little voice says maybe. So I drive in any direction my lack of direction takes me. If I am in town it is unpleasant, but eventually I will find my way. Driving in the country (rural farm land) is a totally different experience. If I get lost, even AAA won't find me.

Perhaps my first error today had to do with the fact I avoid getting on major expressways if there is another kinder, gentler way to go. I might have found the coffee house on the east side of Athens had I taken a more direct route, using a highway.  Instead I took the road less traveled. Winding country roads where for miles I only saw farmhouses tucked far back from the road, surrounded by acres of land, and white fences. Or expanses of nothing except pastures. I passed towns I had wanted to visit when I still lived in metro Atlanta and dreamed of moving to a rural area. Good Hope, Bishop, North High Shoals, but not necessarily in that order (after all, I had no idea where I was). I landed in Watkinsville just as my instructions told me. If I could have patted myself on the back, I would have. But one hand was on the steering wheel, the other holding the printed words, my lifeline to the writing group. Almost there with thirty minutes to spare I felt secure I had made the right decision with the route I chose.

I drove past the delightful main street reminding myself I should come back when I could stay. Before I realized I was through town and heading on an expressway to Athens, yes, but not the side of Athens where I needed to be, and certainly not any place on my sheet of streets to follow.  So, I decided to turn around and go back to Watkinsville. How hard could it be to find the street, just before the church, to point me in the right direction? Not hard. Impossible. The street on the paper did not have a sign on the road.  I did what any idiot in a panic would do. I turned onto a street by a church thinking it might work. After all, a church was on my directions from MapQuest. Ten miles later on another country road I saw a sign for the Athens airport. This could not be right, I told myself, and turned around, backtracking back to Watkinsville. In my case today, I could honestly say all roads lead to Watkinsville.

I did what every man I ever knew when I was younger did. Refused to stop for directions. I saw several places I could have, should have, but did not pull in to ask for help. Back before there was the GPS and in the dark ages when there were paper maps, my husband would get lost and ask me to check the map. I was the designated navigator (by him, not by choice). "I don't read maps," I had to remind him. "Why don't you stop at that gas station and ask directions?" We were at an impasse. I would not read the map, he would not stop for help. Once the conversation got so heated, I jumped out of the car, and he drove off, leaving me stranded on the road. No cell phone, and at the time, I was an inside the perimeter gal. None of my friends would have come outside I-285 (the beltway around Atlanta) to pick me up. He came back within minutes. My hot temper cooled. We had a laugh and somehow got to our destination. I did learn never to jump out of a moving car again, unless I knew where I landed.

My answer to today's situation was simple. I grabbed my cell, pulled up the meet-up group web page, and left an apology in the comment section of the days event I would not be there. I was lost. Then I circled around Watkinsville one last time, heading in the direction I knew would get me home.

I did make a stop at a charming antique/junk shop that sprawled along the country road, a sign "painted furniture" drew me in. My head ached from the stress of driving and worry I might never be found if I got too deeply embedded on one of those long winding roads with nary a sign of humanity.

As soon as I walked in the door all tension left my body. So much stuff to look at. I spent the next hour talking to the owner, shifting through piles of books, china, quilts, and artwork.

Shopping. Antiques. The cure for what ails me. An unexpected adventure, just the kind I can handle. I left with two books, and original drawing of a lady sitting at a café in Paris (not that you can tell, she is a large scribble, but so whimsical I had to have her) and a set of hobnail glasses. I made a new friend with the owner. She will see me again of that I am certain. After all, the writing group meets again next month, and I will pass by on my way to Athens, my new GPS leading me in the right direction.

Or Not.

If I procrastinate like I usually do, I won't have a GPS. But you can bet, I will find my way next time.

 

Moving On

If you know me, you know how much I love houses. I've talked and written about my desire to sell the home I shared with my husband for so many years and find a cottage of my own.  A place to  jump start my life once again and get my creative juices flowing.  Part of that journey is captured on another blog The Cottage In My Mind.  When I wrote my widow memoir, I was still so happy in my house. So many good things came in the following years. But I knew if I stayed in my home of thirty years my life would still be good, but it would never be different. I felt change had stopped and I needed to kick start myself again.

This year I moved on. The universe and the man above took me an hour outside of Atlanta to a charming small, slightly rural, town where I now reside with my pack of hounds in a wonderful 1906 Historic cottage.

The biggest adjustment for me? There is no pizza delivery here. No delivery of any kind of food. I am the gal that doesn't cook and ordered dinner through Grub Hub so I could stay in on a rainy night or groceries from Instacart when I was too darn lazy to get in my car and buy dog food.  I am learning to plan ahead. My little town does have a grocery store, but they don't carry my brand of dog food. When you run out of kibble and have five dogs staring you down at dinner time you learn to get organized quickly.

I am fifteen minutes in any direction from lots of shopping, but I see pastures of cows and horses on my drive. I am only an hour away from my friends in Decatur so we still have dinners out. I like to go visit Decatur, but my heart and home are now here in Social Circle. My friends like to come and shop the great antique shops in the surrounding towns.

My farm fantasy is well fed. I landed here in the middle of a chicken war, where folks were campaigning to change the city ordinance to allow backyard chickens. The ordinance changed and, gee, I could have six chickens in my yard if I were a crazy lady who wanted to have five dogs in an uproar. Won't have chickens, or goats, or sheep, or horses on my property, but I see them everywhere I drive.

I think the most amazing thing is at 68 years of age I made a major move to my dream house. I didn't go to a condo. I didn't downsize because I am getting older. For some folks that is what they want. And we all need to do what we want, especially at this age. Smaller was never in my vocabulary. I am an antique furniture freak. I have a passion for old cupboards, farm tables, artwork, and never plan to give up the things I love, the way of life I have made for myself, until they put my ashes in a lovely vintage urn. Then come to the biggest estate sale my friends will conduct.

My one concession, all my rooms had to be on one floor. Gone are the days I want to climb stairs, my hip surgeries brought that message home. In reality, my dogs can't go up stairs either. The short legged hounds couldn't get to a bedroom on another floor, and we all sleep together, all the time.

I look at my cottage in awe. Eleven foot ceilings with amazing deep crown molding. A center hallway that holds more furniture than any room in my old house. The previous owner renovated this cottage so beautifully with an attention to detail that is beyond what I would have done. My hard work was hiring someone to paint all the walls white. The house sparkles in the sunlight.

The dogs love the yard. I did put up a privacy fence to keep them contained and well, private. What they don't see they don't bark at. The yard, as I look out my kitchen window, is beautiful. Flowers keep blooming. Lots of roses by the little white shed and herbs down the driveway. A huge front porch begs for friends to visit and share stories over wine.

The last twelve months were difficult. My hip surgeries, the loss of my mother, selling my house in Florida that she lived in, and finally selling my house that was the home I shared with my husband when he was alive. Letting go of so much to move on. I still have difficulty walking, but I managed to keep moving forward.

My hip surgeries scared me. Living by myself with all my dogs a constant fear nagged at me. What if something else happened? If I stayed in my old house I had the comfort of the closeness of friends and all that was familiar. I lived next door to a hospital. When my husband died, I felt sorrow, but I had my health and could run from my fears. When my health became an issue I was vulnerable. I couldn't run away from myself, I could barely move on a walker at first. In a new town I would be totally on my own.

I had to make this move. Letting fear rule was not my style. If not now, when? After all, I am not getting any younger.

The timing was perfect. My house sold the same day I listed it. I put an offer in on this cottage the next day. Thirty days later we sat at a closing table. I sold my house in the morning and purchased my new home at lunch. I had thirty days to get my act together and move.

The "cottage in my mind" is now my reality. Yes, I am getting older, but I am living on my own terms again. The move proved what I knew in my heart. With faith and courage anything is possible.

I. AM. HERE. HEAR ME ROAR.

 The little house in my back yard. Plan A is to make it a studio.

Plan B is to keep it for storage of all the furniture I am still buying.

My Multiples Syndrome

     How much is too much, and how little is too little? I am still getting my head around this question to put my love of things under control. I didn’t think about this so much until I started writing. I wanted a web page and a blog. One was not enough. Today I have six blogs that are public and several that are private. The same with web pages. Finally, I have consolidated to one website, but the others still wink at me on Google searches.

 

    My brain is always in hyper mode of things to do and I like to create something new for every idea. When I look back on my life, it seems to be a pattern. Six storage units full of antiques turned me into an antique dealer.

 

 

"Buy what you love you'll always find space in your home." I became an antique dealer when six storage units proved that quote wrong.

 

 

     The year after my husband died, I opened my own little shop, and in four months, I rented not one, but three buildings in a tiny hub that had no business traffic. I was ecstatic, however, that I had so many buildings so I could have writing classes, book signings for local authors, and still try to sell antiques. It didn’t take me long to learn the one thing I didn’t have too much of was money! My shop closed in nine months, although I hauled my treasures to a small town forty minutes away and rented space in three different antique malls.

 

     One dog led to six. To cover that insanity I named myself Writer With Dogs. Now no one calls me a crazy dog lady.

 

 

 

Said "Writer With Dogs" Never

 

 

     Was it time to get professional help, I wondered. My new doctor answered that one for me.

    “Here, take this card and go talk to him.” Her voice had a thick accent as she shoved a plain business card at me. “Your blood pressure is so high because you have too many dogs, too many shops, and heaven knows what else!”

 

     My blood pressure was high because I came to her right after I had been rear-ended in a car mishap (gently, and no one was hurt). I took the card and made the appointment. A few days later, I showed up at a tiny building with one window facing the parking lot. The forms I filled out asked about my drug use, prison time, and other personal issues I might want to discuss. What I wanted to discuss was how much I disliked my new doctor who thought I was crazy and sent me to him. I knew this visit would be limited to only one.
 

     An older looking man with a grey beard invited me into his office. He looked at the forms and then at me. "What is the problem?"

    I decided to cut to the chase. “You might say I have a multiple disorder. I am never satisfied with one.” I then went on to talk about my dogs, my shops, my antiques, my blogs . . . I did mention my husband who had died several years earlier. "He was six foot seven inches tall." I chuckled thinking of the man who made me want to settle down. “Thank goodness I only needed one husband.”

    “Perhaps because he was so tall, it seemed like more.” The shrink smiled back at me.

    I came away feeling exactly as I did before I walked through his office door. For me, creativity can't be contained. I see beauty in everything. I can't eat just one potato chip.

 

    I am kinder to myself now, realizing I will over do most everything when I am excited. I have learned that less is sometimes more, especially when it comes to writing. A tighter story is better than one that rambles aimlessly. One website is less confusing to your audience. Ah, but blogs, I am still blog crazy.

 

    For me there will never be too many dogs,  too many friends, too many books to read, or too many ideas that I want to write about.

 

 

Thanks for reading!

To return to the FICTION WRITERS BLOG HOP on Julie Valerie’s website, click here: 

http://www.julievalerie.com/fiction-writers-blog-hop-feb-2016/

 

 

My Spoonful of Sugar - Antiques And A Book Discovery

 

 Jan 28th - Re-sharing this post as part of Julie Valerie's Hump Day Blog Hop.  Like to party? Hop along the Hump Day Blog Hop on Julie Valerie’s Book Blog. Click here to return to the Hump Day Blog Hop.

 

Mary Poppins sings: Just a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down.  While I am not a sugar addict, I am addicted to other things that help the medicine go down. I had a chance to re-discover this over the Christmas holidays. And what I learned about myself should not have come as a surprise, but more of a warm fuzzy - it came as both. Since closing my antique business the first part of 2014 - a formal closure - but one is never really out of the business when you love to look and buy treasures - I shied away fron all the things I love for many months. Until my breakthrough in December, where all the beauty I loved, kept me from my own personal breakdown!

 

It is not bad enough I am trying to work through getting a hip replacement, and I am on hold with that until I do more to be pro-active and healthy with my daily rituals, such as eating and exercise, but I popped something in the back of my knee right before all the festivities started. The knee more a problem than the hip, since I couldn't walk without pain. A trip to the doctor, a prescription for pain meds, a cane, and an MRI were my holiday gifts! I cancelled all the wonderful plans since I had to rest, per doctor's orders. It was a very quiet holiday, shared with my dog family, so you know, it was a loving one. On the verge of going stir-crazy I frequented Pinterest - okay, you know me, I am on Pinterest every day - looking a lovely cottage rooms. However, over the holidays I spent more time looking and dreaming. When agitated with my knee, the photos of old painted cupboards and farm tables had a calming effect I can't explain. Looking at rooms that were filled with fancies I adore, made me feel hopeful for the future. The knee was just a problem for now, as the hip will be later this year, but the beauty of timeworn antiques and the decorating possibilities of what I can work towards, bloomed like a lovely rose on a dismal day in winter. It amazed me that my love of houses, and filling them with things of beauty, is a constant that carries me through rough days. That is not to say my faith is not strong, this is simply a statement on my never ending affair with things from the past. I became an antique dealer when my own treasures outnumbered my rooms and rented storage units all those many years ago. I guess once in love with antiques, always in love with them. Taste changes, but the basic thrill of finding beauty never goes away.

 

I know I am not alone in that thought - how home and decorating brings healing and joy. I am reading a lovely book that reaffirms all I feel.

 

 

I found this treasure on Amazon digging around looking for gardening books, and knew it was just what I needed to read. An older book, copyright 2002, it is a gem.

 

For six years, House & Garden editor-in-chief Dominique Browning has written a monthly column that weaves together personal stories and tips about home decorating, gardening, and raising children with universal themes of domestic life. In Around the House and in the Garden, Browning adapts and expands these well-loved pieces, adding dozens of new essays, to create an insightful and moving narrative about the solace and sense of self that can be found through tending one's home.

 

As a writer I am asked what books do I read. Well, here is a fantastic example of what I love. I am not a big fiction reader, I prefer small intimate books, essays on life. That is also what I prefer to write and hope to do more of.

 

So, back to the antique side of this post. I am including photos below from Pinterest that brought me back to my senses. I am an antique addict, a decorator, and, while no photos here, a crazy dog lady. Not bad. My spoonful of sugar takes mighty sweet!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

These are a few of my favorite things . . . what are yours?

 

Working On My New Blog - The Cottage In My Mind

Thanks to my sister for this great photo art!

Two books are in the works as I sit on my tail end and write each day. First, the continuation of my story going from widow to crazy dog lady. Written, but still in the editing phase! Hopefully the next few months will bring it on! Living with a pack of hounds is a definate life-style. I am here to tell you about it.

My new blog The Cottage In My Mind came about after looking at Victorian cottage homes for sale in areas miles from my home and realizing I am happy where I am. It is my story of transforming my vintage ranch house into the cozy cottage I dream about. Halfway through the work, with decorating foremost in my brain, and the purchase of way too many old painted pieces of furniture, this blog will transform into a book as soon as my ranch house blooms with cottage style.

Dogs And Decorating, partie deux

Tommy Bahama in the living room!

Oh so many changes in the house! Now that I have my shop, I need to have the dogs in a spot where they will behave better! That large picture window with its continuous parade of dogs, people, and the UPS truck, drive my dogs crazy! I need them away from all that visual stimulation.

So I have done some doggie and human redecorating. My sunroom, which is my office, and never has been comfortable, although full of old Bar Harbor white wicker, has been turned into a den. I've moved my great old paint cupboard to the back wall, and made room for a Salvation Army couch (like new, $115.00) and a Last Chance Thrift Store comfy chair and ottoman (like new, for $30). Yeah, eat your heart out. I know where to shop! And you can buy some of my great finds at The Little Shop Of Arts And Antiques at very reasonable prices too!

The antique wicker is going to my late husband's cousin in Bloomington, Indiana. She remembers it from the old lake house and it needs to go back to her! She and my husband had many fun times as kids in that house, surrounded by this wicker. I also needed it out of chewer Bray's teeth!

My living room sports a new chair (Salvation Army, $99.00) and a ....please let me brag.....Tommy Bahama sofa from the same Salvation Army for $360.00. That's more than this thrifty shopper likes to pay, but if you Google my sofa, it retails new for $2999.00.

Yes the dogs sleep on it too. But they spend the days in our lovely sunroom den. I like to nap in there with them, so most days when I am at home we are all cuddling in my new den.

Our evenings are spent in the living room with Tommy Bahama relaxing and watching TV. The couch is so high I had to buy a footstool for chubby Annabelle to crawl up to cuddle next to me on Tommy. No matter how much a piece is valued, it is of no value to me if we can't all snuggle on it!

It is amazing how well behaved they are away from my picture window.

Wouldn't you like to join us for a cup of coffee in my new doggie sunroom?

I can see clearly now...Chloe has a bird's eye view of yard.

Bray ready to party down, hope he won't eat quilt. He is a chewer!

Rascal finds her new spot in the sun so relaxing!

full couch

Foxy looking for a place on the floor.

Foxy likes to sleep behind the computer chair. Her old bones don't like to be jarred getting on furniture any more.

Rascal wondering if she should try to get up

All by myself....

Annabelle likes to keep the couch to herself most afternoons

I think it's time for a nap. Hey, Annabelle, better move that big butt of yours! Mine is joining you!

Opening Day Scrapbook Of The Little Shop Of Arts And Antiques

Digital scrapbook customized with Smilebox