Cosmic spankings

A number of years ago, my friend Mike had a series of accidents.  After being rear-ended three times, Mike (a newspaper columnist) wrote a very funny piece on why he was receiving Cosmic Spankings from the universe.

I'm convinced I enjoyed that article a little too much. The sound of my laughter rose to the heavens and attracted the attention of the gods who decided I was a Bad, Bad Grrrl for snorting over Mike's misfortune. So as penance, the gods made sure I was rearended three times in five months. Bam, bam, bam. My own Cosmic Spankings. Um, not so funny. That was in 2004.

Now 2008 has been marked by a series of Things Gone Wrong. There was a big bureaucratic and logistical mess trailing our move from Belgium back to America, including an accounting error made by Mr. V-Grrrl's employer in Belgium that has had a huge financial impact on us.

Weeks after arriving in Virginia, our finished basement flooded and we discovered our new house had major structural issues that would cost tens of thousands of dollars to fix. Plus, the chimney was cracked (cha-ching), the heat pump failed (cha-ching), a massive dead oak tree close to the house had to be removed to the tune of $2,000, and to fix the structural damage in the foundation, we had to pull out all the professionally done landscaping and remove the sidewalks as well as pull out all the carpeting and half the paneling downstairs (cha-ching).

Our living space was reduced by half, much of our stuff shoved back into cardboard boxes after it had been carefully upacked, and my 12-year-old son and 10-year-old daughter have spent most of the last six months sharing a tiny cramped bedroom, first in a Brussels apartment, then in our house here after the (Not So) Great Flood in May. We have been humbled. The financial planner who told us we had too much money in savings has been humbled too.

And then just as the structural repairs are nearing completion on the basement, we had the car accident.

But I'm not depressed. No I'm not! The way I see it, Mr. V-Grrrl and I are the ultimate economic stimulus package. Thanks to us, immigrant tree cutters got a big paycheck in April, the chimney guy can afford to go to the dentist, the masonry contractor can pay the hospital bills he incurred when he had his first ever construction accident, two guys who had been laid off by their employers found work repairing my house, and the people at Lowe's love me, just love me. Plus, we are earning many, many points charging things to our United Airlines credit card. Woo hoo!

Why save money when you can spend it on your fellow man and relieve his economic suffering? It's the duty of those of us who have jobs during this recession to spend not just our income but our savings pulling everyone else out of the economic abyss.

Yes sirree, I'm mighty proud of my family for doing its part to help our fellow Americans be able to afford cable television, Friday night pizza, and gasoline. And the more our money circulates, the more taxes it generates, providing much needed funds for the federal government to spend rebuilding the countries we've flattened in recent years.

So you can see we are good, good people here at Chez V. Good, good people. Really, we are. So please, no more Cosmic Spankings. And Mike, if you're reading this, don't you dare laugh!

August 11, 2008

Dark clouds rolling in

Dark clouds roll over the Potomac River cliffs

The end was within sight. I was unpacking my last boxes, making my final trips to Goodwill, tucking stray items into closets and cabinets, hanging my artwork, and anticipating buying a loveseat for our bedroom and a lamp for the foyer.

I finally felt fully and happily in my house in Virginia, ready to move back into the mainstream of life, cultivate friendships, resume working.

And then the dark clouds rolled in.

We went camping last weekend and managed to miss the rain, but when it finally arrived Sunday afternoon, it came with a vengeance. FIVE inches of rain fell overnight.

Monday morning a trip to the storage room in the basement to grab a suitcase led to a horrifying discovery--wet carpet and walls and no sign the water had come in through the windows.

Hours later, with the carpet pulled back and paneling removed from the studs, we saw a big crack in our basement wall. My daughter's room was so wet we had to move her out of it.

A foundation and masonry repair expert arrived, looked at the damage and let us know we were looking at a repair job that would cost tens of thousands of dollars. A structural engineer is coming by tomorrow to give his assessment. Another specialist is due later this week.

Happiness at Chez V has been squashed and smothered.

These beautiful plants in my front yard, photographed last week? We'll lose them all when they excavate the wall down to the foundation.

The massive oak tree in this photo that I posted two weeks ago? It died as a result of last summer's drought. Its enormous branches, overhanging our roof, were a threat and so the tree was removed at a cost of nearly $2,000.

In the process of removing the tree, our front porch rail was smashed and broken:

And did I mention my heating and cooling system isn't working? 

If we're forced to replace it, it will cost several thousand dollars.

Those of you who have been following my story in the last year know it has been full of ups and downs, that I've been bullied, that I've struggled to keep faith in the institutions I used to believe in, that my family structure has been rattled and shaken, that we endured a tremendous amount of stress during this move, and that I've had moments when I wondered just what would be left of my life when the dust settled and I was finally in Virginia.

Initially, it seemed to be a smooth transition, there were lots of joyous moments, and I was finally beginning to exhale.

But now, the house that I have lived in less than two months and love is draining our financial and emotional resources.

 The dream that our toughest challenges were behind us has dissipated.

The fragile peace I was cobbling together is falling apart.

Somehow the jagged, muddy crack undermining our home is more than a little symbolic.

But today on the phone I joked with Peter in Antwerp that maybe I shouldn't have the crack repaired. Maybe I'll pretend I'm back in Belgium where the fractured stone walls are transformed into something beautiful by the hardy plants that tenaciously hang onto whatever they can, grow even when they seem to lack what they need to thrive, and bloom in spite of everything, among the stones. 

Peter and I, we're looking at our broken homes and trying to see a garden. What else can we do?

May 13, 2008

The questions

Memories of the road I walked as an expat in Belgium

By the end of the month when the last cardboard box disappears, the garage is empty of items to send to Goodwill, the closets are neatly organized, the art is hung and the last random piles littering the floor are resolved, I will finally have a sense that my expat experience has ended and the next phase of my life has begun. There's been so much to sort out. Being an expat isn't just about location, it's tied to your state of mind.

In many ways, my expat experience didn't begin the day I landed in Belgium to live, but the hot July day I first seriously considered leaving America behind and starting a new life in a foreign country. I stepped out in faith, knowing little about what would lie ahead but believing I could handle it, that it would be good for me even if it was hard.

And it was hard. And it was good for me.

It was  a journey that expanded my world, created a whole new interior and exterior geography, and altered my ways of seeing and being. Just as the title of this blog suggests, life grows, breaks down, is rearranged, and generates something new. 

While the preparation and physical act of moving dominated at least six months of our lives, the psychological effects and lessons will be with me always.  As my post over the last few months have indicated, unpacking and settling into my native country again hasn't just been about dealing with boxes and closets. It's about unwrapping the feelings and ideas that were buried during the process, recognizing what they are, examining them from all sides, confronting what I'm uncomfortable with, working toward a larger understanding, and ultimately, processing my experiences--not stuffing them away.

As I've written before, the greatest truths are often revealed in the questions we ask ourselves. The questions define what it is we want to know, what it is that Matters. Questioning is a constant for me--the foundation of my life. As for answers? They evolve, are fluid, and will always reflect change.

As I come to the end of my first (but hopefully not last) expat experience, I give you The Big Questions I've wrestled with and continue to explore:

• Where is home?
• What does it look like?
• How does it feel?
• Who do I share it with?
• How do I share it?
• What is my community?
• How will I participate in it?
• What material possessions do I need to function happily?
• Why?
• If something isn't useful now but may be useful later, is it really worth saving?
• Does it really matter how much I spent on an item if I don't love it anymore?
• What does money have to do with value?
• Does it matter how much I've invested in a relationship if it's not working anymore?
• What does time invested have to do with value?
• How does proximity create, shape, and end relationships? 
• What items remain personal symbols and what ones have ceased to resonate?
• Why?
• Can I let go of who I was and acknowledge who I am now?
• How do I discard the past without discarding its lessons?
• How do I release old sorrows and embrace the day's joy?
• How do I let go of the hurt and truly forgive others?
• How do I hold myself accountable and yet forgive myself?
• Is all this soul searching leading to understanding and compassion--or narcissm and selfishness?

What are YOUR big questions?

May 12, 2008

The transition is complete

From this quiet, modest very Belgian plate...to this:

Hey Virginia, I'm baaaaaaack! 

April 29, 2008

View from a front window

There is so much in the world for us all if we only have the eyes to see it, and the heart to love it, and the hand to gather it to ourselves...

--Lucy Maud Montgomery

April 24, 2008

In the pantry

Our new home has many beautiful built-in architectural details, many of them salvaged antiques from the 19th century. But my favorite detail may be this one located in the pantry, circa 2004. 

April 4, 2008

Box Cutting

On the other side of this door

Is a woman

Unpacking a life

Feeling the weight

Of all that is coiled tight

And bound together

The space too small

The time too short

The years and boxes

Too heavy

Next to the window

Is this woman

Unpacking her self

Bent in two

Reaching and stretching

Searching for what is precious

Believing it has been pushed

To the bottom of a box

Lost in layers and layers

Of crumpled beige paper

Clouds sweep the sky

The light shifts

Sun and shadow dance

Across her face

She stands upright

The past in her hands.

Surrounded by sheet after sheet

Of blank paper

She pauses to rest

And imagine

The colors, the words, the feel

Of a spirit

Unboxed.

March 28, 2008

Coming soon

...Internet access and a return to regular posting here at Compost Studios. Installation is set for tomorrow. Please, please, please.

It's now been ten days since the movers delivered 13,000 pounds of household goods (including about 300 packed boxes) to my new home. Five days later, an additional 5,000 pounds of items that were in long-term storage were delivered. Can I just say that I feel inexplicably ashamed that we own this much stuff, even though we came in far below the weight allowance we were given for our shipments.

I spent all afternoon shelving books, mostly the children's. I'm not even close to done yet. Thank God I have an entire room in my house that has built in floor to ceiling bookcases (and recessed lighting illuminating the shelves!) as well as a wall of floor to ceiling bookcases in my bedroom.  I guess it should not be a surprise that a writer carries so many words with her but oh my, I never want to move these books again--ever. There's also a massive collection of old letters from family and friends sitting in a closet waiting to be dealt with. And photo albums--I have so many photo albums. 

In one end of the family room are stacks and stacks of art supplies: ink, paint, paper, markers, several types of colored pencils, drawing pencils, chalk pastels, oil pastels, crayons, watercolors, acrylic paints, medium, palettes and brushes, patterned paper, watercolor paper, sketch books, cardstock, scrapbooks, brads, ribbon, ink pads, dozens of hardwood-backed rubber stamps, scissors, cutting tools,  punches, embossing powders, a heat gun, and ephemera. All this is waiting to be organized, arranged in my studio space.

We've shopped for curtains, lamps, rug pads, a toaster, a kettle, school supplies, and items to stock the pantry.  Still on our shopping list: a rug, bar stools, message board. On our big-ticket wish list: one or two loveseats, a new bedroom set for E-Grrrl, a new dining room table.  At least half of our wood furniture was inherited from our parents. Some of it is falling apart, some of it just doesn't suit us.  We're scoping the classifieds, looking for bargains and thinking of hosting a big yard sale to fund some purchases.

Despite the clutter and my frustration with how slowly the unpacking is going, we love the new house. It sits on nearly an acre of woods inside the city limits, backing up to a park. We have a deck that feels like a tree house, a stone patio and professionally landscaped yard with no grass and cobblestone pavers that remind me of Belgium. There are daffodils and rings of hyacinths in bloom, and the birdfeeders bring all sorts of songbirds into view. I've seen deer in the woods, and squirrels are everywhere.

Inside, the house space really suits the way we live and our furniture slipped into place easily. Boxes aside, it looks (and feels) like we've lived there forever.  The house has lots of architectural charm and upgrades. The former owners were antique collectors and incorporated a lot of their finds into the house design--the mantels, rails, and bathroom cabinets are from the 19th century. The kitchen features custom cabinets and tiles made by a local artisan for the house. Those elements really give the house its soul and were a huge part of its appeal for me.

So even though I sometimes chafe at the endless nature of this move and the re-settling process, I'm encouraged by the home and life that's just beyond the horizon, waiting for me.

March 27, 2008

My life in quotes

What will see me through the next 20 years (and I am less sure of those 20 than I was of "forever") is my knowledge that even in the face of the sweeping away of all that I assumed to be permanent, even when the universe made it quite clear to me that I was mistaken in my certainties, in my definitions, I did not break. The shattering of my sureties did not shatter me. Stability comes from inside, not outside...

--Lucille Clifton

Only in growth, reform and change, paradoxically enough, is true security to be found.

--Anne Morrow Lindbergh

March 21, 2008

Settling in

Each house has a spirit and personality that inhabits its spaces and speaks to the people that come through its doors. Only kindred souls hear its voice when they cross the threshold, a whisper of acceptance that says, "Go ahead, be yourself here."

The right house offers a  sense of intimacy, of openess to joy, love, sorrow, and longing. Home is a place you can scent with your presence and prayers, allow to witness your tears, echo your laughter, and watch over you while you sleep and dream. It's a place you can trust with your secrets, share with your loved ones.

There have been moments when unpacking has been satisfying. Unrolling a long coil of paper to uncover the salt and pepper shakers we've used for years, feeling their heft, their soothing coolness.  Re-discovering the perfect shape and grain of a handcarved wooden bowl that sits softly in the palm of my hand. Unwrapping a favorite painting and stepping into a memory of when and why I bought it and how it made me feel the first time I saw it. Stacking dishes in a cupboard, enjoying the rhythm of each slide and click. Pushing an oiled cloth over the familiar contours of beloved furniture as if I were washing a baby's back. Seeing the furniture slip easily into its new space like an old friend settling in at the table for a cup of coffee.

But then there are those disconcerting moments when our new life is anything but peaceful and serene. Less than 24 hours in our house and the furnace circuit kept mysteriously tripping, leaving us without heat for hours at a time, chilling muscles that were already cramped from bending over boxes and hauling stuff up stairs. An exhausting search for a toilet plunger after a toilet stopped up in one of the newly remodeled bathrooms (I hate American toilets). A desperate quest for a box of school supplies that I KNOW is in the house somewhere. Concerns that a missing piece of electronics may have been stolen (it wasn't). Panic over a missing credit card. Dismay to discover two fragile botanical wreaths were crammed into a box with part of a lamp (where's the rest?), a basket, and a bevy of art supplies. Wondering how someone could take two rolls of gift wrap that are too long to be put in a box and just bend the rolls into thirds and shove them in it anyway. Shock that a 150-year-old oil painting that has been owned by my husband's family for years was put into a box with office supplies, and that other  art was laid down in a box with heavy books stacked over the frames.

Why did the movers carry boxes of Christmas decorations into the master bedroom and dump them there and leave boxes marked "clothes" in the garage? Who put a set of cast iron book ends in a box with knick-knacks? Why were the shelf holders for the oak bookcases  carefully placed into ziplocs but then not packed with the shelves? 

Our house is littered with boxes, paper, and piles.  We are frequently frustrated as we try to live among the chaos and confusion, but as we stand and work and flop and curse and smile and chat, the house comes together. It whispers encouragement. It pulls in the sunshine and highlights its charms. It promises starry views from the deck, green shade all around in summer and a swirl of falling leaves in fall, peaceful mornings by the picture window, and warm nights in front of the fireplace.

It tells us to soldier on even when weary, to imagine good things even when sad. It says take off your shoes and put down your burdens and rest a minute, and in that quiet moment, it whispers "Welcome home."

March 19, 2008