Time for a Change

Many years ago my family used to tease one of my brothers because he would tell us he needed a new watch simply because the watch battery had died. In a similar vein, I’m thinking that having a dirty and cluttered house necessitates a move. Okay, he didn’t really need a new watch, and I don’t really need a new house. On the other hand, the fact that I do have a new (loosely defined here) house has opened my eyes to a number of things.

First, the reality that we’re moving across country has inspired us to get rid of a lot of stuff. Everyone knows they have too much stuff, and we are no exception. Peter and I regularly pitch and purge, but we still have too much stuff. I think that’s part of being an American, and I’m embarrassed by it. Peter would say we didn’t toss nearly enough, but I think Goodwill has made a decent profit off of us.

Second, I have found things. I have found missing socks, puzzle pieces, important papers (how did that end up there?), and untold other things. Moving forces us to touch much more of our belongings than we normally would. In the process, we move things around, dust things off, lift up lids, and peer into corners. Some of what I have found is disgusting. With three kids, two cats, and a dog, I guess that was inevitable.

Some found items have been delightful. I have found really funny notes that the children have written. (I won’t share them or embarrass the children here. They get private emails to remind them of their past.) I have found scraps of paper or cloth that bring back great memories. I found love that got buried under the everyday dust of life. And, yes, I’ve found dust bunnies the size of my cats.

Peter has been going through our kitchen cabinets to locate foods that we forgot we had. Luckily for me, he’s an amazing cook who can throw together a really tasty meal using the most unusual combination of ingredients. He does it all without a recipe. I really love that man!

Third, the house is getting cleaned to a degree it hasn’t seen since we moved back in 2000 after a major remodel. I mean all the rooms are getting cleaned and all the windows and all the furniture. It’s amazing. When we moved to Bellevue from Centreville, Virginia, in 1993, Microsoft paid for professional packers to pack everything. (I was seven months pregnant. The packers were a godsend!) Packers don’t know what’s important and what’s not, so they packed virtually everything. I’m sure Peter was surprised to receive trash cans replete with trash already in them! I, on the other hand, am throwing out trash, dusting furniture, and doing what I can to avoid having to throw stuff away as soon as it gets to Maryland. At this point, we have sent three large containers to Maryland. That’s three containers of stuff that is no longer in my way when I vacuum or dust.

Maybe moving is a little extreme of an activity simply to clean and declutter a house. Maybe we just need to reorganize our houses every so often. Pack a room up just to have the experience of seeing everything that’s in that room. Give more to Goodwill than we would normally allow ourselves. Move everything into the garage and only move back the stuff that really matters. Yeah, I won’t do that, either.

And maybe, just maybe, when I’m in Switzerland next month, I’ll buy my brother a new watch.

Pitching, Packing, and Painting

I know I haven’t been writing much lately, but there’s not a whole lot to say. Mostly, I’ve been pitching, packing, and painting. I’ll be gone for most of March and April, so I’m trying to get a lot done now. May and June will be reserved for tying up loose ends and finding a new space in Bellevue.

I’m out of small boxes, and I’m too cheap to actually buy any. Instead, I lurk on Craigslist trying to grab some as soon as they are posted. Sadly, others lurk and grab more quickly than I. I still have plenty of medium and large boxes, but they get so heavy that I prefer not to use them unless I have to.

The painting has been coming along well. I’ve completed two bathrooms, two bedrooms, the laundry room, the upstairs hallway and part of the stairway. They were the biggest offenders, so I feel pretty good about how things look now. I still want to get the playroom done, but it’s not a rush. The rush will be painting and packing Allison’s room in June.

We’ll be moving another Relocube container in early March. I might not post any more until then because I have non-move issues consuming me before then. Oh, and I’ll continue pitching, packing, and painting.

De-homifying

Remember the last time you moved into a new place? You were probably filled with thoughts about how to make that house (or apartment or whatever) into your home. You were thinking about wall colors, furniture, family photos, and everything else that transforms a house from a blocky frame of rooms into a comfortable refuge from the world.

We are in the opposite place right now. My realtor father has told me that the best way to sell a house is to remove all those homey wall colors, picture frames, and personal mementos. When buyers look at your house, they want to see their home, not yours. They want to envision what they can do with it, not what you have already done. As great as you may be in decorating and creating a home for your family, you are not expected to have it figured out for everyone who visits your home with the intent to buy.

So it is now with us. On Christmas we painted over our kids' aquamarine bathroom walls that had sea life handpainted on it for the past 15 or so years. Right now, I’m letting the second coat of paint dry in Charles’ room where there used to be stripes in the Seattle Mariners’ colors of dark blue and teal. I’ve slowly been packing up Erin’s and Charles’ bedrooms and will soon attack the playroom. We are de-homifying our house.

Peter and I are okay with this process because we know of the adventures that lie ahead for us. We already have another house that is becoming our home. Our middle daughter, however, is really struggling. For her, the only child left at home, this is a difficult transition that she prefers not to be a part of. She watches as we paint over the fish she has stared at since she was a baby. She sees me remove family photos and pack them away. Her house is becoming less welcoming and warm to her by every sunset.

I have agreed to let Allison’s room be the last to be transformed. It is painted in two shades of purple, so it really needs to be transformed. I, however, am loathe to kick her out of her loved bedroom full of her life’s knickknacks, memories, and comfort. Much of what she has won’t matter to her in five years, but it all matters so deeply to her now. Come June, that little girl of mine will graduate from high school and then pack all of her belongings into boxes headed for the East Coast. Yes, she has a place in our home in Maryland, but it isn’t a place filled with memories. It will only have her stuff.

This is what is hard for me right now. I’m okay with moving me, but I hurt every time I do something that involves moving the kids. A child’s pain is always shared by her mother, even if not to the same degree. The idea that I am voluntarily inflicting this pain on my child makes it all the worse. We continue to move forward in this venture, but it is not without remorse or even some tears.

Black Walnuts Roasting Over an Open Fire?

During my trip to Maryland in October, I spent a morning picking up many black walnuts that had littered the ground in parts of our yard. I did it because our prolific trees provide us with a vast expanse of walnut seedlings each spring. We mow them down, or I pull them out by their roots, but they return each year. In an effort to be proactive, I gathered all the nuts before they could turn into weeds. I was faced with a beautiful day, an energetic body, and a lack of patience.

Christmas means kiflings (a family cookie tradition), and kiflings mean walnuts. I am reminded that there is more to a walnut than the mere possibility that it will germinate and become a weed. There is the concept that we could actually eat it. (Well, Peter can’t because of his nut allergy, but the rest of us can.) I have looked online and found a little bit about how to harvest and crack them, a little about how to cook with them, and a little about how the emerging market for black walnuts in China could mean we are living on a potential walnut mine! As a bonus, I discovered that eating them actually promotes weight loss because they are rich in Omega-3 fatty acids.

My goal for next year is to discover a little bit more by September so I can actually make a decent attempt at harvesting, cracking, storing, cooking, and eating our own black walnuts. (Since 65% of the wild harvest comes from Missouri, I’m counting on my Missouri friends and family to help me out here.) It seems a waste to let a bounty of food go to the squirrels every year. If you’re not up for grape stomping, but you still want to help us discover new ways of living next fall, drop by for the black walnut harvest. If you’re up for both, we may still be able to accommodate you. Each fall in several states, cities host a Black Walnut Festival. Are there any adventurous explorers out there who would like to accompany me to Ohio, West Virginia, or Missouri?

Next year at this time, stop by our house and join us for some roasted walnuts...or whatever we come up with. I can’t guarantee that you’ll find Jack Frost, yuletide choirs, or folks dressed up like Eskimos, but I can guarantee wine, warmth, food, and friendship.

Piano Moving Day

Today we sold our piano to a terrific young family (the Songs!) that is excited about learning and exploring a new passion. Our baby grand piano was purchased nine years ago when we were in the same stage of life. Our oldest was taking piano lessons, and we had hopes that our other two children would also learn. As it turns out, the oldest was a fine pianist, but her passion was in choir. Our middle child found her passion in the theater, and our youngest is still in search of his passion. Regardless, the piano was not it, and it is time to sell it and move on.

Our oldest is unhappy about us selling the piano. She has fond memories of playing it and using it to help her sing. She has many friends who are proficient at it and would play it when they visited our house. (Thank you, Tania, for your many beautiful serenades!) But now our oldest lives on the East Coast in a dorm that has its own grand piano. I suspect she has never played it. I also suspect she wouldn’t play ours if we moved it.

We only briefly considered moving the piano with us to Maryland. For one thing, Peter and I don’t play it. And although we might occasionally have visitors who do, we weren’t convinced that it was worth the space that it would take up. Also, a piano prefers a climate controlled environment. Our house in Maryland is anything but climate controlled. Temperature and humidity swing like a pendulum, wreaking havoc on a wooden instrument’s tuning and tone. No, we just couldn’t do that with a good conscience.

We have the memories that life with a piano afforded us. Now it’s time for this reliable and beautiful instrument to meet a new family and provide them with many years of memories and beauty. It wasn’t built to stand as a piece of furniture or as a monument to times past. It was built to be played and enjoyed in the moment by appreciative hands and ears and smiling faces. Merry Christmas to the Song children. May you have many happy memories ahead of you.

One Thousand Gifts

My women’s Bible study is currently reading One Thousand Gifts by Anne Voskamp. The premise of the book (from what I can tell) is to give thanks (eucharisteo) for all that we have by noticing the little things that make life wonderful. The author was challenged to start a list of 1,000 things that she is thankful for. She surpasses 1,000 and keeps on going.

My Bible study has chosen to follow in her footsteps and also find thanks in the little things. I have chosen, however, to delay starting my list until I move to Maryland. It’s not that I’m not thankful for all that is Seattle and Bellevue. It’s that I’d probably be too thankful and focused on all that I’m about to give up.

I don’t want to create some wimpering list of what I’m leaving behind. I want to be thankful for everything wherever I am. Since I’m sure that will be a bigger struggle just after a major move, that’s what I intend to do. I’m going to be actively searching for all that is wonderful and makes life worth living in my new environment. And, no, I’m not giving myself a deadline. If it takes me a long time to hit a thousand, then that’s what it takes.

If I were to start today, my first entry would be the smell of pumpkin scones baking. It would be followed by the smile on my daughter's face when she walks through the door and discovers the scones. Moments like those make me thankful that I can enjoy them.

A Quick Lesson in Winemaking

Earlier I described the process by which we stomped some of our wine grapes to start turning grapes into wine. Here is where I’ll describe the next step of the process. This is highly simplified, but it’s about my speed. If you want more information, Gerald is your guy.

The white varietal, Marsanne, wasn’t stomped. Instead, Gerald and Uncle Pete pressed it until all the juices ran out. We aren’t interested in saving skins or seeds because we don’t want the tannins in the wine. Also, white skins do nothing for the color. As you can see by the photo, we are left with all the skins, stems, and seeds which are pressed tightly into a “pumice cake” when we are done. It is discarded in the compost bin.

The juice from the reds is left soaking in the skins and seeds which adds color and tannins. Sometimes the fermentation is started immediately, and sometimes it is delayed for a couple of days. Regardless, the mixtures are stirred twice a day to keep the skins and seeds in contact with the juice. They tend to float and dry out in a cap floating on the surface.

Once fermentation is started, we have to test the juice for specific gravity at least daily. Gerald pointed out a slim glass pipette for me to use. I spent over an hour trying to test the different juices because the seeds and skins kept clogging the tube. Peter suggested a much larger plastic pipette the next day. It was faster, but still took a long time. Finally, I was super frustrated at the amount of time and effort this was taking me every night. I wanted to quit the whole thing! That’s when my ever-calm husband provided me with the strainer and cup that moved me from the Middle Ages to the 21st Century and saved my remaining sanity. I still think there’s a better way, but I’ll leave that to an engineer to figure out.

While we were away in the Northeast, Gerald was able to press off the juices of the Sangiovese and Nebbiolo. The resulting pumice cakes likely looked a lot like a purple or brown version of the photo above. Now the wines sit in carboys as they continue to slowly age in a cold room (50 degrees?) for a long time. I’m not sure what else happens, but I’m sure Gerald tinkers with it now and then. It will probably be bottled next summer.

Here is how the winemaker defines himself. Not only is timing important (harvest early or late, ferment right away or wait), but so is temperature (warm fermentation or cold), the yeast used (many, many choices). Does he want a single varietal wine or a blend? Does he want light tannins or strong ones? Red or rosé? Carbonated or flat? What other features does he prefer in a wine? The same berry can produce very different wines depending on how it is processed after it is harvested. Gerald tests different ways of doing each of these things to help him decide on the best way to make wine using our grapes. It’s a dynamic process, and we have a lot of variability from year to year.

We have homemade wines from our vineyard on both coasts. Join us for a glass or two!

Class dismissed.