25 years later

This was my house. Newly married I moved into this house in January of 1985. It was bought in one of those movin' back to the city urban-renewal phases that cities and 30 somethings go through. It was a 9 room 2 1/2 story neglected Victorian townhouse in the National Historic District of Manchester. And you can just imagine how many coats of paint it took to give it a new lease on life.

I passed by on a recent visit to Pittsburgh when I took many a trip down memory lane. I was disappointed to see that it was once again on the decline. The peeling paint on the front of the house which seemed to be caused by water damage made me wonder if the roof was leaking somewhere. It cost a bundle but we replaced all of the oversized wooden windows on the front of the building because they were rotting/rotted and I worry that water damage will hasten this. The trim/door/brick colors are all wrong and I seem to remember that the city planted a tree in front of the house which is missing.

I moved to Cincinnati at the end of June, 1988.

I loved that house . . .

Descartes taken one step further. . .

I think therefore I drink

there's no place like home . . .

“Close your eyes and tap your heels together three times. And think to yourself, there's no place like home.”

I'm homesick . . .

José Saramago

The Portuguese Nobel prize winning author, José Sarmago, died today. He was 87. He was a natural "story-teller" but his ideas/views/books were controversial causing him to move abroad.

I attended a lecture that he gave a few years ago (2004) at a local library and you didn't need to be conversant in Portuguese to see that he was a good man. Afterwards at the book signing, he reassured those standing in a long queue not to worry about waiting as he would be the last person to leave the hall. He was that kind of person.

I cherish my copy of Baltazar & Blimunda signed by José Saramago. It was a pleasure to meet him.

May he rest in peace . . .

little black dress

It used to be that one needed to have a little black dress stashed away in the back of the closet. You never knew when an invitation to dine with friends at a new restaurant, a cocktail party, happy hour after work with co-workers or a date with the cute Price-Waterhouse auditor might arise. A girl just had to be prepared. . .

Fast forward 25 years (give or take 5) and the little black dress has taken on a completely different look. Now we need to have appropriate attire to wear to a funeral. Luis' cousin, who was in his mid 70's, died last night. His health has been declining during the past couple of years. Although home after a recent hospital stay, his death was totally unexpected and has taken us all by surprise. He was buried this afternoon.

May he rest in peace . . .

Before I do anything else today . . .

Before I do anything else today I would like to reflect on the moving situation. One thing that people don't take into consideration is the emotional impact that downsizing has. We are collectors; we spend a lifetime collecting things and memories. While I have moved more times than I care to remember and my transatlantic move forced me to leave behind lots of "things", I am once again facing that process of going through each and every item I own (paper/document/book/picture) and making a decision - pitch or keep, trash or treasure????? Although I've done this before, it's not any easier.

I've come across forgotten trinkets, revived silver earrings and bracelets, and looked at photos that have taken me back to parties and events long past. School books and papers that I wrote at Miami were revisited. And I began to feel a sense of loss. I was a non-traditional student who LOVED my undergraduate experience. Miami University was a world in which I flourished. My semesters included drama classes, horseback riding, buddhism, along with a semester abroad.

As third year students, a friend and I decided that we needed to also include a minor and we scrambled to find one that would compliment our majors. I finally graduated with a BA in History and a minor in Medieval Studies. In addition to studying the 12th Century and women in the middle ages, I took classes in medieval art and Chaucer. There was a time that I would discuss the iconography of tympanums, eat lunch in the remains of a Roman amphitheater, and go out of my way to travel to Autun (a remote town in France) to marvel at the sculptures of Gislebertus.

And as I write this I wonder what has happened to that woman. That woman who was filled with optimism and positive energy. That woman who was ready to tackle the world. That woman who had a sense of adventure and trusted her own competence. At the moment we are miles apart. I hope I rediscover her among the many boxes left to go through . . .