A Merge

If I can figure out how to do it, I am merging Walliebloggin' and Walliebloggin' 2.  Both will be under Walliebloggin' from now on...I hope.

Everyone needs a groove and a dog food bowl.

We are taking a break from settling in at the new homestead, to housesit back in our rocky mountain playground.  We’ve been going pretty much non-stop for a couple of months preparing to move, moving, renovating, unpacking, and finally (hope this isn’t too premature) putting the finishing touches on our new (to us) home.  Originally, skiing was in the picture, but some knee pain is keeping me off the slopes this trip until a plan of action for it becomes apparent, so we are in a slow it down/take it as it comes mode and we will just enjoy being here instead of go-go-go (but its only day two-ha!).

We will be entrusted with a couples home that is two doors down from our first housesit in August.  We met them on that trip and their two precious Westies we will be caring for.  Their home is also on the golf course, but buried under a few feet of snow at the moment.  A sad, but pretty sight nonetheless.

Until our housesit begins in a few days, we are hanging out at a friend’s place getting acclimated to the altitude and the scenery that never lets you down.  So while we are here, getting our mountain fix, I will try to share some scenes and thoughts as the days trickle by.

Nature's way of keeping these bicycles safe from being stolen til spring.

What better way than to start with breakfast?  Those of you that know me, really know me, know that cereal was an addiction for me.  During a certain dark period of my early adulthood, I could be caught eating large quantities out of a dog food bowl, lovingly given to me, yet enabled my problem with multiple variations of cereal that came pre-sugared and naked.

Some 30 plus years later, without any rehab, I’ve wrestled my intake of Sugar Frosted Flakes, Sugar Pops, and way back in the day…Captain Crunch (among others)… to a manageable, semi-normal serving size of Kashi’s Heart to Heart Oat Flakes & blueberry clusters.  That is most days.  But a few years ago (and I have shared this before) Snoqualmie Falls Lodge Old Fashioned Pancake and Waffle Mix found me.  A taste bud marriage made in culinary heaven, that will last as long as humanly possible.

So back to, “What better way than to start with breakfast?”  Whether at home, traveling on the road, or on a housesit, this blessed mix accompanies me if at all possible.  In previous blogs I’ve eluded to its presence, but until now have not shared a more comprehensive take of this gift from above.  You see, when I have one of these gems for breakfast (blueberry pancake or waffle), it just didn’t start when I woke up and felt that empty feeling from the night before, having topped off dinner with a slice of apple streusel pie-heated (half price, compliments of the local grocery store), paired with a traditional scoop or three of vanilla ice cream…no, it usually begins a day, sometimes two days before.  It is my break from Kashi and shakes my intestines up a bit, variety and all that.  So yesterday, we got our legs under us at altitude and got out and got a little fresh air (shopping!).  I got the feeling that today would be a good Snoqualmie day.  Didn’t say anything to Beth, but in my mind I knew it was coming.

As the lights went out on the way to slumber land, I mentioned to Beth I felt like a blueberry pancake in the morning, if she was interested.  She is usually good for a smallish one, but without syrup (that’s a whole other chapter). 

Morning arrives as it usually does (thank goodness and I think that everyday!) and as I check my extremities to begin loosening them up in preparation for getting vertical, Snoqualmie becomes my focus.  I say nothing to Beth, because I don’t’ want my addiction to sound worse than it is.  The process begins.

I won’t go so far as to metaphor this whole affair as if it were a dance, that’s a little creepy.  But more of a groove I slip into.  I will spare you the details, but hit some important highlights.  This is an add only water mix…no eggs, oil, whatever, so it is right up there with my ability level in the kitchen.  My measurement tool is not a measuring cup or measuring spoons…it’s a fork.  I know that 5 fork-fulls, makes the perfect size pancake or waffle (for me).  It’s not giant or too small, it’s just right.  While the mix awaits the griddle to warm up, the blueberries get washed and de-stemmed (if there are any to be found).  Then they are scooped up and with a little love-squeeze, dropped into the batter.  That little finger hug shows my appreciation for their wonderful addition to the trifecta of taste that completes one pancake…the mix, the syrup, and the blueberries.

Finger hugs all around.  Thanks for being so tasty!

This wonderful slurry awaits its turn on the griddle.

The batter that is now overloaded with blueberries is ladled onto the griddle, and the rest is pretty much salivary history.  A couple of eggs and maybe either milk or orange juice compliments the setting.  But the pièce de résistance is the Log Cabin (No High Fructose Corn Syrup) Original Syrup – A family tradition since 1887!  Log Cabin is some baggage I evidently have carried around since my childhood; it’s just not the same without it.  What I marvel at every time is how little time it takes to eat it, compared with preparing it.  But I enjoy the beginning, the middle, and the end, each just as much…well maybe the end more!  So you see, it is not just making a pancake, its not “a dance”, it’s a groove.  And I look forward to getting my groove on in another 4 or 5 days.

A picture never tasted so good!

My Zen from the Road:  I miss my old dog food bowl I ate cereal from…or maybe it’s the fact I could eat copious amounts of cereal and my body kept its awesomeness…at least until I hit 30!  Either one, it just goes to show you we can’t and don’t stay the same (physically and other-wise).  We are not made that way.  Whether it is incorporating a morning routine to get your joints moving before jumping out of bed to greet the day, or maybe just rolling out of bed, trying not to go to the floor in the process, and accepting another day is upon you…we adapt, we change, and we are the better for it or at least we should try to be.  We are a work in progress.  And when we are done, well…I guess we will be able to eat out of dog food bowls again.

On our way out, we stopped for gas
in Goodland and had a moment with Van Gogh's
"Sunflowers," Kansas style.

Measuring Change

The more things change, the more they stay the same…  I get it, but I don’t.  The more things change, the more things change.  Now that makes sense.

As a science teacher, my students and I discussed that for living things to survive, they must adapt to their surroundings or they end up struggling and may not survive.  Well, this last year I found myself practicing what I preached.  The change I am talking about can be measured in many ways.  For example, the distance of 7.6 miles, measures the distance from the home I’ve known for a looong time, to mine and Beth's new (circa 1985) townhome.  This change began in earnest about a month ago and involves Beth and me packing up and moving to OUR new place around Christmas time.  This is something I haven’t done for over 25 years, but Beth has now done it twice in 2 years!  I recommend it to NO ONE…moving that is (due to what seems like endless cleaning, packing, throwing away, taking what you just threw in the trash back out and rethinking it, then throwing it back in the trash (or not)).  

Over the last six months, we looked around to see what was available in maintenance free housing.  There was always something that ruled out a particular home, townhome, or condo.  Until THIS ONE became available.  A townhome with storage (or at least more than others we had seen to that point).  Updated, good location, apparently move-in ready, and we BOTH LIKED IT.  Strike while the iron is hot!  We offered.  They countered.  We accepted.  And before we knew it, we owned two properties, had two sets of utility bills, two mailboxes, and two places that needed work.  For purposes of clarity, we will call the home in Blue Springs, my home city since I was a freshman in high school, House #1.  The new place located in Lee’s Summit will be House #2.  And for a two-week period in the middle of this evolution over Thanksgiving, we house-sat for friends in House #3.

While waiting for the closing on house #2, the wheels started turning on “what-ifs.”  What if we changed the flooring?  What if we took out a small wall (there are no small walls!)?  What if we covered up the brick on the fireplace?  And the snowball express left the station.  Beth has great vision on what the possibilities are in a space and soon, as if animated through HGTV, a wall disappeared, floor tile was coming out (thanks Jeff), kitchen cabinets were being painted, brick is being dry walled over (thanks Shannon), and of course new wall colors became endless.  Not to mention a different kind of trim and baseboard touch, door handles, and window treatments.  By the time we signed our 30-year commitment to our lender, we were ready to hit the ground running.  Over the last couple of months, a transformation has taken place from our “move-in ready” townhouse to OUR new renovated townHOME and the running part has slowed to a walk with a limp.

I don’t want to leave you with the impression that House #2 is now complete.  Let’s just say that all of the stuff we didn’t donate, throw away, or leave for the buyers of House #1, has found space under the roof of House #2.  By the time the last paintbrush has been washed out and final dust pile swept up…let’s just say that winter’s grip will be a fading memory.

What makes change easier, is knowing that what you are leaving behind will be ok.  On a grand scale, that must have been one thing on Miki’s mind as she expressed her concern not for herself, but for me, her family, and her friends, as she moved on and left us behind.  Hopefully she found that peace in knowing we would be fine.  To a much less degree, I felt this for my home of 25 years.  A 26-year-old house (when it was purchased) that was transformed over the following 25 years into a home that became special to me.

With the changes Beth and I have experienced in our lives recently, letting the house go was overdue, so that we could begin with a blank slate with each other and create a home of our own together.

After placing it on the market last fall and showing it to a number of prospects, the accolades began to flow and were nice to hear and the enthusiasm of these potential buyers easily got me excited multiple times to receive an offer that never came, that first month.  That is until a young couple looking for their first house came to look it over.  With their 2 year old son, a parent, and their realtor in tow, the tour began.  As I began giving background information on updates in the kitchen, one of the potential buyers had slipped away into the TV room where she was looking out the back door.  Between words, I heard a soft gasp of sorts from her, as she viewed the backyard and the park beyond.  At that moment, that falling in love gasp from what she saw and felt, seemed to have sealed the deal in my mind.  As she rounded the corner to find her way back to us, the smile on her face said it all.  She saw the potential for her home as I did, the day I walked through it for the first time.  She saw her son playing in the backyard and taking advantage of the park they had come to visit many times in the past.  They left Beth and me with many thanks for taking our time to share our home with them.  They went directly to the realtor’s office and called with an offer…exactly what we were asking.  With that, change became palpable.

With all the hoops to jump through during the closing process (the inspection, the appraisal, things to fix from the inspection, displaced anger towards the inspector, things you want to do to the inspector for things on his list of  “you might want to change or fix…”, and then there is the termite inspection and the remnants of long passed problems they don’t want to take a chance on, but I digress…), when the time came to walk out the door for the last time, I was ready and OK.  I did take a moment the morning of the closing, to sit in an empty house on the floor, looking out at one of my favorite views into the backyard, toward the tree house and into the park and revisited numerous memories.  I won’t have the house anymore, but the memories are mine.

Since then, change has meant progress.  Where we couldn’t walk before, boxes have been moved and emptied so we can now walk.  Priorities have expressed themselves in trips to the ReStore, Goodwill, and the awesomely big trash bins up the street and before long, hopefully before the winter thaw, the car will find its home inside its garage each night (that it has never had) and I will have room to begin constructing our master bathroom vanity.

There has also been a change in the tonnage of stuff I’ve accumulated.  From what was at house #1 to what was actually moved to house #2 was reduced significantly through my eyes.  But evidently not enough, because I am now pairing that down even further.  If there is no place for it on a shelf, in a corner, or hidden under the bed, it's off to the ReStore!

But the biggest change is yet to come.  The change that will allow Beth and me to start from our own scratch, as we collect new memories, souvenirs, and photo albums, as change waits around every corner.

Change.  It’s inevitable.  It’s relentless.  It can be a good thing.  Be open to it.  Go with it.  Like the quote says…Be the change you want to see…

My Zen from Our New Home:  Sometimes measuring change is seeing change...