"As The Hurricane Draws Ever Near...."

 

“As The Hurricane Draws Ever Near, A Time To Hope And Pray, A Time To ‘Watch And Wait’…Always To Wait”

 

 

08/26/12

 

 

To my very, very special friends, and wonderfully loyal readers, a ‘special storm update’, what there is of it.

 

 

How much difference can a day, or two, or three make, when considering the uncertain, and potential destructive, and/or deadly progress of an hurricane?

 

As precious hours pass, those of us who may be most affected feel the most helpless before the impact of a major storm.

 

Think, for a moment, of the hurricane as a pinball, and the entire Gulf Coast, from Galveston, Texas, through the states of Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, and…Florida as mere distant lights at the rear of a pinball machine; once launched (with NO use of the side ‘flippers’ to bear-upon direction), the hurricane takes on a life of its own, and describes a unique swath of destruction.

 

Only the legion of interactive variables such as water temperature, depth, times of high and low tide, wind direction, and…time influence the course, and strength of an hurricane, and how ultimately strong, persistent, or deadly it will be, or become.

 

Some time ago, I happened to read that—despite all the improvements and inventions designed to help more accurately predict the weather—beyond about seventy-two hours, or, three days (inclusive!), the prediction of weather becomes ineffective, and thus remains—for the most part—a complete, guessing game.

 

For a five to ten-day forecast of the present hurricane, one might as well tape-up a map of the Gulf of Mexico, and then throw darts at it.

 

Of course, with the marvel of computers, and computer-generated images, satellite maps, historical compilation, and use of ‘fly-though’ aircraft that yield valuable information about the storm, still, the projected path of a storm, and where it will make landfall, is still a matter known only to God.

 

No one knows—for example—quite why the confluence of weather datum fails to predict how intense and powerful a hurricane may become; one good indicator is an observed drop in barometric pressure within, and around the storm.  The lower the barometric pressure becomes, the more intense is the hurricane.

 

Still, no one knows exactly why this occurs.  Hurricanes are—I believe—divided into five categories, ranging from 1-5, with one, being much less of a hurricane, to a category five, which—by the way—is the strength of the hurricane that destroyed New Orleans, Louisiana, known as ‘Katrina’.

 

For those of you who may be curious, perhaps ‘Wikipedia’ might describe more fully, the differing categories of hurricanes.  For our purposes, here, suffice to say that there is a profound difference between hurricanes rated at a windspeed, and force of category one, to one that is rated a category five.

 

At category five, a hurricane of that magnitude confers destruction on a scale quite unimaginable, sweeping-up into its ravening vortex everything in its path, literally changing the surfaces of land masses, rendering areas, and populations devoid of life, and causing untold billions of dollars in wanton damage.

 

Frankly, my most dear friends, there is NO way one can prepare for the arrival, and effects of a category five hurricane.  For arguments sake, let’s assume that everything would be as vaporized as if from an atomic blast, but without the resulting radioactivity.

 

And while hurricanes generally lose much of their force upon making landfall, they can re-intensify on the other side when again traveling out to sea, and pose—then—a very real threat all the way up the eastern seaboard to New York State!

 

Of course, those who live in areas in the United States not affected by hurricane (though, these areas DO include the Gulf coast states, in general, and Florida—where I live—in particular!), are often profoundly affected by tornadoes, either singly, in groups, or developed in rapid succession.

 

With tornadoes, there is practically no warning of their occurrence whatsoever, their paths are unpredictable, and, they can develop a tendency to ‘skip’, touching down randomly along their plotted course.

 

This is why (although it seems unimaginable), on say, an ordinary, residential street, with houses of similar construction all lined up, how one home will be quite unaffected, another—perhaps, next door—will be damaged only slightly, while another will have been reduced to matchsticks by the tornado’s force.

 

About five years ago—now—an errant tornado touched down about four blocks from where I live. As it described an unchartable course through the neighborhood, my home was left untouched, although—during the storm’s duration—it seemed to vacuum the trees of every dead leaf, broke off and blew branches and tree limbs all about the yard, and swept-away everything loose on the back deck: outdoor furniture, potted plants were recovered some fifty yards away against some trees in the undeveloped lot adjacent to mine.

 

However, homes were damaged all along the path it took; some mobile homes were rendered uninhabitable, and one—in particular (because I saw pictures of it later), was ‘squashed’ in the middle, having been soundly struck by an uprooted, and falling tree.  Dear friends, imagine the middle of that mobile home (right at the front door!)  effectively reduced to about three feet in height!  Thank Heavens, the occupants were away at the time!

 

Despite all our knowledge, and all of our combined Science, no one, neither Man, President, Scientist, nor state, or city Governments can prevent tornadoes or hurricanes from occurring.

 

In a fit of helpless pique, I once telephoned a local television station, and their weather department, to speak to a meteorologist regarding the possible destruction of hurricanes, especially when they were still so very far from habitation.

 

I was younger, then, as I did not particularly care that I might be well-considered to be ‘just another crack-pot’!

 

Said I ( and, my dearest friends, you—too—may think me either stupid, or batty, or…both!), why cannot the airplanes that routinely fly-through the centers of hurricanes to record data, to—simply—while they are there, to lob a low-radiation nuclear device into the hurricanes’ ‘eye’, at the base where the storm touches water, and then…voila…just blow the hurricane to pieces, effectively turning it into no more than a large field of thunderstorms, and rainy weather?

 

I must say that the meteorologist with whom I spoke was very kind, patient, and—without doubt—long-suffering.

 

He told me that first, it might cause a wide distribution of radioactive rain, and water; secondly, that it might pose a threat to inhabited areas.

 

Then, just as I had concluded that I had sounded like some loose-witted maniac, he finally told me something quite unbelievable. For when I apologized for abusing his time, and credulity, he told me that the use of a nuclear deterrent in hurricane elimination had already been suggested, and considered!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

Otherwise, EVERY year, from the beginning of June, until quite the end of December, we—in Florida, and elsewhere—periodically check the weather channels, always half-holding our collective breaths, watching and waiting for any pronounced tropical disturbances to imamate from the west coast of Africa; we watch, helpless, as tropical storms strengthen into hurricanes as they languidly plow-through the Atlantic waters, headed ever westward, but to where? 

 

Only time, my dearest friends, will tell.

 

For those of you who are—at present—threatened by Hurricane Isaac, or who live within the unfolding, projected path of the storm, please know I think of you; you are in my thoughts, and prayers. And…that’s about all we CAN do for each other.  I say prayers—too—really, for all of us.

 

And please, please always know I love you dearly!

 

 

‘Zahc’/Charles

"A Somewhat Disquieted Calm Before The Storm...And Other Trifles"

 

“A Somewhat Disquieted Calm Before The Storm…And Other Trifles”

 

 

08/25/12

 

 

To my very, very dearest friends, and ever-loyal readers,

 

Here in Sunny ‘Flor-ida’, our Hurricane Season formally begins on June 1^st, and ends, December 31^st.

 

What, do you say…hurricanes in December; hurricanes at Christmas?  Yes, actually, as I have lived here quite long-enough to have witnessed tropical storms come ashore exactly on the very first day of the season, and—if memory serves—a hurricane—once--late in November, into December.  No wonder no one got any presents that particular Christmas, as Santa—doubtlessly caught-up in the ravening vortex—was sleigh-and-all, shaken to pieces, and flung back to the North Pole.

 

Funny, but I do not recall ever being worried about hurricanes until about fifteen years ago; that’s when my dear, late father would—upon the announcement of an impending hurricane—stay utterly glued to the TeeVee, watching the ‘Weather Channel’, for hours, and hours of endless, deathless-and-breathless updates, always, by weather persons who had taken-off their suit jackets, to bring the latest news to us, wearing only their dress shirts, and ties, sometimes, with shirt collar unbuttoned, and tie rakishly half-unknotted.  I never understood why they always did this.  Perhaps, it was to give the illusion of camping out in the studio, 24/7, in case they should inadvertently miss ANY bit of data.

 

And, while these prognostications were always ‘live’, the majority of their forecasts consisted of endless repetition, which made us all nervous, and unsettled.

 

We would be ‘treated’ to live video of places where the particular hurricane in mind had already passed, or was passing, more or less ALWAYS with the dire chance that it would cream us, destroy the house, killing thousands, while vaporizing property…especially mobile homes.

 

After two or three days of being bludgeoned to death by frantic forecasters, and watching, as the powerful winds and storm surges swept house, hotels, beaches, swimming pools, people and pets away, frankly—dearest friends—the actual arrival of the storm was, at best, anti-climactic.

 

It is odd, but, one apparently can only be flogged with eminent destruction for so long, and then, it just becomes really annoying…and, boring, frankly.

 

We would be regaled by scenes of super markets being emptied of milk, batteries, sugar, bottled water, flashlights, candles, and non-perishable canned food, while equally poignant scenes of a frantic public grabbing plywood, nails, duct tape (gee, it really IS good for everything!), even though the prices for these items had been so conveniently ‘marked-up’ just before.

 

No matter, as the news became more dire and dangerous, citizens scattered before the storm’s projected path, fleeing somewhere, anywhere, resulting in traffic gridlocks, and gas stations being drained dry, and simply closing up, as motel, and hotel accommodations all along the ‘escape’ routes were quickly filled (at whatever price was demanded, and received), as, who is going to barter or baulk when mindlessly trying to find alien shelter in far-away Counties?

 

The rest of us who had decided to remain had two choices: should we evacuate to the ‘nearest’ designated shelter, or simply choose to ‘ride it out’?

 

In well-remember—now—but in those long-ago flights from reason, shelter accommodations were abysmal to say the least.  One then had to bring one’s own food, bedding, pillows, chairs, air mattresses, and changes of clothing.

 

In those days, no food was provided, except the dodgiest of seeming field-rations left-over from WWII, and, potable water…kind of. 

 

In these shelters, there was no way to bathe, or to clean up; the bathrooms were quickly turned into ‘slip-n-slides’ of filth, and disarray.

 

Nearly everyone brought radios, which—among the crowded throng—blared broadcasts over an hundred, different stations.  Back, when I still lived in Tampa, my folks once evacuated to a nearby school, where they were packed-in, trunk-to-tail, side-by-side, and, asses-over-elbows.  My mom and dad, who were in their mid-seventies, then, had to try to sleep on the floor.

 

Of course, with children running amok, and infants screaming at the top of their little lungs, no one was ever to get any sleep.  And, BTW, once you were logged-in at a shelter, there you were made to STAY, until Civil Defense gave the ‘all-clear’.  So, one might conceivably be confined, as would any common prisoner for a week or two.

 

Such torture was the experience, that I believe—now—that my mother and father went to a shelter only one, other time (which was, in hindsight, probably a good idea, as that hurricane tore off about ten feet of our home’s roof, walls, and windows, leaving the house—in the pounding, relentless rain and wind—a mini-disaster area all by its little lonesome.

 

Those who choose to remain at home to ‘ride it out’ come in two, distinct flavors;

1)           Those homeowners who—in short order—become spastic, listening to the endless rain, enduring power outages, and unbearable summer heat, while—in the case of my mother and father, camped-out at home, listening, avidly to the weather forecasts over a portable radio, and….

2)           Those idiots who insist on having ‘Hurricane Parties’.  These people are often figured in ‘Weather Channel’ videos, as they romp-about, defying the storm.  You can tell who they are, as they are the only ones outdoors, trying to skip-about in the high surf (ignoring the chance of massive ‘tidal surge’); or driving along roadways, or seawalls that are very nearly obscured by thunderous rain, and waves that seek to wash the cars (and their idiot drivers and passengers) up and over, and…out to sea.

 

Those who have video cameras would venture out to film trees and shrubs being nearly blown sideways to the ground, stop signs, or traffic signals that whipped-about in the wind…or, the occasional sight of watching a home’s roof being torn off and asunder.  Not to mention, all the deadly, flying debris.

 

While I cannot recall it to ready mind, there is the story of a number of persons who decided to remain in a hotel in Florida, near the Keys, defying the storm, and the awful elements, to have a ‘Hurricane Party’.  There must have been fourteen or sixteen people who stayed behind, laugh at, and, tempting Fate (not really a wise thing to do, my dearest friends).

 

For, when the Hurricane had ended, the only thing that remained of the hotel was its foundations.  Of the revelers, AND, the majority of the hotel, nothing was ever recovered. I particularly found the ‘before’ and ‘after’ photographs both chilling, and a reminder that—sometimes—it just isn’t wise to poke fun at the Gods.

 

Presently, I live in no-flood zone, high and dry, but in a mobile home (which seems, somehow, to attract tornadoes, hurricanes, and other excesses of Nature).  Why this is, I have absolutely NO idea.

 

In other years, I would choose to remain home just to avoid the hideous living conditions in the shelters, and—I must confess—to ward off potential looters, for whom an abandoned block of empty homes proves to be a most irresistible treat.

 

Also, I would not leave as most shelters will not allow pets, though, this is slowly changing as it was determined that too many people stayed behind because of their beloved pets.  And I am no different.  I could not, nor would not ever leave Daisy behind; storms in general scare her, and without me to tend to her, she would go wild in fear, and panic.  Uh-uh.

 

Neither—as it was once suggested to me—would I simply toss her outside, to roam raggedly-about the neighborhood, looking desperately for any shelter, any comfort.

 

Since I have become disabled, however, several local, Service Agencies, have offered to relocate me to a nursing home, as I am on oxygen, and numerous medications.  But, the shelter they would shove me in is in Lakeland, Florida…about a three-and-a half hour drive from here; and…they will not allow me to bring Daisy.

 

Even if I were to contemplate putting Daisy in a local kennel while I quit the scene, no one would be there at night; Daisy would—perforce—be crammed-into a cage, and, should the weather turn foul-enough, all kennel personnel would evacuate, leaving their hapless charges behind.

 

No, my very dearest friends, I cannot allow that to happen to my dear dog, Daisy, my canine companion—now—of thirteen years.

 

And while I have not exactly gone into a tail-spin of preparedness, I do—perhaps—have about three or four days of food that requires no cooking.  Or else, I just go on a diet.  I have plenty of bottled water and plenty of dog food, so—if need be—I might finally have answered my question: what DOES Alpo, select cuts, beef-n-gravy taste like?

 

And should the electricity dessert us, I have a cell telephone I can use for emergencies, and have—I believe—enough canisters of oxygen to last a good week, if my concentrator goes out.

 

I have several flashlights I can use, thanks to my wonderful cousin, Larry.  We used to have candles, but I dislike having open flame in a mobile home.

 

Of course, should the electricity go out, it will get unbearably hot, inside.  Oh well, sometimes Life sux.  I AM on a list to have my electricity restored as a needed priority.

 

Other than that, my most precious friends, one can only watch, wait, and pray.  But should a hurricane the strength of ‘Katrina’ strike, at that magnitude of destruction, nothing would remain…not even the shelters.  Cars would be lifted, and swept off the roads; trees and power lines would be thrown into oblivion…and…scores would perish.  Simple as that, folks.

 

As today is half-past Saturday, and the Hurricane is reputed to ‘touch-down’ somewhere within a hundred-mile radius of my home on Monday, the die—really—has been cast; its now too late to do anything but hunker-down, and hide in the center hallway in the house if need be, like THAT will provide any protection.

 

For those of you who may want to follow the Hurricane’s progress, as it makes landfall somewhere in Florida, I will tell you that I live in New Port Richey, and my zip code is 34654.

 

Earlier, although it has continued to be ‘hot-as-Hades’, with the humidity in the stratosphere, yet, the sky was clear, cloudy, and blue.  Now, the sky has darkened appreciably, the wind has picked up, and it has begun to rain in earnest.

 

And while I am presently sitting in comfort in my Study, writing this entry to you, my dearest friends, blissfully cool in air-conditioning, in a remodeled home whose progress—to date—very much pleases me, with Daisy, quietly curled-up on the rug beside me, I do find a certain incredulity in the knowledge that—in as little as three, or four days, all could be swept-away, Daisy, me, the house, all rendered into conjugate atoms, with my address becoming ‘ground zero’.

 

Funny, but today has been a quiet, manageable-pain day, one of very few nowadays.  I am not particularly afraid—as such—but I do realize the impermanence of Man.  And how—in an ‘augen blick’, everything can be taken and destroyed.

 

Of course, my dearest, kindest friends, should the electricity go out, please forgive me should my next few diary entries be absent, until power has been restored.

 

I would ask of you—my dearest friends, and ever-loyal readers—while you may be reading this entry, please think kindly of Daisy, and me, and, for all others who will be affected by, or have their lives unalterably changed by this, or, future Hurricanes.

 

And, as always, please, please know I love you dearly!

 

 

‘Zahc’/Charles

"Haiku: A Most Delicate (And...Disciplined) Form Of Expression"

“Haiku: A Most Delicate (And…Disciplined) Form Of Expression”

 

 

08/23/12

 

 

To my ever-dearest, and most wonderful friends, and constantly kind, and loyal readers,

 

 

Today, I would very much like for you to consider, “Haiku”, an historical, and very disciplined poetic art form in Japan, and—now—elsewhere, as it becomes more popular.

 

 

‘Haiku’: A brief overview:

 

 

The poetic form known as, Haiku, can be found in Japan, in 1644, in the works of the poet, Matsuo’, which—in its creation and development, was first referred to as ‘Hokku’, a three line, open verse (without rhymes), with a very, specific number of syllables, or, ‘beats’, assigned to each line; and is presented, as follows:

 

Line 1, is composed of seven syllables, or beats.

Line 2, is composed of seven syllables, or beats.

Line 3, is again composed of five syllables, or beats.

 

Further, ancient Haiku tended to run in a series, or separate, and discrete cycles.

 

In traditional Japanese Haiku (whose name was changed from ‘Hokku’, to ‘Haiku’, sometime in the mid-nineteenth century, by the well-known, and highly esteemed poet, Masoaka Shiki), the poetic form is employed to convey impressions, rather than subject nouns.

 

Also, writers of Haiku are no longer bound by having to write in series, but may simply compose a single Haiku.  On any subject or topic one may wish.

 

 

At the end of the first line, or the second, a ‘kieji’, or, ‘cutting, or chopping word is used to separate the poem into two halves, which for our purposes may be called adjectival impression, followed by a resolution of stated, personal effect.

 

 

In Japan, and in other Asian cultures, the poetic use of Haiku is thought of as being one of the purest forms of art, venerated most highly among its peoples.

 

 

And, should the poet desire to further explore artistic expression, often, the very physical writing of an Haiku using a bamboo brush, soy ink, and rice paper, to delineate various Japanese ideographs—or calligraphy—is used to create not just the poem, but to ever strive to make ‘the most perfect representation of each letter’; this is also considered to be high art.

 

 

The goal of Haiku is one of description, rather than the direct use of nouns.  For example, should a poet wish to write an Haiku about the rain, he would—in a strict economy of words—describe—in fact—what rain is like, or, what properties are described that, to the reader, would automatically infer the notion of, or the idea of ‘rain’.

 

 

The third line in Haiku is a personally experienced discovery, or impression, or sense of awe or enlightenment that resolves the poem.

 

 

There is a well-established ‘American School’ of Haiku, which differs from the traditional Japanese form in several, important ways.

 

1)           Since the translation of Japanese into English, or English to Japanese is impossibly difficult (as you may well imagine), Haiku written by English-speaking peoples, both in America, and abroad, use a punctuation mark, rather than a word, as the necessary ‘keiji’, or chopping, or transitional word.

2)           Further, while the American school still follows a traditional, three-line form, the fixed number of syllables per line can be changed, as may be needed.

 

 

My very dearest friends, should you wish to explore—further—the craft, and the art of writing Haiku, if you ‘Google Search’ the “American School Of Haiku”, I hope you will find there listed a link to ‘Haiku Learning.blog’, which will provide you with a better understanding of, and instructions on how to author your own Haiku’s!

 

 

A successful Haiku is like a very short burst of impression, and resolution.  As it is written in free verse, no rhyming words are necessary; you can—in your own consideration—employ such elements or constructs as may be found in the examination of effect and cause (rather than cause and effect!), words or phrases that compare or contrast the two parts of the poem.

 

 

And while it may seem daunting at first, Haiku allows one to soar free and ever high, and can successfully unite emotions, and/or address the elements of the entire, human sensorium, that of taste, touch, sight, hearing, smell, colors, experiences, music, anything you might wish to express, all in one Haiku.

 

 

But, my dearest friends, please do not think that your Haiku HAS to be unremittingly serious and dire, full of, ‘sturm und drang (storm and drive, or ‘stress’).  Many writers and poets compose Haiku that is humorous, light, charming, even; while still able to poignantly address elements of the human condition.

 

 

I submit—for an example—a well-remembered Haiku composed by a Chinese poet, whose name—of course—I cannot now recall!

 

Two people.  One umbrella.

The person more loved

Gets less wet!

 

And that, dear friends, cannot help but make one smile!   J

 

 

I am always searching for alternative forms of expression, meaning, and substance.

 

 

And…artistic endeavors—no matter in what field—do make ably manifest the desire to find fulfillment, with Self, with Man, and with Nature.  Thus, for instance, while I absolutely have never been able to dance ( being in possession of ‘two left feet’ doesn’t begin to explain it), as I look very much look like a washing machine stuck on the ‘spin cycle’, yet, I can, and do enjoy Dance.

 

 

Countless aspirations and accomplishments are successfully self-expressive, and, beautiful; if you can garden, cook, sew, paint, sing (even if its confined to the shower!), play and instrument, draw, dance, etc., to me qualifies them as ‘fine art’.  Even if you can evidence—only—a true, kind and caring heart, that, my dearest friends is a gift from God, and a ‘talent’  that rescues, understands, restores, and helps heal. Although often understated, that, alone, makes you wonderfully special, and so very necessary considering the current time in which we live.

 

 

And while I request that you attempt composing your own Haiku, and submitting it, or them to the ‘comment section’, below, actually, I would also very much appreciate your comments on what you enjoy, are ‘good’ at, or that you think is special.

 

 

I already well-know just how very kind, caring and wonderful you are!

 

And, please always know that I love you dearly!

 

 

‘Zahc’/Charles

"Trapped By One's Possessions...."

 

“Trapped By One’s Possessions; In Full Surrounded By ‘Things’; Inundated By ‘Stuff’…But, What To Do ?”

 

 

08/21/12/

 

 

To my very, dearest and wonderful friends, and constant, loyal readers,

 

In the consideration of Human Values, among them is the driving need first, to own one’s own home, and second, to embellish, and decorate therein to our unique tastes; this—I believe—is done to personalize our abodes, to make of them our own, to set them apart from nearly all others, and, to make an individual statement that states to the world that, ‘This is MY Home’, my sense of place, and placement within the community’.

 

Even within a multi-family building of condominiums, though the outside appearance of one, is but a ‘cookie cutter’ design to the other, the need to individualize one’s own home is particularly strong.

 

We want our homes to be comfortable for us, and for anyone visiting; we want our surroundings to reflect our ‘taste’, our social ranking, and, by default, the amount of disposable income we have for such pursuits.

 

Above and beyond mere decoration, are those collections of like items that please us, or that we believe will—in time—gain intrinsic and monetary value.

 

But, dear friends…we mostly gather ‘stuff’ together because the objects please us, or hark-back to happier times, or, simply, because we think of them as ‘pretty’.

 

Time (and available finances!) is the enemy in a number of ways.

1)           All the time, whether in magazines, or on TeeVee, or on-line, or even, visiting someone else’s domicile, we are constantly exposed to thousands upon thousands of ‘things’, whether we may like them or not.

2)           Time is the enemy regarding cost, as—for example—should one admire a particular piece of furniture, painting, or antique, the funds available to purchase these things is ranked—by economic necessity—well-below the need to buy food, pay utilities, bills, credit card debt, mortgages, car payments, insurance, clothing, etc.  For the most part, there is really very little by way of available funds to buy art, or to indulge in hobbies.

3)           Time is further the enemy, in that—over time—such ‘collections’ tend to grow, to generalize, and to eventually take over living space.

4)           And, as alluded to above, Time is the enemy of order and purpose, as often—over time—one’s interests naturally shift and change; the collection of five years ago is probably abandoned, and gathering dust, while ever newer collections are acquired.

5)           Beyond that which is purely functional, and/or necessary, like stoves, beds, sofas, still, even among those items that may evidence brand loyalty, the color, shape, and appearance is often as seriously considered as is suitable function; should you long—say—for a ‘Mixmaster’ all-in-one blender, there remains the choice of the various colors it comes in.

 

I have—usually accompanied by a friend—always enjoyed going to the different, ‘Parade Of Homes’, to see how they have been professionally decorated; further, one of my so-called hobbies is to look on the internet at homes for sale.

 

What I have found most interesting, is my reaction to whether the homes are decorated, have furniture and curtains in them, as opposed to merely looking at empty rooms.

 

In that regard, should the architecture—itself—not be able to sway, I find empty interiors to be quite bland, bereft of any personality, and—dearest friends—these homes quickly begin to look alike, and to lose their identity.

 

And I always find it amazing what people do to ‘personalize’ their living spaces in terms of type of furniture and decoration, as well as item placement.

 

I find it somewhat sad and depressing to see an empty house, devoid of character, and usually quite devoid of charm!

 

I’ve seen some personal decorative effects that tend to run to various mirrors, and paintings-on-velvet of either Elvis, small children with really BIG eyes, or, biblical scenes.  And while that is not my own preference, it was once someone’s who lived there.

 

And while though the lawns, and yards, and garden plantings may look beautiful…outside, a boring, and predictable interior causes me to look elsewhere.

 

And, for those of you, my very dearest friends who might share this interest, I particularly like the ‘virtual tours’, by which a video, steady-cam is moved throughout the house; to me, it is almost like being there.

 

But, beyond the acquisition of such utilitarian items as, say, bedroom furniture, or dining sets, and individual's sense of ownership is very often clearly marked by how the home has been decorated.

 

And so, frequently, as the home is lived in for year after year, decorative items tend to revolve-around like items, themes, or sets.

 

6)            Given sufficient funds with which to do so, this is how ‘collections’ are born, which are—for the most part—interesting, and innocent.

 

However two things seem inevitably to happen;

1)           Too much of one theme is purchased over time, and displayed. (collections, with the intention of their increasing in value, to be—perhaps—sold at a later date) tend to get particularly out of hand.

2)           Then too, often over time, one’s interests change, resulting in not one or two collections, but too many, that eat up space, and cannot be stored properly, displacing room in the house that could be better utilized in the intended or assumed original purpose of the space.

3)           The most difficult challenge of creating collections in hopes of monetary gain, is that one is compelled to try to purchase every permutation of, and sets of a particular theme.

 

I once knew an ex-co-worker who began to collect limited edition, ‘Emmett Kelly’ clowns.  Then, she began to collect Barbie dolls, clothes, cars, and houses; her next collection was comprised of anything that was related to “Star Wars”.

 

Finally…I believe she began to collect ‘Beanie Babies’, until she had hundreds!  Clearly, her collecting—while, maybe well-intended—grew, and grew in size, taking up all her closet room, and filling her second bedroom.

 

Now, mind you, in order to try to garner value over time, these sets had to remain pristine, still sealed in the box, and untouched (and to me, unenjoyed).  She became driven, out of focus, and her ‘collections’ took over most of her social life, as well as consuming tons of money.

 

Even eclectic collections can so easily get out of control; a dear friend of mine, and his wife—along with another coupe they knew—used to spend every Saturday going to estate, and garage-sales.

 

The night before, they would get a city map, and the local newspaper, and spend hours plotting out a plan of attack, so that their progress covered the most circuitous route, depending on listed items available for sale, and location.

 

Upon arising early, Saturday morning, they first would stop for breakfast, and further compare notes, and estimated times for arrival and departure, and how long they wanted to stay at any one place.  It was as calculated as a military campaign.

 

Even as disciplined as they were, still—in time—the house became full, as did the garage (so much so, that a fully five foot high assemblage of boxes displaced the couple’s car, relegating it ‘off street’ parking.

 

Finally, to save themselves from drowning in ‘stuff’, they adopted the “one thing in, one thing out’ policy.  But to this day, the garage is so piled up, that they—themselves—no longer exactly know what is in each box!

 

The other couple—their friends—fared even worse.  Guided not by any plan, design or restraint, they simply bought, on impulse anything that happened to appeal to them.  In time the garage and the house was full; so full was the house that mostly meaningless stuff was stacked in layers, until mere pathways marked the way to the kitchen, the bathroom, and the bedrooms.

 

And…it did not end there!  I was told that—recently—the couple purchased ANOTHER house, wherein to store everything.  At this point, I think I would be justified in describing their behavior as impulsive, hoarding, cluttering, too expensive, without any common theme or design, and, frankly, silly.  But this happens more often than one might think.

 

My ‘collecting’—in general—seems to be eclectic, mixing purchased with ‘found’, or re-purposed items; I tend to veer towards the antique, the Victorian, with different knick-knacks, statues, pediments, and furniture obtained, and arranged for ease of viewing, and the overall effect they lend to the house.

 

Since I live in a double-wide, mobile home with two bedrooms, and two baths, space is at a premium, at only 960 sq. ft. Placement and balance are most important; too much, and the effect is scattered, uncomfortable, and too distracting.  Plus, any rogue accumulation of ‘stuff’ proves difficult to move, and almost impossible to clean!

 

Personally, I would rather have ten ‘nice’ things, than a hundred mediocre things…or a thousand, awful things!

 

And now—of course—available money to spend on ‘trifles’, or on random, disconnected things is scarce, and that in itself tends to put the brake on sheer impulse buying.

 

One of my biggest problems (since becoming disabled), is that I cannot thoroughly clean my own home, and must hire someone (usually a neighbor) to mop and vacuum the floors, dust the furniture, and tops, and insides of picture frames…really, anything out in plain sight that is a dust magnet.

 

For just amassing a ton of stuff without a plan, or without purpose, or order just looks undisciplined and dusty, and—subsequently—very out of place!

 

Regrettably, my dearest friends, and ever-loyal readers, I must confess to being a major ‘clutterer’, and having an Olympic Gold in being both a pack-rat, AND a hoarder; when I first moved back home with my mother and father, I brought-along a gigantic storage space worth of books, magazines, drawings, letters, furniture, art, found objects, and assorted object d-art.  And although I had NO room for any of it here, I paid storage fees for years, and watched as they raised, and raised again, the rental fees, until I had to have a friend (as I would have chickened-out, wanting to keep everything!) call, and meet an auction house to empty out, completely, the storage unit.

 

During the time my folks lived here, the house was already maxxed-out in terms of any, possible room for things of mine.  There was not room for one more book, or one more knick-knack.  The closets were full to brimming, and the built-in cabinets in the dining room were equally full…so much so, that even finding one, particular thing was nigh impossible.

 

When I had moved my upright piano into the house from storage, it displaced a loveseat in the living room.

 

And, if you may imagine, a mobile home is very much like a small apartment; shelves, and storage is at a bare minimum.

 

Some two years ago (while I still had some money) I found that my home needed a number of pricey repairs to the floor, and to the ceiling.  And as my wonderful mom and dad had told me that, upon my inheriting it, the house was mine to do with as I saw fit. Still, a couple of years passed before I began to make repairs, and to think of what ‘look’ I wanted for the home that had become mine.

 

For months and months, I thought about different things, trying to decide on a ‘game plan’ to work around.  Some of the changes wrought were intentional, while many others were the logical consequence of making drastic repairs that were needed.

 

Up and out came the old, wall-to-wall carpet that was probably fifteen years old, and, frankly, nasty.  Instead, I had bamboo laminate installed everywhere, except the kitchen, the bathrooms, and one closet.  I chose a very light, yellow-colored laminate for the floors which was trimmed with crown and foot molding.

 

The main bathroom got gutted, except for the tub, and the wallboard.  Sheet linoleum was installed there, as well as a repurposed mirror over the sink, and wall sconce lights to each side of a new basin, and cabinet.

 

And while I am becoming more and more pleased with the results so far, the remodeling is in no way over.  And, keeping close to my pack-rat nature, both walk-in closets are packed with boxes, and I must confess to you, dear friends, that I cannot now remember what is in exactly what box!

 

So…that’s about where I am in the process of redesigning my home to suit me.  I am not above spending tons of time on the internet for items that are close-outs, discontinued models, drastic sales, or even, ‘scratch and dent’ sales, as long as the damage is minimal, and can be successfully hidden.

 

Hopefully in time, my dearest friends, I hope to transform this place into ‘my’ home, ‘my statement’, ‘my’ story, ‘my’ saga.  I want to be able to look about my home (especially since I spend so very much time inside!), and be pleased with the results, and the effects I want to create.

 

But, I want my home to be inviting and comfortable; no museum ropes here!  My furniture is intended to be lounged-upon, with shoes off, of course!

 

As slowly—now—as I continue to acquire things, I strive, ever, for harmony, flow, attention to detail, and…peaceable.

 

I further want my ‘refuge’ to be safe, comfortable, and as individualistic to my own taste as can be accomplished.

 

Granted, the ‘outside’ look of the house makes it look kind of like a shack, but this—too—is well-intended; for in THIS neighborhood, with its crime, arson, robbery, and vandalism, I purposely want it to look as if I have nothing worth stealing inside.  As an example, for nearly thirty years, my folks had a small statue of a woman, demurring pouring water from a jug. In fact, my late father used to jokingly call it, “The Lady With The Jugs”.

 

After the repair work had been done to the outside of the house, the statue was moved to the outside of the front hedge where it could not be seen, really.  However, that did not stop someone from idly breaking off the head of the statue!  The sheer destructive mindlessness of that act floored me, made me angry, and—truth be told—very much saddened my heart, as it was SO unnecessary.

 

So…once more, that little statue graces the front yard, only I have intentionally left its broken-off head rest at its feet, as a reminder to all, but probably most to myself, that we are ever surrounded by little evils which help extinguish part of the joy of that which is good.

 

My questions of the day to you, my dearest friends are:

1)           Do you presently live in a home, apartment, or mobile home?

2)           What have you done to your living space that reflects your likes and dislikes?

3)           To what do your tastes run?

4)           What image do you want a visitor to experience upon first entering your abode?  And, exiting?

5)           What kind of furniture do you like? 

6)           What color palette do you prefer?

7)           What about rugs, and window treatments?  Mimi-blinds, shaded, curtains, or any in combination?

8)           How would you describe your kitchen?  Your bathroom(s)?

9)           If you could, what elements about your present abode would you most like to change?

10)    Are you happy where you are now?  Or, would you rather relocate?

11)    How do you want your guests, or visitors to feel while in your home?

Please enter your remarks in the ‘comment’ section below.  If you can, please feel quite free to share photographs of your living spaces, if possible.

 

Don’t forget…even your day-dreamed imaginations of what might be are also quite valid.

 

Everyone has their own, unique visions; all have different tastes, and probably most of us have tiny budgets!  Please let me know how you feel!

 

And—as always—please, please know that I love you most dearly!

 

 

‘Zahc’/Charles