Enough With the Address Labels, Already...

It’s difficult for me to throw stuff away. I admit it. I’m not a hoarder by any stretch of the imagination, but I do empathize with the hoarders’ mantra: “But I might need/use it someday.” Or if I can bring myself to put it in the donation box: “Someone with imagination will be able to use this (fill in the blank) and be glad to have it.”

Anything that was a gift is automatically sacred, never mind that it is twelve years old and ratty, and the person who gave it to me lives in another state and will never know of its disappearance.

I psyched myself to be ruthless when I prepared for our move to a new state just over a year ago. I knew the goal date a year ahead of time, so I took all year to purge and pack. The “handle an object only once” didn’t hold up for me, though. Some things were in and back out of the give-away boxes more than once.

Then I came to the drawer with the return address labels. I delayed that drawer right up to the last month. I wanted to be sure I had enough to cover our last days at the old address. Now, I’m a bit particular about the designs of things I use—my desk calendar, my schedule planners, my journals, and yes, even my return address labels. So, here I had a huge pile of labels I’d saved, but seldom used. From three patriotic organizations, two veterans groups, several disease advocates, a couple of children’s homes and hospitals—enough labels to last for thirteen more years at the old address. I rarely sent donations for them, and yet they kept coming. At least they didn’t have to be packed. And maybe with the move, they’d lose track of where I am.

Wrong!  

Within a month of the move here they came, like migrating birds, nesting and reproducing in the mailbox. Please, folks, it’s only January, and I have enough new labels to hold me through 2057.

What’s a body to do?

Coming Home

10 JUNE 2011

After my last post someone asked what I had been doing for the ten months that I hadn’t blogged. Actually I edited and tweaked my novel, THE TENTH MONTH, which has nothing at all to do with the ten months I didn't blog.

In November, after more than 50 years in California, I moved with my son and his wife to Nevada. Bumper stickers here insist “NOT Ne-vah-dah” thank you very much. We arrived the week before Thanksgiving. It snowed the night we moved in. That’s not necessarily news to half the country, but it was fun for us.

So it was getting ready for Thanksgiving – and unpacking.

In December it was getting ready for Christmas – and unpacking.

In January it was joining and getting acquainted with a new writers’ group – Reno Christian Writers – and unpacking.

In February it was getting personally “remodeled” – new “helps” for seeing, hearing and chewing – and unpacking.

In March it was re-evaluating and refining the living space, displaying artifacts, shelving books, hanging pictures – making my space my own – hey the unpacking’s done!

In April it was a trip to Bakersfield (CA) to visit second son and his wife, and to attend a baby shower for long awaited second grandchild!

In May, said grandchild, Jake Taylor Hudson, arrived – not that I had much to do with that – but give me a break.

In November, as we drove into Nevada from California, I behaved like a tourist, taking pictures of everything I saw: the beautiful fall scenery, the vista of the mountains far ahead, growing nearer as the miles passed, snow on the ground, my first glimpse of Donner Pass I had heard of only in history books, the descent into our valley. I had only seen pictures of the new house which was to become my new address.

In April, coming back from the California visit, spring greenery graced the hills and valleys in spite of the snow remaining on the crests. I remarked to my daughter-in-law who was driving, “This time it feels like we’re coming home.”

Home can be anywhere if you choose to make it so. I choose...

I knew there would be more thoughts of life on this street...how could there not be?

Last week we went to a memorial service for... Let me back up...

When we moved into this house our older son, Jim, was nine months old, and for several more years he was the only little child on the street. Then came a family with a son just older than he. Greg. Instant best friends. A couple of years later another family next door with a son a year older - Kipp. When that lad started school, people down the street called him Jim because they looked so much alike; he didn't appreciate it. "I'm NOT Jim!" Then several more years and a family moved into the house on the corner. They had three sons ranging around the ages of the boys already on the street. Gary, Tim, and Brian. Instant "street gang." We parents were all thrilled that these kids didn't have to go away from the street to have friends. We always knew where they were; much of the time in my own yard.

They played together, probably fussed with each other but seemed to settle it together, went through school together, went to their separate churches, played Little League together, even drew an elongated baseball diamond on the street for the almost daily games, complete with caps off and hands on hearts for singing the National Anthem (yes, we had a flagpole).

The boys grew up and went off to college and jobs, but remained friends. One Thanksgiving school break I overheard the almost adults say, "How about a game of street ball for 'old times sake'?" They remarked the bases on the newly paved street and had at it, the balls flying much farther down the street than in the 'old times.'

One by one there were weddings and eventually kids. All the parents moved away (some passed away) except me. Still the guys remained friends.

Then--last week--the memorial service for the father of the three boys from the corner house. Each of the three now middle-aged sons spoke eloquently of the impact this quiet, gentle father had on their lives, and the lives of their children. It reminded me of the influence all fathers have, whether outgoing or reserved, and of the heritage the fathers of our street have left for their sons to hand on to those in their sphere of influence.

I didn't post on Memorial Day. I intended to. I didn't post on Father's Day. I intended to. I didn't even post of Independence Day. I intended to.

But these memories, and many more, will accompany me into the upcoming and ongoing changes in my little sphere.

Breaking through the funk...

Everyday life is full of choices, changes and challenges for each of us, but so, also, is the writing life.

Challenges: As I purge and pack the accumulation of many, many years in my present residence in preparation for a move later this year, I feel a bit overwhelmed by the writing projects looming before me. Well into the current novel, WEDDING AT NEW CANA, I seem to have developed -- shhh -- writer's block. With the mess of packing around me, I just don't seem to be able to break through.

Choices: Timing! This morning's e-mail brought an invitation from Randy Ingermanson via his own writers' blog: http://www.advancedfictionwriting.com/blog/2010/05/24/got-a-question-get-an-answer/ Holler for help and see what kind of lifeline Randy throws me.

I sent my question: Lois Hudson Says: May 25th, 2010 at 7:22 am "I have been developing plot lines for several novels that I envisioned as stand-alones; however, current advice recommends series proposals. The only thing that might connect my stories besides the era (pre- and post-WWII) is the possibility of placing them all in one town. That was not my original intention–even had mapped out the towns in which they take place. Now I’m almost overwhelmed in planning out the way the stories might overlap if I move the characters into the one town. Then I must insert mention of the characters in the current WIP which is already 12 chapters going. Any recommendations on laying it out? I think I need a huge grid of dates, plot lines, where the characters can intersect, etc. It has me frozen. Thanks for the Q&A options."

At least it was action taken. It got me out of the frustrated funk I was in yesterday.

Changes: In the meantime I have pulled everything out of two large - very large - closets to purge and pack. I'm a saver. Everything anybody has ever given me immediately becomes sacred, never to be thrown or given away. Books, especially! But I'm learning. All the household organizational gurus insist we must cut half of what we've accumulated. I've learned that if I do my purging one day, then look at the saved pile the next day, I can usually get rid of another third. That's real change for me.

It's a bit different with the stories. Publishers are looking for series possibilities now instead of stand-alone novels. How can I merge and manage the populations of several towns, and intertwine their stories in such a way that one story emerges from the one before, seamlessly and naturally? Has anyone else dealt with this, or a similar challenge? Tell me about it.

P.S. I highly recommend Randy Ingermanson's blog as well as all the other writing help he offers at his website: http://www.ingermanson.com/. Check him out!