House Hunting in California: Crack house or Unabomber cabin?

I'm moving back home. The truth is, I'm a Californian through and through, and while that may not be a popular stance, it's mine. Yes, I'd even go to San Francisco if I could. I can't really afford where I grew up (the Bay Area outside of San Francisco) but I can go near my parents. (Between Tahoe & Sacramento.) Anyway, as I'm looking through houses "in my price range," it seems I have a choice between crack house row and an isolated one-room cabin we'd see on the ID network or "Ghost Adventures."  And this is depressing. Could I live well just about anywhere else? Of course. That's why I moved in the first place while I got my act together, but now my act is together, and I want to go home. I know California. I know how things work. 

At the same time, there is the stark realization that I will have to give up my beautiful house that is perfect for me. I will have to give up my writer friends who live here and a huge level of comfort. In return? I'll get the world I know, access to my family & lifelong friends, and extreme characters so I can write with ease.  Honestly, it's hard to live around "normals" when you've been living with extreme personalities. I'm sure that's some kind of trauma response, but whatever, it's who I am. 

I realize most people would choose comfort over the crack house option, but not me. I also love making a house a home and I'm very good at it so this should be fun. Moving, however, I am not looking forward to that. The realtors want me to paint my cute red house white so it's "modern farmhouse." I'm considering this, but also, why does everyone want to be so basic? I have the only red house and I tell people, I live in the red house on the corner and they know just where I mean. The realtor even gave me some "Magnolia" colors. Girl, I am not supporting the Magnolia conglomerate. She has enough money, and I can find white paint at Home Depot. 

I'll keep you posted on the house hunt. The real estate taxes are rough in California. This is one of those blind faith walks. I hope there's a redwood at the end of it. 

Me, back in 2014, loving on a Redwood. 

Organization for ADDers

My name is Kristin and I have ADD. I had it when girls didn't have it basically. (Ahem!)  You were just called talkative, distracted and worse. We didn't have ADD meds -- not for girls anyway. My boy cousin was given Ritalin. I was just made to stay after school.  

Luckily for me, I come from a long line of perfectly organized German/English folk who put everything in its place. (My Italian father's side, not so much -- clearly where my genetic make-up comes from.) I have always worked in offices, so I've had to be organized and know how to find paperwork. I am a big believer in the label maker. If I see what's supposed to be in that file, I will put it there.

I'm also a big believer in color-coding. For example, my kids all had a color: Trey was yellow, Jonah was red, Seth was green and Elle was pink. They had a laundry basket in that color, so their clothes went into their basket. Their school folders were each in their corresponding color. Every year, I made an accordion file of all the bills/kids' needs. So if I need to find out what Jonah did in 2016, I go to the 2016 file and pull out his folder. Is it time-consuming? Yes, but if you ask me for the PG&E bill from 2019, I'll get it for you. (I also keep a spreadsheet of monthly expenses.)

I say all this because it's truly a pain in the bum to be like this. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. When most people put something away, they can go find it and that's that. I, however, need a system. And it's so hard to watch people organize whole events for thousands of people when I need a system to do the laundry.

When I'm in a novel, I'm in my element. I understand instinctively how the characters will react and I write them accordingly.  I've written 50 novels just fine. So why do I have to attach my keys to my purse so that I don't leave without both? Why can't life work like the books? 

When my daughter started her business selling clothes on TikTok/Instagram, I watched her do her finances the same way I do. Write it out in a fancy notebook, have rows for costs, rows for profit and the math showing her bottom line. When her husband told her she couldn't do it like that, I showed him my own notebook. Incidentally, I did NOT teach her to do this. It was natural.  It's the way our brains work. Or don't work as the world might say. 

As I plan my escape back to California, I'm overwhelmed by how to get the house organized and only take what I need.  I normally don't care for organizing "experts" because their brains don't work like mine. They can put something in a cabinet and they'll remember it's there. If I can't see it, it's gone. So I have a filing system that is visible. Do I like looking at all that crap? I do not, but I don't want to put it away and forget the taxes need to be paid, so my bookshelf houses these files. (In pretty file folders naturally.)

The one book that I really think gets it for organization and should be called, "Organization for Dummies" is by Martha Stewart. While I'm willing to bet Martha Stewart's brain is wired the exact opposite way as mine, her book has a checklist for everything that makes it easy to understand.

As a side note, I'm glad I had to learn how to do all this without the help of meds. I have nothing against meds, but I would've never remembered to take them anyway. 

I know we're not all created equal and we all have our strengths, but I also think creatives were not meant to live in a money-loving world. Seems like for every artist, there is a left-brainer out there who understands how to make money off of them. Now, back to Martha. 

 

 

 

Remember that book, "Boundaries?"

Clearly, I need to reread this book. This was my morning. My daughter called. She was in the car driving to town for errands. Our conversation went like this:

Elle: "Whatcha doing?"

"I'm working. What are you doing?"

"Going to the post office and I have to get something at T.J. Maxx. I'm out of soap." 

Fast forward 30 minutes. She goes to the post office and leaves me on hold in the car while she takes her packages in.

Me when she gets back: "Elle, I have to work."

Elle: "No, I'm not done with you yet."

She hangs up for a while to make a nail appointment, calls me right back. Then, she goes into T.J. Maxx where I hear the hangers scraping along the rail as she shops. She has a conversation with herself on if Walter needs a new dog toy. (Can attest that he does not.) Then she tells me about the dog costumes and how they are sizest at T.J. Maxx because nothing will fit her giant dog.

(Usually, she FaceTimes me, so I can at least shop along with her.) 

After TJ's, she goes to the Dunkin' Donuts line and orders herself a tea, has a friendly conversation with the staff, comes back with a rating on the tea that day.  

I need better boundaries!  Work needs to be a priority. Yada, yada, yada...but the sad reality is...I do the same thing to my mom so I doubt I taught Elle well. I have too many kids for this lack of boundaries.

How are your boundaries? Did you ever read that book? 

H

 

 

Arizona Respite

This summer has been brutal. BROOO-TAL! I think we hit the record for most days in a row over 110.  And for those people who whine that it's not like the humidity. I was in Alabama this summer. Humidity is 100% better than 115 in my humble opinion.

Anyway, the worst part of the Arizona heat is that you can't really walk your dog. It can still be 100 degrees at midnight, so even that is too hot to take dogs for a walk. Yesterday, it was only 105 degrees, so we were able to take the dogs to the dog park. It was PACKED.  It was like everyone had been set free and the dog convention commenced. All of this is to show you how happy Clarabelle was after her trip to the dog park. This, my friends, is pure joy.