Pump House

            We’ve been examining a lot of real estate listings as we continue to look for a new home, and I’ve noticed a certain writing style used in the descriptions – though I confess that the photographs are much more important. With that in mind, I decided to write one – not about our Bark House, for our realtor team did a good job with that with only minimal suggestions from us.

 

            No, I decided to write one about a small building on our property, a building known as The Pump House.

            The Pump House is a delight. It features lakeside living (about 5 feet from the door, depending on wind direction) with an open floor plan, a new concrete floor where the old pump was removed, and an economical and planet-friendly lack of heating and cooling, though electricity is available with a little work. The property is pet-friendly as well – in fact, some may be living there already. The Pump house also offers plenty of storage – in fact, it’s pretty much all storage. And if you don’t like to cook, you will be pleased to see that the Pump House does not have a kitchen, dining room or breakfast nook, and there is a restaurant about a mile away. And it features a window, though sometimes it’s hard to tell because of the elaborate cobweb decorations. Running water is available, depending on the weather.

            The exterior is vintage stone – very low maintenance. The Pump House follows the trendy commitment to “bringing the outside in,” as the Pump House is pretty much outdoors already. The one door to the place locks – if you can find the key. But you don’t really need to worry about anyone stealing your stuff, as there isn’t room for much stuff – currently a couple of rakes, a shovel, and some kayak paddles.

            If you have pretty much had it with family and friends, the Pump House is the place for you, because only one person fits comfortably inside – two if you don’t try to move. But there are great neighbors – currently, an older couple.

Finding Peace

             For several years I volunteered as a writer for TransWeb, which posted articles and photographs for the Transplant Games – a sort of mini-Olympics for people who had received organ donations. The event also brought together families of people who had donated organs. I remember waiting for a bus going back to the hotel, watching a woman listen to her daughter’s heart beating in another woman’s chest.

            The article below is one I wrote for the 2002 games. When I reread it last week, I was surprised by the writing. Not, unfortunately perhaps, who I am now.

 

Finding Peace

 

            As a TransWeb writer new to the Transplant Games, I had been told in advance about the power of the Donor Recognition Ceremony. But I was not prepared to be moved so deeply.

 

            When I entered the stunning white basilica that is Mary, Queen of the Universe Shrine, I quickly spotted the tissue boxes distributed along the pews. I was ready for that. I was not ready for the beauty of the space. I thought of another magical moment: when the field lights were first turned on just before Wednesday's Opening Ceremony and the entire stadium was transformed into a glowing world roofed by pinkish clouds. Here in the shrine the immaculate white walls, the orderly rows of oak and the stained-glass windows above all said to me that here the everyday world was being set aside. Life was going to become more intense and beautiful. 

            The large statue of the Crucifixion above the front of the aisle and to the triumphant Ascension at the rear, with Christ springing from his shroud, were perfect images to frame the Donor Recognition Ceremony. Yes, there was painful death, but it led to a rebirth-not necessarily in terms of the Christian soul in the case of transplantation, but in terms of giving another person a chance for new life. 

            Soon people filed into the shrine-very real people in such a magical world. Some were wrinkled, the suffering in their lives evident on their faces. Some were slender and athletic, but others were overweight and did not walk easily. I saw a baby sleeping in her father's arms and a middle-aged couple being photographed as the husband made the universal two-fingered hand signal behind his smiling wife's head. One man wore Walter Payton's old Chicago Bears jersey. Some wore team shirts, but not very many. Groups were talking and laughing together, but many sat quietly, singly or in couples, reflecting on their own thoughts and memories. Organ music murmured in the background. 

            These ordinary people were extraordinary, and their presence in this beautiful building acknowledged that fact. They belonged in this beauty. 

            The ceremony began with rituals that added emotional power. The Processional of the Donor Heart Memorial was dignified and moving, and the Presentation of Colors by the Cypress Creek High School Naval Jr. ROTC in effect broadened that impact, reminding us of the political world outside these walls. Rituals, like the songs, prayers, and poems we participated in, all served to elevate our experience beyond the everyday. And yet these were and are everyday people -- like me, I thought -- but they had done extraordinary things as donor families. When we got to the 4th verse of "America the Beautiful" I choked up and could not continue singing. 

            Ellen Kulik and Barbara Musto, both donor moms, introduced another theme to the ceremony and helped to clarify what we were feeling: We are, they said, a family -- a family of grieving families -- so expect to see hugs and kisses. Much of the grieving was private, natural, and a healthy sign of the value of what you love. We share feelings with our fellow human beings, as fellow sufferers – even someone like me, who is not part of a donor family and has not received a transplant. By being part of the ceremony, I became part of the community, and I found myself surprisingly vulnerable to tears. A song like "Take These Wings" might have struck me as sentimental in another situation, but here, so beautifully sung among people who had experienced its truth, it seemed rich, moving, and meaningful. We understood the force behind "and learn to fly." 

            And then the slow progression of names-the Honor Roll of Donors. A long list, but not nearly long enough. I looked at the people listening to the names. Many were quietly weeping. Some were holding hands. A few husbands had their arms around their wives' shoulders. Hugs. How must it feel to hear the name of your child? I thought of my own children, alive and well. 

            The Responsive Reading reinforced the sense of family. As we repeated "We are connected by love," I thought of how intensely those of us in the room felt the truth of these words and how intermittently we felt it in the world outside this room: the West Bank, Pakistan, or my home town in Michigan. The families here, through personal loss, have gained a sense of connection. Organ donation is for the donor families more than a practical gift to individuals: It is a sign of love and connection to humanity. 

            The Medal Ceremony returned me to an appreciation of the ordinariness of these extraordinary people, made clear to me by the contrast with the Olympic handsomeness of Chris Klug and the star power of Larry Hagman, who presented the medals. I saw people who were shy, proud, overwhelmed, still stunned, radiant, embarrassed, and humble. They could be Chaucer's pilgrims, except they share a generosity in real life that for his travelers was only an ideal. And yes, some are as beautiful as the star presenters. Not some: many. And more beautiful. 

            Chris Klug charmed us with his remarks, but I thought most often of his waiting for a donor and how difficult that must be for anyone used to taking action. And I thought of the man I interviewed at the Opening Ceremony describing how he was awakened in the night by false alarms on his pager. Until finally it called him to a liver transplant for his daughter, Alissa. 

            The Video Tribute: Honoring Our Loved Ones was overwhelming. All those beautiful faces, presented in such a steady rhythm, each image zooming in closer as we imagined our way into their lives. And so many of them so young-children, teenagers, young adults. What losses -- and what must it be like to see the picture of your child, alive and well?

            The untitled poem read by Larry Hagman was eloquent in ways the author could not have intended. The concluding sentence, "I did not die," had to refer to the ongoing life of the soul, but I doubt the poet had in mind the much more tangible life-after-death for the organ donors and their families. The concluding words of the Benediction spoke more directly to the donor families: 

Guide us into the future, as our grief

is transformed into compassion

and our hurt into help and hope for others

that in the dawn of memory

we will find peace.

 

Status Report

            I explained a few weeks ago that I am juggling three real estate transactions:

 

·      The failed purchase of Hildene Manor Co-op in Ann Arbor, where the owners are refusing to sign to release our payment from escrow at the title, presumably until they calculate “damages.”

·      Our Bark House here on Torch Lake is on the market.

·      We need to find a place to live when the house sells.

 

I had hoped that by now they would have moved close to resolution. We have not. Let me give you a sense of how this all shifts on a daily basis.

 

Friday

 

We had some of our escrow funds returned to us, but about a third of it is still being held hostage. The property we did not buy is currently under contract to another purchaser, with a closing (we are told) scheduled for next week. We’ll see. And we’ll see if that leads to a satisfactory resolution. We want all of our money back.

 

We thought we had found a condo in Ann Arbor that would be perfect for us, and to make sure, we offered full price plus an “escalator clause” offering $55,000 over asking price. We learned that we were outbid, and the property is currently under contract. We are resuming our search on the internet.

 

We had a couple visit our house, and we were told that they are “very interested” and would be coming back for a return visit “in a couple of days.” That was a week ago, and we have not heard from them, and their realtor does not return our realtor’s calls.

 

Saturday

 

Nothing. My theory, based on no evidence, is that the realtor for the couple interested in buying our house is not bringing them back here because he wants to sell them a house that he is listing. Doubtful, but it’s something to hang onto.

 

Sunday

 

Today it feels like we will not be selling our Bark House any time soon. We got an ad in the mail from a company that helps take care of cottages in Northern Michigan – mostly for snowbirds who leave, but still . . .. I refuse, however, to pay someone $100 per hour to rake our leaves – the going price up here.

 

Monday

 

I had a fantasy that today I would get some answers. Nope. I hoped that the sale of the Hildene Manor property would close, and that I would hear that my money would be released from the title company. Didn’t happen. Looked hard for our next place to live – unsuccessfully. And our prospective Bark House buyers have evaporated.

 

Maybe tomorrow . . ..

 

Tuesday

 

Surprise! We learned that the property sold for full price, and we will be getting most of the rest of our money back. I won’t believe it until the money lands.

 

Wednesday

 

Signed a Release which says the rest of my funds will be returned, minus the $15,000 Earnest Money. I feel that I should get at least some of that back, but it will probably be an expensive and losing battle, so I signed.

 

We continue to look for where to live next. Ann Arbor? Lofts in Atlanta (near family, as Genne´ is moving there)?

 

Reduced the asking price to encourage showings. We are convinced that if people would actually see the Bark House, they would be interested in buying it. No word from the couple who said they were interested – it’s been two weeks.

 

Thursday

 

Stress level down a bit, but waiting for the money to land back in my account.

  

Geezer Olympics

            My last blog post led to some very thoughtful responses. I asked for suggestions to include in Olympic Games for old people.

 

            This, from Paul Stern: “You ask a great question.  Much in line of the effort I undertook with my brother of updating the songs of our youth for our current stage of life.  You remember ‘When I’m 94’ or ‘I’ll get by with a little help from Depends.’

            “So far, I’ve only come up with one candidate event: (for men only) Long Distance Peeing . . . and of course events would be grouped into age brackets:  50-60, 60-70, 70-80, and 80+ (the analog to “heavyweight” in boxing, wrestling, and weight lifting competitions).”

 

            Paul’s response reminded me of a conversation I overheard between two old guys at the Transplant Olympics. One asked the other if he were competing in the Senior age bracket. He said he was competing in the next older: “Carbon Dated.”

 

            Gordon Richardson had this suggestion: “Returning from a shopping trip, having found, bought, and brought home everything you needed . . ..” I assume you keep score by counting how many items you forgot to buy. I would also like to get some credit if I found my car in the store parking lot.

 

            I also received a great anonymous suggestion: “Main event: quickest to fall asleep after lunch gets the gold.”

 

            And Joe Moran suggested: “Add these to parallel parking and call it a pentathlon:

·      Backing into a parking space with and without a camera

·      Driving after sunset

·      Putting air in your tires

·      Exiting a two-seat sports car.”

 

            I had a few further event suggestions of my own:

 

·      Climb a flight of stairs, and then descend. (Why a “flight”? “Flight” seems to be the wrong term for people our age. How about, “Climb a labor of stairs”? On the other hand, for some of us, climbing stairs is about as difficult as taking flight . . ..) (Also, unrelated: Why “draw” a bath?) Degree of difficulty factor for stairclimbing based on how many knee and hip replacements are involved. You are disqualified if you don’t use the banister – on the basis of pride and/or stupidity. I actually practice for this event. Usually when I climb the stairs I forget why I did it, so I go back down and eventually remember. Or Kim reminds me.

 

·      Here’s another event: List, by name and subject area, your high school teachers. If that’s too difficult, identify your high school mascot. Points scored on the honor system, for who would know if you got some wrong?

 

·      Or maybe: After you fall asleep, how long can you stay asleep in bed without having to get up and go to the bathroom? And yes, wearing Depends is cheating.

 

·      How about Ironic Dancing? If you are really a crappy dancer, like the person writing this, you act as if your awkward and clumsy moves are being done on purpose. Points scored for humor, and for how much dignity you are willing to sacrifice.

 

            As I look over this list of suggested events, I see that it does not rise to the level of splendor of the Paris Olympics. So it goes.

My Olympics

            I remember when I was in college answering this question: If you really wanted to be in the Olympics, what event could you enter, starting from where you are now? After a lot of discussion, we concluded that luge would be a good bet. Setting aside the issue of chances of winning and the fear of crippling injury, pretty much anyone could ride a sled.

 

            I’ve thought about the issue again while watching the Paris Olympics on television. What can I picture myself actually doing? I can ride a bicycle. I can swim. I can run (slowly, for very short distances), and I can jump. I’ve played some soccer, volleyball, tennis and ice hockey, and I’ve lifted weights – mainly boxes of books when I’m moving. I’ve played ping-pong table tennis. I can see myself boxing, at least until someone hits me, and I used to wrestle with my brother when we were kids. I actually played a form of rugby in high school when we had a P.E. teacher from Wales. In other words, I can picture myself doing a lot of these events – poorly, even when I was young, but I could somehow do them.

 

            So, then, this leads me to the other side of the question: What events can I not picture myself actually doing?

 

            After not much thought, and perhaps guided by what I’ve been watching on television, gymnastics quickly comes to mind – men’s and women’s. The balance beam – really? All I can think of is what part of me would get hurt when I slip off the beam ten seconds into my inappropriately named “routine.” Rings are impossible – I get hurt just watching.

 

·      Pole vaulting? Nope. 

 

·      Breakdancing? Well, I’m pretty sure that my dancing efforts would get me down on the floor, flailing about, if that counts . . .. I recall dancing that way a couple of times when in college.

 

·      Skateboarding? I’m happy when I can walk on solid land without falling.

 

·      Surfing? Not with waves higher than one foot. And not with radioactive air to breathe.

 

·      Equestrian? My one experience on horseback 70 years ago disqualifies me.

 

·      Ski-jumping (Winter Olympics)

 

            What we really need is Olympic Games for seniors – competitive events suited to our age bracket. I have a few ideas, but I’m really interested in suggestions you could make.

 

Here are some possible events:

 

·      Parallel Parking. Bonus points awarded if you do it using stick shift.

 

·      Dressing oneself. Extra “degree of difficulty” points are awarded if you do it without sitting down or leaning against a wall. Deductions are made for unmatched socks, failure to correctly tuck or untuck your shirt, or anything put on backwards or inside-out. Bonus points are awarded for including a necktie and/or cufflinks, and, probably by a female judge, for good color choices, probably having to do with the mystery of “goes with” / “does not go with.”

 

·      I remember when I volunteered to work at the Transplant Games – an Olympics style operation that involved competitions for people who had received organ donations. One of my fellow volunteers suggested games for those with Obsessive-Compulsive disorder, where the only event would be registration. Well, for seniors, perhaps the only event would be finding the venue.

 

But again, I am mainly interested in your ideas. Let me know and I’ll post the results.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Love Poem

     Love Poem

 

You are my why.

 

You are my how.

Juggling

            It’s been quite a week (or two). First, we are not moving to Ann Arbor. The short version of what happened is that when we had our final walk-through prior to closing, we noticed some serious problems that we were prevented from seeing before. (I’ll skip the details, but they include some building-wide plumbing problems and the fact that our car does not fit in the garage.) So, we said, No deal. We had driven a carload of mainly kitchen stuff down to put in our new place, and then we drove it back home. So it goes.

 

            But as I write this, we have not gotten back any of the full purchase price that we wired down in anticipation of closing. No, not the Earnest Money – the full price, about half of my life savings. The owners say they want to keep much of it in escrow so that if the unit sells for less than we were going to pay, we would make up the difference – not a great motivator for them to take to negotiations! We also heard that the money should stay there in case they wanted to sue me for breach of contract. We have an attorney trying to get our money back, but nothing has happened yet.

 

            When I was in high school I learned to juggle. I thought maybe it would help me with sports, so I sent away for instructions and some small rubber balls. After a few weeks I was capable of juggling 3 of them. I tried to move up to 5, but I could not master that many.

 

      Well, now I’m struggling to juggle all 5:

 

1.     See above.

 

2.     Our Bark House is on the market. We’ve had some realtors come by for a look, a couple people lured in by the sign, and one scheduled showing. This leaves us hanging – what do we do if someone makes a good offer? Where will we go to live? Meanwhile, we are working extra hard to get the woods and gardens looking good, cobwebs off the house and garage, beach raked, dust off the molding and out of the corners.

 

3.     With the abandonment of our Ann Arbor deal, we are again hitting Zillow and Realtor on my laptop over our second cup of coffee. Where should we look? Ann Arbor is cool, but expensive, and it’s much more crowded than it was when I lived there a half-century ago. We love it up here in Northern Michigan, and we are looking at places in or near Traverse City – closer to our doctors and the medical facilities for Kim’s chemo and other maintenance. And possible emergencies. But we also see real advantages to living in Southeast Michigan, near family, for love and support. Scott and Shariee were there for us giving physical, logistical and emotional support during the Ann Arbor collapse – they fed and housed us, and offered to do it whenever we needed. So, we are looking in both places.

 

4.     Then we found a place that we really like in Traverse City, and after a visit for an hour or so, we went home and made an offer. The owner responded with a counter-offer, and we found a way to bridge the gap through their furniture. We were ecstatic, even though it stretched a little beyond our budget. But then we realized that without our money held in escrow by an Ann Arbor title company, we could not close on the condo, so we did not sign the Buy and Sell Agreement. Unless our attorney can get our money sent back to our account in the next day or two, we will just have to let it go.

 

5.     Another big juggling ball in the air, and starting to come down, is our health. We are dealing with some mobility issues, and though we are pretty much able to laugh at it, some cognitive issues involving short-term memory. I have this naïve hope that we can find the right doctor, pill, diet, or physical therapy, and somehow bounce back to the health we enjoyed ten years ago. My guess, however, is that we are pretty much on a one-way street here, a reality that impacts where we choose to live next.

 

            Getting the balls in the air is not difficult. Dealing with them as they come back down is another story. I remember from my juggling instruction manual that the key is to make a good toss. This, for example, is what we did not do with the Ann Arbor non-purchase. Our friend Beth suggested some pills, no doubt derived from mushrooms, to help deal with stress. It will soon be time to re-order.