Repairing my broken mermaid tail--and my confidence

Have you ever lost your confidence and your inspiration all at once? I have. But a mermaid helped me find my way again.

I draw strength and inspiration from being near the water, so it's only natural that I'd be inspired by mermaids. Some people insist mermaids are mythical creatures, but I've met mermaids and have photographic evidence to prove it. 

When my cousin, Donette and I brought the Whidbey Island Mermaid an offering of our leftover pizza, she kissed my forehead (the mermaid, not my cousin). 

The Whidbey Island Mermaid kissing my forehead

Once I met the Whidbey Island Sirens Pod, who invited me to sit a spell with them. They even entrusted me to hold their treasure chest brimming with jewels. 

Me hanging out with mermaids

My admiration of mermaids began 14 years ago when I was starting over after my divorce. A friend gifted me a confidant, cheeky mermaid that hangs from a beaded wire. Written on her fin is this favorite Oscar Wilde quote:

Be yourself.

Everyone else is already taken.

 

My cheeky mermaid 

In those early days of standing on my own again, I needed those words. Often. 

In my first apartment post-divorce, I hung the mermaid in a prominent place as a reminder to be my authentic self. Over the years, the mermaid and I moved many times: from that first tiny apartment to the World War II era duplex to Wisteria Cottage (with no running water, heat or bathroom!) to a lovely mother-in-law suite in the home of friends, to a fifth-wheel RV on a ranch in wild Eastern Oregon and back to my friends' suite.

Somewhere along the way, the mermaid's tail fell off. And then the beaded wire hanger fell off, too. I tucked her safely into a zippered bag and planned to repair her--one day. Instead, I forgot about my confidant, cheeky mermaid. 

Sometimes in the darkest moments, without the cheeky mermaid to cheer me on, I lost my confidence. I forgot how to be my authentic self.

Recently, I moved again when I bought my own home. As I unpacked box after box, I found my treasured mermaid. She was broken. Disheveled. Her confidence and cheekiness had waned considerably. I vowed I would reattach her tail and her hanger so that she can again be her confident, cheeky self. 

First, I tried reattaching her tail with jeweler's wire, but it fell off. I reattached it again. Same result. And again. The third time was not the charm. Sometimes when I have a vision of creating something or fixing something, it doesn't go as smoothly as I had envisioned. Can you relate?

So I moved on to Plan B: Use a rubber band AND jeweler's wire to reattach her tail. I grabbed my little jar of doo-dads. (Do you have one of these, too?) Inside the jar I save plastic closures for bread bags and wire twistees. Around the outside of the jar I wrap rubber bands I salvage. I found the perfect rubber band.

My jar of doo-dads

It worked! Within a few minutes, I had repaired the mermaid and hung her in my bathroom window. 

From now on, every morning as I am getting ready for the day, my cheeky mermaid will encourage me to be my authentic self. And her confidence and cheekiness is sure to inspire me to dig deep and find my own.

With my mermaid encouraging me every morning to "be myself," how can I fail?

My cheeky, encouraging mermaid hanging in my bathroom window

Finding my Way Home

Lately, I've been longing for my own home. 

My dream home is a cozy, rustic cabin in the woods at the edge of a lake or river where I can drink my coffee while watching the sunrise and then launch my kayak for an early-morning paddle. (Yes, I realize this is a pie-in-the-sky dream, but if you dare to dream, why not dream big? Why not ask for what you want?) You betcha, I'm dreaming big!

My dream view

My reality: I can't even afford this old, derelict single-wide mobile home in a senior mobile home park 20 miles north in the small town of Woodland. I considered buying it, but I didn't have the resources to make a long list of repairs. I asked myself: Is this my dream home? No. 

I could afford this derelict single-wide mobile in a senior park, but didn't have resources for required repairs. Is an old, single-wide mobile in a senior mobile home park my dream home? No.

Why I'm a renter: Bad things happen to good people

I've been a renter since December 2011 when a series of unfortunate events knocked me on my backside. In the aftermath of the Great Recession, I got divorced, got laid off from my job, had to sell my house at the bottom of the housing market, and let go of most of what I owned. 

My spectacular financial plummet is told by author Heather McGhee in her nonfiction book, The Sum of Us: What Racism Costs Everyone and How We Can Prosper Together (see my story on pages 95-96). The author refers to a study that found most Americans who lost their homes during the Great Recession will never be able to buy another home. Sobering news. 

After my life fell apart, I stood up, brushed the dirt off my rear, and looked around at what was left of my life. To move forward, I had to reinvent my life, my career and my priorities. That included changing how I live: simpler, cheaper, and with far less "stuff" to weigh me down.

Since then, I've lived in small homes--from a 323 square-foot RV on an isolated Eastern Oregon ranch to a one-room backyard shed a.k.a. artist's studio I dubbed Wisteria Cottage (without plumbing, toilet, kitchen, or heat) to my present 600 square-foot abode. 

My cozy rented suite at the edge of the woods

I am absolutely, truly blessed to rent a cozy mother-in-law suite attached to the home of dear friends. It's been my home for almost eight years. In my entire life, I've only lived in one place longer. 

The center of my lovely rented home: Sweet hearth warmed \
by a gas fireplace topped with a handmade live edge mantel

I am living a version of my dream in a cozy home at the edge of the woods and near a creek, ponds, and trails. I'm grateful to my friends for their kindness in sharing their lovely home with me. From my windows I see rabbits, deer and raccoons. At night I'm serenaded by frogs, owls, and coyotes. It's a peaceful home and fits my need to be close to nature.

But it's a rental. Temporary. I often wonder: Will I ever own a home again? 

Skyrocketing home prices and rising interest rates

The answer: A resounding NO if I stay here in Vancouver, Washington where the cost of housing has skyrocketed. The median sale price here in Vancouver is $500,000+ and in other parts of Clark County, it's more than $800,000. Affordable housing is nonexistent for those like me who earn too little to qualify for a mortage, but earn too much to qualify for home-buying assistance programs.

I've ruled out a condo with shared walls. I deal with insomnia regularly. I also don't want to have an expensive condo HOA fee over which I have no control. Space rental fees at mobile home parks range from $700 to $1,200/month. That doesn't fit my budget either.

• The good news: I have excellent credit, and I've saved some money for a down payment.
• The bad news: I haven't saved enough money to buy in the metro area, and my income doesn't qualify me to buy a home here. 

Needs versus wants

I've made a list of wants versus needs. Yes, I want a home near the water where I can kayak and watch the sunrise. But the practical me listed my basic requirements for a home:

• Heat, running water, electricity, flushing toilet
• Safe neighborhood
• Home that requires little or no repair
• Not too remote; close to job, services, family and friends
• My own laundry facilities
• A larger kitchen where I can have a full-size refrigerator, cabinets and counterspace

My $225K budget = creative home search

To look for homes within my budget of $225,000, I've had to be creative. To stay in this county, I've considered:

Home #1: Floating home: One bed, one bath, 600 square feet: $170,000 

The moment I stepped through the front door of this completed renovated floating home, I felt I'd found my cozy cabin at the edge of the water. However, a floating home loan is not a mortgage, but a personal consumer loan. Only one bank offers floating home loans in Clark County. I applied for a $150K loan. Despite my excellent credit, my savings account, and my job at Clark College, I was denied a loan because my income is too low. No floating home for me. 

My dream floating home (small home, center) view from the water

Sunset from the back deck of the floating home!
This is my dream view, but my dreams were dashed
when I was denied a loan because my income isn't high enough.

Home #2: 517 sq ft condo in downtown Vancouver: $260,000 

Private gated courtyard condo downtown, circa 1944

I went to an open house for a 517 square foot one-bedroom condo in downtown Vancouver designed by architect Day Hilburn in 1944. I loved the gated, parklike courtyard, hardwood floors, and the close-in location. I could ride my bike or walk to work, the library, coffee shops, restaurants, Officers Row, farmer's market, New Seasons grocery. But the shared walls would not work for my insomnia. And with the HOA, the payment was far above my budget.  

Realizing I couldn't afford a home in Clark County, I've looked at housing in communities outside the metro area: north along I-5: Woodland, Kalama, Longview-Kelso, east to Cascade Locks, Oregon (an hour from work) and west to Scappoose and St. Helens, Oregon. 

Even in those more rural towns, the homes listed at $225,000 or less are so rough and in such bad shape, that they don't qualify for a bank loan. 

Home #3: Off-grid 252 square-foot cabin with outhouse on 5 acres in Toutle, Wash.: $149K

What I like about it: The cheap price and that solar panels produce the electricity. 

What I don't like about it: The outhouse! Off grid. No running water and heated by a tiny woodstove. Too tiny. I've had to do without basic comforts, but would not choose to live without them daily again--unless there's a zombie apocalypse. The only bedroom is a loft accessed by a ladder. With my clumsiness and poor eyesight, what could possibly go wrong when I attempt to climb down the ladder to use the outhouse in the wee hours? Too remote, especially in the winter. It's on the road to Mount St. Helens. Too far from services, my job, family, friends.

Outhouse: okay for camping, hiking; but for me, not for everyday.
I might be OK with an indoor composting toilet. 

Home #4: Yurt on 2 acres in the woods by Yale Reservoir, south of Mount St. Helens: $275K.

Yurt (380 sq ft) on 2 acres in the boonies near Yale Reservoir, on south side of
Mount St. Helens; bathroom and kitchen in separate tiny building. 

The listing makes it sound idyllic: "A perfect getaway! 380 square-foot yurt on 2 acres. Borders elk reserve and trails to Yale Lake. Detached full bath with 8 jet jucuzzi tub. Power, water, phone and picnic shelter. Includes sewer hook up for a travel trailer. Wine cellar. Beautiful piece of heaven." 

The reality: The bedroom and living room are in the yurt. The bathroom and a "kitchen" (sink, countertop, and couple of cabinets) are in a tiny building that's a bit of a walk from the yurt. No laundry facilities. 

Bathroom and kitchen are here, a bit of a hike from the yurt.
Bonus: Flushing toilet and a bathtub with running water. 

I've already lived in a tiny artist's studio where I had to walk a distance to reach the bathroom and kitchen. This would be fun weekend property or Airbnb getaway, but not a full-time home for me.

Home #5: 123-year-old home, 1 bed, 1 bath, 742 sq ft on .68 acres in Kalama, Wash. Price: $200K

Cash only. No bank will finance it. I love older homes, but this one seems beyond rescue. It's in town and has elecricity, city water, and sewer, but calling it "rough" is an understatement. The listing says it needs a new roof, but it needs way more than a roof. How much money and work would it take to make this liveable? 

I love old homes, but is this one liveable?

Adjusting my attitude and expectations

I've searched Zillow and other online sites. My realtor has shown me the floating home and some mobile homes, but in reality, none of them were affordable or right for me. The Fed continues to raise interest rates, making my dream of home ownership move further away for me and countless others.

 

Here's what I have come to realize: I have a wonderful home, even if I don't own it. I am grateful to have dear friends who share their home with me for very little rent. And we sometimes share meals and deep conversations. For now, I am home. 

I also know that especially since reinventing myself after my divorce, I am unconventional. After working so hard to paddle my own canoe, do I want to settle for "normal?" Not owning a home affords me freedom and many choices. 

I've been learning about people building homes from straw bales and cob. I'd still need to own land, and land is expensive. But it's a possibility.

I'd like to travel. I've learned about ways to travel and have an inexpensive place to live: international homesitters, petsitters and couchsurfing, to name a few. 

On Instagram I've been watching videos posted by people in the U.K. who cruise rivers and canals while they live aboard sweet narrowboats. I'll bet they can sit on their deck to watch the sunrise. 

The possibilities are endless. Who knows what's just around the next bend in the river for me? 

Finding peace and beauty, even on hard days

                         

Today was a hard day. Can you relate?

More things went wrong than right. Disappointment and rejection. Missed deadlines. Missed opportunities. Dashed hopes. Crushed dreams. 

Despite all the hard work and pushing myself, I failed. I dropped a ball. I stumbled. I beat myself up because I'm not Super Woman anymore. (was i ever?) 

When I was a younger woman, I might have cried. But I'm not much of a crier. Not anymore.

After I've already encountered so many hard things, why should I be surprised when I encounter more hard things along my path? Challenging days will come--and often--until my days are done. That is truth.

My spirit is exhausted from all this effort with so little to show for it. 

Then one more hard thing happened. Too many difficulties on a day that was too hot, too hard, too much. 

"How much more can I take in one day?" I asked. "Where's the relief?" 

My answer came with the wind blowing in the trees. Gently, then rigorously. Branches cracked in the woods. 

Thunder rolled in the distance and grew closer. Then it started raining. 

Immediately the temperature began to drop. Relief! 

The tension in my body began to lessen. I breathed in the scent of rain through my open windows. 

After the storm, I stepped outside to smell the rain and the green and the peace. That's when I noticed a spectacular sunset glowing, beckoning me. 

Blossoming tree at sunset

Slipping on my boots, I walked briskly through the garden, down the hill and onto the path into the Great Meadow. As the sun sank behind the meadow, I hurried, not wanting to miss the party. 

What a spectacular party it was! Blazing sunset. Cool breezes. Spring blossoms. Scent of rain. The last of the day's birdsong as the sun slipped out of sight.

Peace and beauty at day's end

Then the frog chorus began its nightly symphony. Just for me in that moment.

I turned and walked home through tall grass, serenaded by the frogs.

Even on the hardest days, I find peace and beauty if I open my eyes. 

Yes, today was a hard one. 

But tomorrow is a new day, fresh with no mistakes in it, as Anne of Green Gables said. 

Tomorrow I'll be ready to start again. Will you?

The end of a hard day: Ready to start fresh tomorrow.

 

Uh-oh! Elbow x-ray

Have you ever whacked your elbow so hard that you almost cried? 

I did exactly that recently. For two weeks, the pain persisted, but I sucked it up. I kept telling myself, "It's nothing. The pain will go away." 

But one morning I awoke to find my fingers tingling and going numb. Even lifting an empty coffee cup was excruciating. So I went to the doctor to get an x-ray. 

Here's the ridiculous part: My injury was not the result of some extraordinary adventure. 

I didn't hurt my elbow while riding a four-wheeler across a scary bridge. (Although I've done that.)

I didn't get hurt while skating in "fresh meat" roller derby tryouts. (Although I've done that too.)

It wasn't the result of a falling while skiing, and then sliding on my back, headfirst, careening down the mountain. (Yes, I absolutely did that once.)

The cause of my injury is embarrassingly mundane: While I was showering, I accidentally whacked my elbow against the shower wall. Really, really hard. 

The good news from my x-rays: "No acute fracture."

Hooray. No broken bones. Relief!

The bad news from my x-rays: "Bone remodeling/enthesopathy at the lateral humeral epicondyle, correlate for evidence of lateral epicondylitis."

I had to Google to get the layman's definition: Tennis elbow.

It's a disorder involving the attachment of a tendon to the bone. It's caused by repetitve motion of the forearm muscles, which attach to the outside of the elbow. The muscles and tendons become sore from excessive strain. My titanium wrists seem weaker than usual, as do my hands and fingers.

Most likely the injury is even more boring. It's likely from typing on my computer hours on end. Writer's injury, then.

And somehow, whacking my elbow against the shower wall aggravated it. Klutz's injury also.

It still hurts a lot to lift even a cup of coffee, but it's a relief to know I didn't break any bones. 

Spring will soon be here. I'm already dreaming about paddling my kayak on lakes and rivers around the Northwest. To do that, I'll need two good arms.

Last stummer I paddled in Dugualla Bay on Whidbey Island. 
Can't wait to return this summer!

So I'm resting it, icing it, taking anti-inflammatories. I'm taking breaks from my keyboard.

And I'm being extra careful while showering. When I get out of the shower and see a glimpse of my tattoo, a dragon holding a dragon boat paddle, I remind myself: "You're a Mighty Woman. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo! You'll be okay."

My dragon tattoo--when it was new and a bit irritated.

I know I will. I've been through so much worse. I can do this. 

Paddle on!

Copyright-free photos from Pixabay.

Advice from a procrastinator: Do three tiny tasks today

I'm a procrastinator. I put off doing big things--and even tiny tasks that take less than two minutes to complete. Do you do this too?

This morning when I picked up my frying pan, I the handle wobbled because the screw needed to be tightened. To be honest, I'd noticed the loose handle weeks ago, but I ignored it. I kept telling myself, "I don't have time to fix it now. I'll fix it later."

Today I grabbed my screwdriver from my toolbox, tightened the screw on the frying pan handle, and returned the screwdriver to its place. Done! In less than two minutes, I fixed a little problem I'd been putting off for weeks. It felt good. What a sense of accomplishment!

It took seconds to tighten screw on frying pan handle

Here are some tiny tasks that can completed in about two minutes:

• Change the batteries on the smoke alarm, remote control or another gadget
• Move that thing that's been on the kitchen counter for days and put it away where it belongs
• Clear stuff off  top of my dresser and put it where it belongs
• Clear the stuff off the bathroom counter and wipe it down
• Move shoes left by the door to shoe bag in bedroom closet
• File tax papers so I'm organized to do my taxes
• Take Goodwill donation bag from living room to my car
• Clean my laptop screen and keyboard

Completing a few of these tiny tasks I've been putting off for days, weeks, months cleared my mind to focus on more important things. 

Bolstered with a feeling of accomplishment, I headed to the bathroom to complete a more difficult task I'd been avoiding. My bathroom exhaust fan and cover were packed with compacted dust. The fan wasn't doing its job. 

I'd put off this task because I didn't even know how to do the first step of removing the fan cover. But there's a YouTube video to teach you to do anything. After watching a short video, I was confident I could do it. 

I was grossed out by the gunk I discovered in the cover, including the remains of a large moth. 

I used tweezers to pull the compacted dust from the exhaust fan's cover.

Don't let your bathroom exhaust fan get this gross!

Clean fan can do its job now.

It took about 30 minutes to complete this task: watch the video, get the stepladder, remove the exhaust fan cover, unplug the fan from the power, clean the cover, soak it on hot, soapy water, and wipe down the fan blades as best I could. 

• Now when I'm showering, I won't tell myself: Clean the fan.
• When I pick up my frying pan, I won't think: Tighten the screw.

Of course, life goes on. Many other tiny tasks need my attention. But tackling some easy tasks creates breathing space in my home and my head--and brought a satisfying sense of accomplishment. Why do I put off the easy stuff?

What two-mnute tiny tasks can you do today? Fix it. Clean it. Put it away where it belongs. Then pat yourself on the back. Give yourself a gold star. 

Next on my list: Tackle the BIG thing I've been putting off: finish writing my book, Paddling Her Own Canoe. No time like the present to tackle the next chapter.

I'm paddling my own canoe through life's waters. Sometimes choppy. Sometimes smooth as glass.

Pivoting Pro: Laid off--but ready for what's next

Like tens of thousands of workers, I was laid off recently. 

I've spent the past three years working in communications for the local community college: writing stories, news releases, web content, and producing a series of videos. My contract ended, and with it, my income, healthcare and other benefits.

But I'll be OK. First of all, I am not my job. My life is much bigger than how I make my living.

This isn't the first time I've been laid off or the first time I've been up against hard times. I am resilient, resourceful, and creative. I've pivoted in my career so many times that if I weren't 5-foot-2, I'd play for the NBA. 

Over the years, I've pivoted from one job and learned to new skills to do another job. 

• I've learned to manage communications for nonprofit organizations. 
• I've learned how to be a reporter for a daily newspaper. 
• I've learned how to write grant proposals for nonprofit organizations.
• I've learned how to stand in front of a TV camera and be spokesperson for an organization.
• I've learned how to write for the Web and social media.
• I've learned how to produce videos. 
• I've learned how to be a much better writer.

Who knows what skills I'll learn next? 

Writing and communications jobs I've done in my career:

I've done many kinds of work that isn't aligned to my college degree or career path. I'll be you have, too. 

• As a teen, I was a carhop at A&W, a lumber sorter and grader at a lumber mill, and a dishwasher in a nursing home.
• I paid for college by working as a file clerk and then by doing data entry.
• I managed shipping and receiving for a college bookstore.
• I created and ran events for an independent bookstore. And I was the Story Lady.
• I managed a small, rural branch library and again was the Story Lady.
• I managed a federal program to assist homeless veterans
• I managed a federal program to provide heating assistance to low-income people
• I managed retail operations at a National Park Service visitor center
• I ran my own book marketing and literary events company.

Who knows what interesting work is ahead for me?

Other kinds of work I've done not related to journalism and writing:

I've worked long enough to know what I want in my work:

My past work experience has also given me clarity about what I don't want in my work:

So here I go again. I'm ready to take on new challenges and see where I can make a difference. 

No need to wish me luck. My dad witnessed my well-developed pivoting skills. He told me: "You're like a cat. You always land on your feet."

I do. 

But do let me know if you hear of someone who needs a writer and communications professional who is resilient and can pivot like an NBA pro.

What jobs have you done? What do you want to do? What do you NEVER want to do again. (For me, it's being micromanaged. Life's too short.)

Here's a nifty free word cloud generator if you'd like to create your own word clouds. 

Warning! Don't go in the kitchen!

Do you ever have days when everything you create in the kitchen is a disaster?

Now, I'm the first to admit that I'm not an inspired cook. I'm no Julia Child. But I can cook basic meals, and sometimes very tasty, healthy meals. Two nights ago, I made a lovely kale salad with grape tomatoes, parmesan, a boiled egg, pecans and balsamic. Yum. 

But in the last 48 hours, I've experienced what I call a Don't-Go-in-the-Kitchen Day. 

I burned toast to a crispy, unappetizing charcoal. I spread a tiny bit of butter on it, then sprinkled it liberally with cinnamon and Stevia.

At lunchtime yesterday, I turned my back for just a smidge--and my lovely grilled cheese sandwich became a charcoal sandwich. I scraped off the worst of the charcoal and ate it. It was my last two pieces of bread. 

This morning, I burned my oatmeal. Not just a little scorched, but really, truly burned so that a thick coating of burned gunk is stuck in the bottom of the pot. But I ate it. Growing up, we ate what was put in front of us. Mostly. We didn't throw out food. So, in the last 48 hours I've eaten burned toast, burned grilled cheese and burnt oatmeal. Yum! And I'd made two servings of burnt oatmeal, so guess what I'm having for breakfast tomorrow?

Tonight I baked a potato (success) and topped it with steamed broccoli and grated cheese. Yum! I planned to top it with some of my homemade turkey chili I'd pulled out of the freezer. But I turned my back for just a smidge to slice some sharp cheddar--and my knife blade broke off from the handle, I forgot momentarily about the chili--and--you guessed it!  I burned the chili. I did NOT eat the burned chili. All of the liquid had been reduced out of it and it no longer can be called chili.

Perhaps a new world record of Simultaneous Kitchen Disasters for me: Broken knife blade, burned chili. At least I didn't accidentally cut myself, which would have been a trifecta of disasters.

Now, in my sink in my tiny 6 x 6 kitchen I have a  two pots coated in burnt gunk waiting to be scrubbed clean. And a broken knife. And some other dishes. I don't have a dishwasher, and I just don't have the energy to tackle it tonight. I'm going to let the crusty pots soak overnight. 

Tomorrow, I'll scour them with my secret weapon: vinegar and baking soda and a bristly green scouring pad. This isn't my first burnt-pot rodeo. (Warning: I've just read an article that burnt food can contain carcinogens.)

Today I count these kitchen successes: 

1. I made coffee. Nothing exploded.

2. I cut up an apple, saving half for tomorrow. No disasters there.

3. I peeled a boiled egg without incident.

4. I steamed broccoli in the microwave. (I can't take credit for shredding the cheese. I buy shredded cheese because I have a tendency to shred my fingers). 

I'm going to call it a day. I'll make a cuppa peppermint tea and climb into bed and read. 

I think I'll turn on Netflix and catch an episode of the Great British Baking Show, Holiday Edition. Last night I watched Caramel Week. Some of the bakers made extraordinary creations. Others had disasters. Their own version of Don't-Go-in-the-Kitchen Day. 

I guess it happens to everyone. Perhaps even to that smug Paul Hollywood.