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? 

Had my storage unit been burgled? Would that be devastating--or a blessing?

I was working 45 minutes from home when I received a voicemail from the manager of my storage unit asking me to call her.

"This can't be good," I thought..

She had bad news: "During our inspection, we found your lock wasn't on properly. The door wasn't really locked."

"Did you open the door and see if my storage unit is empty?" I asked.

"No. We don't do that. You need to come as soon as possible and check your unit to see if anything is missing."

Mostly, my storage unit held remnants of my old life--the one where I was a married soccer mom raising two kids, hosting holiday meals, and maintaining a big house. In the past five years, I've sifted through the shards of my previous life and have let go of lots of stuff. But I still owned more stuff than can fit into my 600-square-foot apartment, so I paid for storage.

On my drive toward my storage unit, I considered its contents:

• Hostessing supplies I'll likely never need again: platters, candles and candlesticks, and tablecloths for a family-size table I no longer own. 
• Boxes of Christmas decorations. Due to space limitations, I have an artificial tabletop tree and use a small portion of my ornaments.
• Yard tools: I may never have a yard again. 
• Kitchenware that doesn't fit into my compact kitchen. 
• Camping gear: I still use some of this stuff.
• My son's Star Wars action figures. He says he doesn't want them, but I can't let them go. Am I holding onto his childhood?

• My Luggable Loo--a porta-potty I bought when I lived for three months without a bathroom, heat, or running water. I'll keep her. She could be useful for car camping at primitive sites when my only option is squatting behind a sagebrush on a dark night while worrying that a rattlesnake might bite me in the rear.

• The only furniture left in my storage unit: Two Shaker chairs and a 1930s floor lamp.
• My wedding dress, handmade by my sister, Becky and my friend, Reenie in 1983. I am divorced. My daughter doesn't want the dress. Why have I kept it?
• Four area rugs that once graced oak floors in our circa-1921 house. I likely won't live in a big house with wood floors again.
• Hundreds of family photos--loose photos, in albums, and in frames. I no longer have space to display many photos. When I've sorted through these photos from my old life, I cry. It's painful to face the failure of my marriage. I do plan to make photo albums for my kids and even my ex-husband, but I've avoided it. 
• The rest of my storage unit is what my Swedish Grandma Lydia would call "stuff and junk."

At first, when I had to quickly empty my house, I gave away truckloads of belongings.When I moved, I rented an enormous 20 x 10 storage unit. 

But now, 4 1/2 years later, there's not much stuff left. I rent a 10 x 10 storage unit that's about two-thirds full. I was planning to get rid of more stuff and get a smaller storage unit last fall, but then I broke both wrists in an ATV accident--and I couldn't hold a hairbrush or zip my pants, let alone move boxes. My accident sidelined my plans to continue winnowing my stuff down to the essential.

Recently, my storage rental had increased. I calculate I've spent about $5,500 on storage rental since my divorce. Holy cow! What a waste of money! I'm living on an income that's far less than what I made at my previous job. I pick up pennies I find on the street, yet I've been throwing away money on storage. 

By now, I was pulling into the storage facility. Had my unit been burglarized? What if all my stuff had been stolen? What if when I lift the door and look inside, I find it empty? Would that be a tragedy--or a blessing?

Why was I holding onto stuff for a life I no longer lived? At that moment, I realized what was really essential: the photos of my kids growing up.

A few minutes later, I unlocked the padlock, lifted the door, and held my breath. I let out a sigh.

The good news: No thief had stolen my stuff. I still had all those photos of my kids. That's the essential nugget I'd keep.

The bad news: I still had to get rid of lots of stuff.

After facing the possibility of losing everything, I realized most of it was chaff I could release to the wind. For the first time, I felt all this stuff no longer owned me. Time to lighten the load in my canoe and paddle forward to the next adventure.

Paddles up!

Starting the new year with an attitude of gratitude

Once my arms heal, I'll be back on the trail!

I love early January when we start a new year  brimming with possibilities. I'm starting 2016 with an attitude of gratitude, despite the hardships I've faced in the past five years:

• I got divorced at age 50
• I was laid off at work during the Recession when jobs were scarce and was unemployed for some months
• I had to sell my house in the worst real estate market in decades
• I quickly downsized from 2,400 to 600 square feet--and gave away most of my possessions
• I moved five times in two years because rentals are so expensive
• I lived for three months in a backyard shed with no heat, water or toilet (because I needed to save money for car repairs)
• I broke both wrists in an ATV accident, needed two surgeries, missed three months of work and incurred lots of medical bills

Some people might shake their heads and ask me: "Are you crazy? How can you be grateful after so many hard things?

My answer is: "How can I be anything but grateful? Isn't gratitude a better response than being depressed, angry, and wallowing in despair and misery?"

The biggest lesson I've learned through hardship is that the only thing I can control is my attitude. I can either brush myself off and be grateful, or I can become a sour, unhappy person. I choose gratitude and joy.

I have myriad reasons to be grateful. Among them:

• I reinvented myself at age 50. I joined a dragon boat team and found the joyful, adventurous woman inside of me. 
• At age 52 I started a new career as a newspaper reporter. I enjoy my work, and I've become a much better writer.
• I lost 40 pounds and have kept it off for four years. Once I get my last cast removed, I'll lose another 30 pounds.
• For more than two years, I've rented the 600 square-foot mother-in-law suite in the home of dear friends. At last, I am home. 
• After giving away so many possessions, I'm content with my lifestyle of simplicity and finding joy in simple pleasures.
• After living without heat, water, a kitchen--and especially a bathroom--I am grateful that on this snowy day, I don't have to walk outside 37 steps to the facilities.
• After my ATV accident, I am grateful for life itself. I am alive and planning great adventures in the coming year.

When hard things come your way--and they come to us all eventually--will you wallow in despair or will you adopt an attitude of gratitude? It's your choice.

There and back again: From bliss to pain, then healing

Have you ever felt the elation of absolute bliss--only to plummet to the depths of pain and uncertainty? 

Last September, I experienced a magical day at the Great Circle Music Festival near La Grande, Oregon. I spent the day with my honey listening to live music, dancing, hanging out with friends and basking in Eastern Oregon sunshine. What's not to love about a day so glorious?

Toward the end of the night, music filled the air and the space in front of the stage undulated with dancing bodies. A generous woman had brought an armload of hula hoops and encouraged people to  join her in hooping to the music. I grabbed a hoop and joined my friend, Heather, and her first-grade daughter, Ryleigh.

As we moved our hips to keep our hula hoops rotating, Ryleigh told me something so affirming that I count it as one of my favorite moments ever:

"I want to be like you! You're beautiful and you can do so many things."

Ryleigh's statement made me glow. I wanted to stop right there and give her a big hug.

Only two years before, I had been a miserable mess. Newly divorced and stressed out by a job that was sucking the life out of me, my obese body and my sad countenance proclaimed my unhappiness to the world.

But I'd banished that unhappy woman.

Now as I hula-hooped with Ryleigh, I was a new woman: a dragon boating, swing dancing, belly dancing, kayaking, zip lining, djembe drum playing, hula hooping woman brimming with joy. At that moment, I felt beautiful. Strong. Blissful.

The bliss was short lived.

Two weeks later, I slipped on the porch steps slick with rain. I felt my feet fly from underneath me and thought: "This is going to hurt." My head, neck and back slammed against the steps. I am a tough woman, but I cried. The pain was excruciating.

I had a concussion and a pounding headache. My neck and shoulders were so sore I couldn't turn my head. My back and my entire left side ached. My doctor scheduled physical therapy and prescribed muscle relaxers and extra-strength ibuprofen. She also told me I'd need to take a break from dragon boating and to take it easy. Rest.

One physical therapy session brought no relief, but caused financial stress because my co-pay was so high. I couldn’t afford any more physical therapy, but I did the basic exercises at home. After working all day, I came home, took muscle relaxers and collapsed into bed. So it went for weeks.

I tried some gentle exercise and lifted teeny, tiny weights. It was too soon. The pain worsened. I tried hula hooping with my weighted hoop, an exercise that had brought such joy previously. Now it caused pain. I missed paddling a dragon boat with the Mighty Women. I longed to feel active and powerful again.

Instead, I felt weak and powerless. Was this pain and inactivity my new normal? I'd worked so hard to transform my life and my body at midlife. Would one tiny moment of slipping on the steps change my life forever? I shuddered at that thought.

My pain wasn't debilitating. It was nothing compared to what my friend, Ruth, went through when a mysterious affliction became life threatening and doctors amputated her leg, yet she still hikes. My friend, Kaitlin, has been blind since she was hit by a car at age seven, but she paddles on my dragon boat team. In comparison, what I was dealing with was insignificant. But it had diminished my joy quotient several notches.

Thankfully, my employer's health insurance offered a self-referral benefit of massage and acupuncture at an affordable rate. I'd never had a massage or acupuncture, but I was so tired of hurting that I was willing to try anything that might bring relief and help me get my life back. What a difference the massages made! Who knew that sticking needles in a person's body would be even more relaxing than a massage?

Slowly, as the weeks and then months passed, I began to heal. I've been walking a couple of miles on the trail near my house, and last weekend, after a foot of snow blanketed the ground, I skied through the woods. I wouldn’t qualify for the Olympics at that pace, but I felt strong. Better yet, I didn't have any pain.

This morning, six months after my fall, I wistfully looked at my weighted hula hoop again. Feeling hopeful, I grabbed my hoop and iPod and stepped outside to the garden facing the woods.

After the first song I was winded, but I kept going. As I hooped in rhythm to the music, two Canadian geese honked and flew overhead. I felt in the groove. Elated. Even blissful.

I thought of Ryleigh's words to me six months earlier. And I smiled.

 

 

 

Projecting positive thoughts to the universe

Judy and Kathy, my cheerleaders at my neighborhood Ace Hardware

"Happiness looks great on you."

So says the message inside the foil wrapper of my Dove dark chocolate.

Although a wise woman doesn't build the foundation of her philosophy on pithy phrases printed on candy wrappers, no one ever called me wise. So this foil message has become part of the photo collage on my refrigerator. Every day it reminds me to replace a lifetime of negative self-talk with positive self-talk.

Happiness does look great on me. I'm living proof that a woman can undergo a series of unfortunate events and come out on the other side with a smile on her face--and 50 pounds lighter too!

About 18 months ago, happiness wasn't a key ingredient in my life. I was feeling deer-in-the-headlights panic. Shock even.

After my divorce, I was laid off from my job without warning, and immediately had to sell my house in the worst housing market in decades. Incredibly, the house sold, I paid off the mortgage and had just enough money to pay rent and a deposit on a cheap, one-bedroom apartment. My dear mother co-signed the lease for her down-and-out unemployed daughter.

Today, looking back on that time, I took an online Holmes & Rahe Life Events Scale test, checking off which life-changing stressors I'd experienced. Divorce. Laid off from work. Change in residence. Major changes in my financial state and my living conditions. My daughter had moved out about six months earlier, and when I had to sell the house, my son moved out too. Now I was alone, with only my cat, Anakin Skywalker, to keep me company.

My score was 328 on the stress test. I received a message that I'd experienced "a significant amount of life change and had a significant susceptibility (about 80% probability) to stress-related illness."

Here at the lowest point in my life, the universe began to shift. Or perhaps I was the one who shifted. Instead of being angry, I became hopeful. After all, what more could go wrong?

I believe if you're positive in your life--in the way you see yourself and you project that positive energy--it gets reflected back to you.

Everywhere I went, people helped and reflected that positive energy back to me.

On my moving day, a week before Christmas, 17 friends and family helped me move.

Two days before moving day, I broke a tooth--an old root canal--and had to have emergency oral surgery. I had no money to pay the bill. When I checked in, I told the receptionist a little about my circumstances. As I was leaving the oral surgeon's office, the receptionist said: "Your surgery was doctor's gift to you. Merry Christmas."

My car needed $900 of work. My dear mechanic, Don Orange, owner of Hoesley Eco Auto, did the work at no charge. "It's on us," he told me.

And on my many expeditions to my neighborhood Ace Hardware to get settled into my tiny apartment, I chatted with Kathy and Judy and shared my circumstances. They listened, smiled, encouraged me, cheered me on.

In the past 18 months, I got a new job as a newspaper reporter, an all-new career for me. I started paddling on a women's dragon boat team, the Mighty Women. I started eating better and taking care of myself. I lost 50 pounds. I look and feel better than I've felt in 20 years.

Looking back, the severe losses and stressors I experienced were tough, but they actually made me a stronger, happier, joyful person. I'm still paddling a dragon boat with the Mighty Women. And recently I've tried skiing, swing dancing, belly dancing--and even dating.

The old me was too bogged down in unhappiness to imagine I could try new, fun experiences.The new me appreciates that life can change direction without warning at any moment. Life is a gift that should be cherished. Savored. Experienced with gusto. And dark chocolate.

Last week when I stopped by Ace Hardware to buy strawberry plants for my garden, Kathy greeted me with: "There's the woman who reinvented herself!"

I smiled. And bought a piece of chocolate.

A New Year: Paddling into Unchartered Waters & Joy

Family. Friends. Faith. Experience.

These four simple words have helped make me who I am at this spot in the river, this place where I am paddling my own canoe.

Although a strong current threatens to steer me off course and perhaps to capsize me, I am not afraid. How can I fear what lies ahead when I glance behind me and see the long, hard miles I already have paddled?

Throughout my journey, I often have bolstered my spirits with a favorite Louisa May Alcott quote:"I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning how to sail my ship." Let me paraphrase Louisa: I am learning how to paddle my own canoe.

The unwavering support of my extended family and my circle of friends has given me the courage and strength to continue paddling, even when I couldn't see around the bend in the river and the obstacles ahead.

In hindsight, how grateful I am that I couldn't see the obstacles. Had I known I would lose my job and my home within a two-month period, would I have found the sheer determination to safely paddle through these tumultuous rapids in order to reach the calmer water just beyond the bend in the river?

If I could foresee that one week before Christmas, with the help of so many dear family and friends, I would have to downsize from a three-story house to a one-bedroom apartment and to give away a large portion of my worldly possessions, could I have kept on the course without wavering?

The last 18 months of my life's journey have been fraught with difficult obstacles: Divorce. Being laid off from my job. Then, in the midst of a depressed real estate market, having to sell my house quickly before it went into a short sale and damaged my credit. And in a short span of time, both of my young adult children moved out and left me an empty-nester with only a fussy cat to keep me company.

In December, I faced the roughest rapids, and somehow, I made it through to calmer waters.

Now it's January. I have let go of my old life and am settling into this new one. I have mourned the loss of my marriage, my job, my house, and my children's childhoods. The latter passed much, much too quickly.

In this new chapter, I am learning to embrace simplicity, but I do not pretend to be gallant about it. This is not prayerfully chosen voluntary simplicity as practiced by Quakers. On the contrary. I am a woman who collects antiques, vintage hats and ephemera and goes weak in the knees at estate sales. Mine was completely involuntary simplicity. It wasn't painless or pious, but it was for the best.

The surprising result of having to let go of so much so quickly is that now I have room in my heart to find joy in simple pleasures: a cup of tea with a friend, an inspiring walk along the Columbia River, a song that lifts my spirits, finding a healthy recipe as I begin my journey of mindful eating and deliberate exercise.

Another welcome surprise has been the resurgence of my faith after a long, dry spell. Although I lost a good deal, I gained much more.

Here I am, on the other side of the rapids, still paddling my canoe. I can't wait to see what adventures lie just around the bend in the river.