Out With the Old, In With the New, and All That Jazz

09 Jan 2024 16 Comments

by writingforselfdiscovery in Bali, Italy, love, Mexico, Renovating the Hunting Shack, wisdom Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

It’s 2024. That, in itself, is a wonderment to me. It’s a big number. When I thought in terms of my life span, I didn’t think of the year two thousand twenty-four. I thought maybe I’d live into my nineties, but the corresponding date never entered my mind. I’ll be 80 in 2030, ninety in 2040. Okay. I’m going to talk about something else.

My house.

The new addition was a knee-jerk reaction to the horrors of last winter. Chipping ice off my car because the doors were frozen shut. Shoveling it out of six-foot snowdrifts. I didn’t ever want a repeat of that. So…

…a garage.

One thing leads to another. If I were going to the trouble and expense of building a garage, I should make the most of it. At the very least, I also needed an entryway where guests’ boots and coats could be shed before entering my very small house. And maybe I could capture some of the attic for living space.

At this very moment, my Prius is tucked securely away from inclement weather, safe and sound. I’ve sheetrocked the entryway and loft, and today I spent several hours mudding the seams.

But when I look at those spaces, I don’t see gray drywall with white spots and stripes.

I see a daybed with a pop-up trundle to accommodate guests. There are comfy chairs and a stunning 9 X 12 rug. Perched above the stairs overlooking the entryway is a desk with a papyrus painting in a sleek black frame hanging on the wall above it.

I’ve already chosen the rug, the daybed, and the chairs. They’re waiting in my Amazon cart. I’ve sourced mattresses. Daily, I scour Facebook Marketplace and Craigslist for other furnishings…

…like a desk…

I found it last week on Marketplace, in North Branch, Minnesota. I’m typing this post on its impeccable wood top, sitting in the adorable chair that came with it. My very small house is filling up with accessories for my unfinished loft. But that’s what happens with visualizing what I want. It manifests! And the Universe doesn’t care about timelines. It just gives me what I ask for.

As my house becomes a part of me (or I a part of it) I feel myself settling into my life. So much changed so fast for so long that, even though my body arrived in Minnesota, my heart was scattered over thousands of miles. I’ve come to accept the fact that it always will be. I have loves, many loves, in Bali, in San Miguel de Allende, in Priano, Italy, in Doha, Qatar, in Spain, Germany, Iceland, Norway, in Montara, California, Isle of Palms, South Carolina, and all over Minnesota. Those people are precious to me and distance won’t change that.

But the hard physical work that has been my reality for the past year-and-a-half, kept me focused in the present. I needed the effects of sweat and exhaustion, and the vision of a ‘forever home’ here in the far north, to ground me. And, fortunately for me, I’ve never been one to cling to what is past.

Tonight, my brother-in-law asked me what I’ll do when the work is done. Only recently have I allowed myself to entertain thoughts about that. It seemed so remote. But now there’s a faint glimmer at the end of the tunnel. Gwen spoke up. “You’ll write!” I do have an unfinished novel, Nettle Creek, to complete. And there’s a local book club I’ve been invited to join. My yard needs flowers. I’d like to continue to study Spanish. And travel? Do I still have gypsy feet? Time will tell.

Meanwhile, it’s 2024. A potent year. I’m 74 and will never be younger than I am right now. Whatever is left undone in my heart, needs to be addressed. But, oh! What a privilege to have a home!

Building a House in Bali – “Check with the holy man…”

12 Mar 2014 8 Comments

by writingforselfdiscovery in Bali Tags: , , , ,

Last night on the back of Pasek’s motorbike, ears flapping in the wind, din of traffic drowning out the words, he said, “Tomorrow ceremony for house.” Had I heard him correctly?

“My house?” I shouted back at him.

“Ya. My wife bring offerings,” he said.

I’ve been waiting for this moment for what seems like forever. Weeks ago, Pasek and Dewa, the two men who are handling the project, sat down with the Balinese calendar to find an auspicious day to begin. Then a holy man was consulted just to make sure we had it right.

P1050780

Five auspicious days were identified in March, and the 12th was the most beneficent of the lot. But like every month on this beautiful, Hindu island, March is littered with ceremonial days culminating in the granddaddy of them all, Nyepi. When there are ceremonies, there are no workers. They all go to their own villages to observe the customs and rituals required. There’s no arguing with that, it’s just the way it is.

So the announcement on the motorbike was good news, great news in fact. But it left me no time to prepare. And even if I had time, I had no idea what was expected of me. So I did what I’m getting very good at doing here…nothing.

This morning dawned sunny and gorgeous. Awake with the chickens, I heard puttering outside. Pasek had arrived early to affix the small temple to the side of the wall in the garden. I scurried out to greet him and find out what, when, and how this was all going to unfold. “Start maybe ten o’clock,” he said. Maybe was the operative word.

“What should I do?” I really had no idea.

“Up to you,” he said. To anyone who has ever had the pleasure of knowing a Balinese person, that’s a very familiar phrase.

P1050820

I took time to dress in temple clothes. I set out glasses and Bali coffee. I sent out some invites via text messages to friends and neighbors who might be interested to pop in on such short notice. And then I waited. And waited. Ten o’clock stretched to eleven. The sky was darkening overhead and moist air hung heavy and still. At last, down the trail came Pasek’s wife and daughter.

P1050831

Following close behind them, an elderly priest appeared in a sarong and udeng.

Unlike me, Pasek’s wife knew exactly what to do. When she removed the cover from the basket full of offerings she had made, I was stunned. There were mounds of white rice and flowers in palm baskets for the small temple, and black rice and flowers for the earth, each one a work of art. There was incense, holy water, and fruit. A lump came in my throat. It was beautiful.

Someone spread a bamboo mat on the earth. The priest climbed up the terraced bank and piled offerings on the small temple. He sat and prayed, sprinkling holy water and chanting as sweet incense plumed upward. Then it was my turn. I knelt on the mat and the priest placed a palm basket of flowers in front of me. It’s a routine I’ve done before and this time it felt comfortably familiar…flowers in prayer hands, flowers flicked into the air, flowers tucked behind the ears, flowers on top of the head. Water in cupped hands, sip three times and sprinkle the fourth on your head. Sticky rice in the middle of the forehead, sticky rice on each temple, rice on the chest, then the top of the head. Now eat a few grains and, poof! You’re done!

During the ceremony, the hole digger, who had come before any of the others arrived, continued to hammer away at the concrete and remove earth. By the time we were finished he was about waist deep. He continued into the afternoon until the hole was as deep as he was tall. The foundation has to withstand frequent earth tremors, but I had no concept of what that meant until today. Ketut lowered offerings into the depths of the pit. A sprinkling of holy water, and my foundations were blessed.

Many times throughout the morning I found myself overwhelmed with emotion. I don’t pretend to understand the ways of the Balinese, but I am moved by the kindness and the care they have shown me. The offerings today will ensure that my home is protected and safe. The prayers will keep the workers happy, strong, and clear headed during the building process. My participation creates a bond between me and the land.

Pasek’s family came by motorbike from Kintamani, an hour and a half away, to perform these rites for me. They wouldn’t have had to. I’m a foreigner. That’s a get-out-of-jail-free card in Bali. I don’t have to observe the religious requirements that they do. I’m not bound by the same code. But it seems I’ve been adopted and that changes the game. Things just get done for me, things that smooth the path and balance the energies. It’s so much more interesting than, well, for instance building a house in America. I can just hear the contractor saying, “I’ll check with the holy man and get back to you….”