Tag: frustration

The Solution

Our story opens with me having decided to move up to a larger apartment in my current complex.  I had come to this decision while working with a financial planner and also on advice from my son who suggested “an interim solution“.

Finally the day came for me to put my plan into motion.  It was October 3, 2016, when I received a letter from the apartment management with a “Lease Renewal Offer”.  My current lease was going to expire on December 11 and the letter explained my options: a minimally increased rate for another 12 months in my one-bedroom, a more than $200 increase for a month-to-month rate, and a reminder that per my lease I am required to give 60 days notice if I’m planning to move out.  It was time to make my move.

On November 15, I went to the management office and talked to Lauren about renting a two-bedroom apartment.  She showed me the two floor plans that had two bedrooms. One plan had two bedrooms that share the same bathroom and the other plan had a main bedroom with an en suite bathroom and a second bedroom and separate bathroom.  I chose the one with the en suite bathroom.  I wrote the rent for each on the page with the floor plan I had chosen along with notes about transfer fees, apartment number, and the date it would be available.  And most importantly the date of this conversation.

Then on Thursday, November 17, I submitted a move-out letter stating my intention to move to a larger apartment within the complex.  The next Monday I went to the management office to settle which apartment and find out the next steps.  But when I walked in I immediatley noticed that something was different, wrong.  The doors to the two managers’ offices were closed.  No one was sitting at the two desks outside the offices.  It was very quiet; no music; some lights were off.  Then a young woman I recognized came out and asked if she could help me.  I told her why I was there for and we sat down at one of the desks.

After I explained the situation and which apartment I wanted and how much rent I had been told I would be charged, she took the paper and went in the back.  When she returned she said the rent would be about $200 more.  I explained that I had been in on November 15 and pointed to the date on the floor plan.  I was   told the rent would be this amount and I showed her on my paper where I had written the amount.  She left again and this time a man came out with her; his name was Kenny.  I had never seen him there before but he acted as if he was in charge.  “Strange”, I thought, “but ok, I’ll go with it.”

I explained to Kenny everything I had explained to the young woman and he agreed to the rent.  Next step was sending me a lease to reveiw which they would do in the next few days.  When the lease came in my email, I reviewed it.   It was all as expected except for the rent which again was the higher rent.  I went back to the office with all my papers in hand and this time the managers’ offices were open, people were sitting at the desks outside and the lights and music were on.  Now this was normal except I didn’t recognize anyone.  A young man, Saia, sitting at one of the desks, asked if he could help me and I explained the situation to him.  He pulled my lease up on his computer and left.  In a few minutes, both he and Kenny came out.  He told Saia to honor the cheaper rent.  He told me they would send another lease for me to review.

It was all so weird, these new people and all these mistakes with the rent.  I commented to Saia that there were so many new people.  It was then that I found out the apartment complex had been sold to a new company, Greystar.  It all became clear.  But so odd that the sale and change in management hadn’t been announced to the residents.

A few days later I received the final lease for me to sign.  I reviewed the pertinent details like how much rent.  Again it was the higher rent.  I was so frustrated and wondered if they were trying to pull one over on me.  So I called Saia and told him about the discrepancy in the rent.  I did not tell him about my ugly suspicions.  He apologized all over the place and promised to correct the lease and send it to me that day.  He did; it was correct; I signed it.  Finally, my new apartment was all ready to go.  It was going to be repainted so it would be like new, I hoped.  I was very excited.  It was December 20—Merry Christmas to me!  I could start moving in on January 6—Happy New Year to me!

I began planning the move and packing.  My new apartment was in the same building, same floor—second—but off a different breezeway.  So there was going to be lots of stair climbing—nineteen steps up and nineteen steps down. (I frequently counted them when I carried my groceries in.)  Two of my sons and my daughter-in-law were going to help with the move.  Fortunately, my daughter-in-law worked for an office furniture distributor so she got one of their mover guys to help with the furniture.  I did all the packing.  On moving day everything was ready to go.

The weather on moving day was beautiful: sunny skies, rather chilly breeze, no humidity.  Perfect for stair climbing.  The move went very quickly and smoothly.  It was amazing, and a little scary, to watch the professional mover pick up my couch—a small, but rather heavy couch—and walk down a flight of stairs and then up a flight of stairs with it on his back.  He was one strong guy!  We could not have done it without him.  No way!

Once all the big stuff was moved, I told everyone I would finish up the small, light stuff and let them all go.  That afternoon, as I walked back and forth from apartment to apartment, down stairs and up stairs and then up stairs and down stairs over and over, I had a lot of time to think.  I remembered when I had sub-let and how easy that process was.  I simply took over someone else’s lease.  Of course, I had to prove I was financially able to pay the rent but that’s all.  No negotiation or fees; just move in.  Then I rehearsed the process of renting my new apartment: all the back and forth over the rent and how I had to stay on top of it or I could have ended up paying more rent than necessary.  I remembered how at first I was tempted to just accept the higher rent.  And realized that’s what the old Kay would have done instead of standing up for herself.  Wow, I really had come a long way.  I frequently thought I had become stronger, more independent but here was proof.  Tears came to my eyes.  I was simply astounded.

Around this time, I was dating a man named Berne.  I confessed to him that I was feeling nostalgic about my one-bedroom apartment.  It was the first place I had ever lived on my own and the first place I had picked out on my own, both the city and apartment.  The move was a momentous event in my life.  Now I was leaving behind a lot of adventures, tears, joy and all the growing up I did in that little apartment.  While I was excited about moving on to a bigger place, I told him, I was also sad to be leaving a place that had sheltered me through the last year and half.  He suggested writing a letter to my apartment expressing all these emotions and saying good-bye.  So after I had cleaned it, I sat on the floor in that special little one-bedroom apartment with my journal and wrote a letter.

Sunday, January 8, 2017

Dear Apartment,

This my last time to be here as an inhabitant.  One more load is stacked by the door ready to go to my new place.  I am tired and sore and stiff, way past ready to end moving.  But I couldn’t move on without telling you what you have meant to me.  You helped me grow up, become independent.  You’ve seen me cry, be lonely, be happy, be regretful, even think about going back to my old life.  You saw me grow out my grey, cut my hair short and be happy about it.  In your kitchen my habits became those of a singe person.  I started out cooking real meals with real recipes and slowly turned to canned soup and single serve recipes that I made up as needed.  I learned how to handle my finances and grow efficient in money matters.  I’ve contemplated and made lots of decisions for good or bad within your walls.  Since Augurst 14, 2015, I’ve been sheltered by you and grateful every day that I had you to call home, a warm, safe place.  So today I cleaned you up one last time.  I hope you felt loved as I did so.  I will never forget you.  So now I’m moving or have moved to a 2 bed 2 bath place just across the building.  I’ll still see you and think about you.  I hope someone deserving of you moves in, someone who will take care of you and appreciate you.  So this day is bittersweet.  Good-bye is sad but I feel confident I’m moving on as I need to.  You were my  “college” apartment, just left home figuring out life.  Now it’s time for a grown up place.  Thanks for helping me get to this place.  You’re the best, little apartment. You will always be a part of me.

Love,

Kay

Movin’ on up,

Woodpile Kitty ATX

Significant Events

If you are a regular follower of the Woodpile Kitty, then you may have noticed that my posts have become few and far between. It’s not that I don’t have anything to say, it’s that I don’t know how to say what’s on my mind and heart. When people ask me what I blog about I tell them I write about significant events. Woodpile Kitty is not a journal or diary so the events could have happened recently or they could have happened many years ago. The events can hold national significance or can be seemingly insignificant. My goal with each post is that the ideas I write about will open significance into the lives of readers.

The last couple of months have been fraught with significant events. So much significance that I didn’t know where to start in writing about them. For one thing, they are very private. And they are not just my significant events; they are the significant events of my loved ones, my sons.

First, let me tell you about these sons: Trey and Andrew (he prefers Andrew, but he’ll always be Andy to me). Trey is the oldest. Before his first birthday, Andy was born. Yes, they are eleven months apart. The first two or three years, I thought I would never again do anything but change diapers and feed babies. However, time does change things and soon they were potty trained, entertaining themselves and playing with friends. Joe, the youngest son, missed all of this fun by 10 years.

One of 11 - Trey, Andy & Twinkie - circa 1974my favorite photos of Trey and Andy was taken when they were probably 3 and 4 years old. At the time we had a dachshund named Twinkie. All three of them are in a big cardboard box, the favorite toy of little boys. The boys are laughing, trying to hold Twinkie in the box. Twinkie, with a terrified look on her face, is trying desperately to escape. That photo captures the essence of these two brothers: fun-loving, mischievous, good boys on the constant lookout for something to get into. They were so close in size that people would ask them if they were twins and they’d nod their heads in unison. Not twins, but very good friends.

Things changed when the hormones started raging. In middle school, they became very competitive. Trey played the French horn in the band; Andy was into football and baseball. The competition was fierce; whatever they were interested in was much better than what their brother was interested in. Andrew shot up and was taller than Trey. It was not unusual for a verbal argument to escalate into a physical fight.

After high school, both boys moved to Austin. Andrew arrived first and established himself. Trey left Texas after college and lived in a far off place called New Hampshire. When he finally moved to Austin, he settled into a house that Andrew was sharing with his friend, Doug. The first time we visited, Butch and I were amazed to see them living peacefully together in the same room discussing who was to pay which bill and when. They were actually cooperating. Now in their 40’s they are good friends, depending on each other, confiding in one another, leaning on each other for comfort and advice. Butch and I are gratified knowing that communication doesn’t depend on us. They communicate outside of our organized family times and include their younger brother as well. (It’s a little unsettling when we realize they talk about us!)

Now for the significant events. In January, Trey was living in Argentina. He emailed us that he had separated with his partner of 11 years. He was devastated. We were all devastated. He wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. However, in a few days we Skyped–the greatest invention since sliced bread–and learned more details. Trey had already been preparing to return to the US and live in Texas. So he had that process to keep him busy. Then a trip to Antarctica before finally leaving South America. As a parent, it is a helpless feeling to see your child, even an adult child, in pain. Trey, all alone in the box with the table turned: it is not so funny and the terrified thing is not his little dog but himself.

In the meantime, Andrew was experiencing his own significant event. In late January, he encountered some legal problems. He faces criminal charges that could result in prison time. The weeks since then we have been focused on helping him resolve the issues and rebuild his life. His living situation became impossible so he moved back home. Andrew’s significant event came right on the heels of Trey’s significant event; there was hardly time for Trey’s news to sink in before we were off to help Andrew. Both boys in a box with terrifying things that aren’t trying to leave. They’re trying to stay.

Trey also moved home and stayed with us for about three weeks while he got things arranged to move to his new home in Marfa, Texas. The brothers were back together again and ready to help each other. Trey encouraged Andrew and Andrew encouraged Trey even lending a hand in Trey’s move. It’s a long drive to Marfa, 8 hours pulling a trailer, an opportunity for deep conversation attempting to get the terrifying things to leave the box.

The thing about significant events is not so much the event itself but the result of the event. Not the result you can see; the result you cannot see. For Trey and Andrew, the result is that both are beginning new lives. Trey is facing a life without his partner. He is grieving and making a new, different life alone. Andy is also facing a new life, a life that is completely different from the life he had before. He is also grieving all that he has lost. His new life is a little slower in developing and is a little more difficult to build than Trey’s. But he’s making progress nonetheless.

Separated by 11 months and yet entwined by significant events, not twins but good brothers. The terrifying things will leave the box. The brothers will be left, connected by love and honesty and comfort. A significant event.

Going to the Big Guy

I have a little kitty named Frank. He is about 9 months old, so he’s not that little. A better description is that he’s young. He has an extremely fluffy tail and distinctive orange stripes on his sides. Tufts of hair curl out of his ears like a bobcat. He really is a beautiful cat. (Since I had nothing to do with it, I can say that and not feel like I’m bragging.)

Frank came to live with us when he was four weeks old. He was sitting in the middle of the street when a woman almost ran over him. He was covered in burrs. She took him to our veterinarian’s office where they cleaned him up.  They knew we were looking for a kitten so they called us. One look and we fell in love. Being four weeks old he had to be fed every four hours. And also being four weeks old he had to be coaxed to go to the bathroom by rubbing his bottom with a cotton ball soaked in warm water. I knew mama cats licked their kittens to clean them, but I did not know they licked them to make them go. You learn something every day.

He got his name because he toddled across the kitchen floor with his legs stiff like Frankenstein. As he grew, it became obvious that his stiff-legged walk is due to some abnormality in either his hips or his knees. His snout is also a bit short. Maybe that’s why his mama abandoned him. She knew he had some things that would make it hard for him to survive in the wild. Stiff legs and a short snout don’t matter when you’re an inside cat. All manner of abnormalities are possible to live with in the ease and safety of a house.

Immediately, we noticed that Frank has an attraction to paper. For the first few weeks he was with us he lived in the kitchen. When we would crumple up a piece of paper to throw it away, Frank would turn his complete attention to the sound. We’d throw the paper on the floor. He’d bat it around and chase after it until it was as thin and limp as a tissue.

Frank's Fascination
Frank’s Fascination

Since he was so young and no mama to lick him clean, I had a routine of bathing him. He loved it. Being in the water didn’t seem to bother him at all. I’d blow his fur dry, wrap him in a towel and he’d fall asleep, just like a real baby. That was our first clue that he likes water. Once he got big enough to have the run of the house, we noticed that he had a fascination with the toilet. He’d put his paws on the toilet seat and watch the flushing action–we call it a swirly. The bigger he got and the more agile, he would run into the bathroom when either my husband or I would go in there. He even followed our friend Larry into the bathroom. Frank gave him quite a start when he came up between his legs to watch the action.

These are the cute things Frank does. But he also does something that is not so cute: he bites. As a kitten we thought he’d outgrow it. And besides, his baby teeth weren’t sharp enough to hurt. As his adult teeth came in and he got bigger and stronger, it ceased to be cute. The first thing we tried was a spray bottle filled with water. That didn’t seem to be the deterrent we were hoping for. We added vinegar, just a little. That worked better. We used it so much that Frank cringed when he even saw the bottle. We left the bottle unattended a couple of times and he hid it. Unlike Frank, we learned our lesson quickly. A dog-trainer friend suggested saying “Baa!” in a deep, loud voice when he bites. It works by distracting him from the biting to the sound. So we tried that and it works sometimes. But not always. Not as consistently as the vinegar.

Finally, I decided to pray about it. I felt like Ralphie in the movie A Christmas Story when he tried everything to get the “Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle” on his Christmas list. He expressed his desire to his mom and his teacher. Then he thought of the big guy, Santa Claus. Like Ralphie, I had tried everything I could think of. Then I remembered THE big guy, God. He made Frank. He’ll know what to do. He can make him stop biting.

So Frank has a regular line on my prayer list right up there with my husband and my kids. I pray for him when it’s my turn to bless the meal. I pray for him when I’m petting and cuddling him. (His saving grace is that he can be very affectionate.) I can’t say that there has been a miraculous change; but he is getting better. I say that all the time and Butch makes fun of me. But he is getting better.

Sarah Young in her devotional book Jesus Calling, suggests that once you ask God for something, you should not ask again. After making the original request, instead of asking again and again, you should simply thank him for working to answer your prayer. Well, I’m not so good at the thankfully waiting thing. I’ve asked and asked. I’m waiting, trusting (and in the meantime asking again) that God will change his creation named Frank.

I really do need to work on that thankfully waiting part. Perhaps some divine vinegar would help.

Visible and Invisible

What frustrates you?

What ratchets up your blood pressure making it hard to think clearly?

What makes you want to throw something?

Your answer?

Here’s mine: computers and their close relative, the internet. The thing I want to throw? My computer, of course.

Take Monday, for instance. Since computers are a source of my frustration it doesn’t make much sense that I would sign up for an online course, but that’s what I did. The class, offered through the continuing education department of our local school district, was scheduled to start on October 3.

Bright and early on Monday, the first day of class, I clicked on the link for the online courses and was presented with the home page. I entered the user name and password that I had used to register for the class. The site returned a message that one or both of these were not correct. I thought that perhaps I mis-typed and tried again with the same result. I checked to be sure I was using the correct user name and password. I was.

There it was, the first prick of frustration.

“Perhaps,” I thought, “I need to create a new account for the class.” There was not an option for creating a new login. Frustration noticeably increased.

A few days before the first class day, I had received a cryptic message from the continuing education office that contained a contact name, email address and phone number just in case I had any questions or problems which, as it happened, I was currently experiencing. I called the number and was confronted with an automated voice and several choices, none of which seemed to fit my situation exactly. I did not choose wisely, got disconnected and had to start all over. This time I choose the right one and found myself on hold. After almost two minutes a message came on that they were having “unusually high calling volumes”, but I could leave a message by pressing 1. I pressed 1 and was promptly disconnected.

The frustration was so thick that I couldn’t think clearly. I was drowning in a sea of black with no one to save me, no friendly hand to haul me out of the miasma, no lifesaver thrown to my rescue.

There was an email address though. Email sent. And I waited. For the rest of the day.

Finally, I told my husband about my problem. This is always my last resort, because he hates the way I have my personal computer–emphasis on personal–set up. So not only is it frustrating for me, it’s frustrating for him. He had no better luck getting in than I did, except that he was smart enough to go to the school district’s website, found the direct number of the community education contact person and left her a voice mail. Now we both waited.

Next day: I tried the login credentials again thinking that perhaps they were having trouble with their site. It happens. But not this time.

Phone number again. I steeled myself for voice mail hell. To my surprise, I got a human. She couldn’t help me, but the woman who could would call me back in five or ten minutes. “What are the odds?” I thought, rolling my eyes.

Butch and I went to lunch, Subway, my favorite for weekday lunch. While we were there, he got an email from the district woman with new login credentials for me and a promise to help if I have any more problems.

I know that frustration with my computer grows out of the reality that I don’t understand it. Then add the internet which resides I-don’t-know-where. If I can’t see it, how am I going to understand it?

However, there are lots of other things in my life that cause me frustration. Some I can see, like people, and some I can’t see, the internet. And I know, but don’t like to admit, frustration is an unavoidable part of life.

While ruminating on this, a Bible verse popped in my head, one I memorized a long time ago. It goes something like this: in Jesus all things were created, things that are visible and things that are not visible*. My computer and the internet fall in there somewhere. But so do the weeds in my yard, the gray hairs on my head, and the disagreeable checker at the grocery store. Visible and invisible includes all the things that cause frustration. Because Jesus created them, he is able to handle them for me. I can place my frustration in his hands and get it out of my heart.

The emailed login credentials worked. I’m in. I’ve completed the first week’s lessons. Things visible and invisible. No more frustration… at least for now.

* Colossians 1:15-20