Cabin story

This is what we've put in our welcome binder at the cabin. :)

Welcome to Arcadian Refuge!  We really are so glad you’re here; we hope you enjoy your few days in this beautiful part of the West and that it feels restful and restorative for you and your loved ones.  We love it here too, being away from our busy lives and being among the trees and woodland sounds and smells.  There’s something to love in each season of course, but I think winter is our favorite because it’s so quiet and peaceful here. 

Some of you might be new to the area or curious about our cabin, and so we just wanted to share a little of our history with you and how it all came together in case you’re interested.

Todd grew up in Chicago, and I’m from San Diego. We met when we were 18 as freshmen at BYU, and a natural friendship ensued.  We lived apart for two and a half years, but we eventually married in 1994 soon after he returned from a two-year stint in Norway, finished up our degrees (in public health and animal science), had our first baby and two weeks later drove to Champaign, Illinois, for vet school, where we lived for four years.  We moved to Montana in 2000 (just because he was always drawn to the mystique of Montana and fly fishing, maybe a little River Runs Through It dreaming) and raised our five children there.  We live on a four-acre hobby farm, Todd is still a small animal vet, and all our children are grown and gone; but we have plenty to do with fencing, tending to our large gardens, volunteer work, and raising cows, chickens, and dogs.  Todd spends most of fall hunting deer, elk, and pheasant (with the dogs).  Our entire marriage has included remodeling our homes and yards, and we’ve been working on our current 1984 house for the past seven years.  We love nature, national parks, camping, long walks, history, fall, road trips, and of course spending time with friends and family.  We constantly have projects going, always with another one in mind!

So a few years back Todd decided to sell his portion of the vet clinic and cut down on managerial duties a bit (he’s still an associate vet), but he kept going back to the idea of a cabin to share both with family and with guests.  So he’d spend evenings looking online and kept coming back to this one.  I am used to looking beyond the current state of things and visualizing potential (we watch a LOT of HGTV), and so even though I thought it was very ugly, I  agreed we should look at it in person just to see.  One snowy day in December 2021 we made the trek to Island Park and saw several cabins with our realtor, but we were so discouraged because while some were nice and new, they lacked character and warmth; others felt disjointed and unfriendly.  This was the last one on our list, and I was equally discouraged because it was sooooo old fashioned and not at all move-in ready.  And yet, despite its age and state, it felt welcoming and cozy, homey somehow.

But we had to decide quickly: they had another showing that afternoon, and it had been on the market for several months already.  We knew from seeing it online and then in person that, as odd as it seemed, it just felt right.  Which was a very, very strange answer because we could tell it needed a lot of help; but we’d experienced the same feeling upon seeing our current house the first time.  In both cases we went out to the driveway and asked ourselves what we wanted to do and just shrugged, let’s do it. We called and put an offer within minutes of leaving it, somehow feeling pulled to it, not knowing what we were doing or getting into; oddly though, it just felt good… peaceful somehow.

At this point we posed a question to Todd’s brother who used to be a general contractor but who has a full time job and lives hours away also.  Would he take on this project with us?  After some consideration, he graciously agreed.  He had no idea what would be in store, but his wife worked on the plans alongside him, and they made an amazing team that we are deeply indebted to and grateful for.  We told him we just had a few ideas to kind of update the place…

We felt that with new carpet and some paint we could make it look and feel a little fresher.  The windows were boarded up at the time, it had a little airlock entrance off the rickety front porch, there was a long skinny hallway upstairs connecting the bedrooms, the basement was cement and completely unfinished, and to access it you had to go outside into the then-two-car garage and go down the cement stairs. Todd wanted to add a couple of dormers to incorporate interest and light to the roofline, and so our goal was to remove flooring and create those.  We didn’t like the claustrophobic hallway upstairs, so we opted to open up the two smaller bedrooms and create a large open general area instead.  We hoped to add an indoor access to the basement and utilize the space down there as well.  I also wondered if we could move the kitchen to the back of the front area and make the living area a little bigger.  I was thrilled when we discovered we’d be able to, and we eagerly set out to make these few cosmetic changes.  But when we came to see it for the first time after our initial walk through, I was disheartened.  They’d left everything—so much stuff—in the garage and the basement for us.  So we had to spend hours going through all of it, throwing out almost all of it. We kept a few interesting items that we incorporated into the new cabin, like the square nails you’ll see now and then.

Most of the time we would leave early on a Thursday or Saturday morning, drive 4-5 hours (depending on if we were pulling a trailer), get to the cabin around 9, work till dinner time and get home around 10:30 p.m. Often members of our extended family would meet us and help us out, and those are some of our fondest memories!  We tore up carpet, chipped out tile, took insulation out of the walls, and removed appliances, mirrors, toilets, and faucets; everything had to go.  These were frigid days working in a building that felt like an ice box; most of the time it was a little warmer outside than in.  But we played our music, worked side by side with cousins, friends, grandparents, and siblings, and oohed and ahhed over the strange findings everywhere we looked. In the warmer months we spent hours taking nails out of boards, enjoying the beautiful surroundings and company.  We had picnics on boxes inside when it was snowy and on leftover bits of furniture when it was warm outside.

But as we tore into the structure, we became aware of unforeseen issues that caused us to dig deeper and deeper.  One of the biggest problems was that the ridge beam was only a 2x10.  We had our structural engineer come in to inspect it and he told us the roof was completely under-engineered.  We went through our options, but it came down to needing to replace the roof.  Then we discovered that the top floor had load-bearing walls that weren’t engineered properly either, and the floor joists were cracking. 

We had plans drawn to maximize the use of space on the second floor since we were essentially starting all over, which allowed us to both raise the roof and push the walls out, adding substantial square footage to the upstairs areas.  But as we continued, everything seemed to lead to a new problem.  The windows were old and we could tell they’d seen better days and were very inefficient.  The chimney became unstable, so we dismantled that.  We pried the half-log siding off the exterior walls hoping to use it all later,  but the remaining walls were only 2x4 thick (which make it difficult to keep a structure warm in these brutal winters) and became unsteady, so we made the decision to take them all down.  All that remained of the original structure was the cement foundation and the three kitchen walls.  

It was hard to stay positive at this point.  We’d bought an entire, intact cabin and this was all we had left.  I wanted to cry many times, it felt so overwhelming and like we’d just created the biggest mess and mistake of our lives.  It was hard to get workers because it’s so remote and we were still feeling the effects of Covid.  Everything was extremely expensive; it was winter, then summer, then getting into fall and nothing had been done to move forward.  Finally in December of 2022, after spending all year tearing it down, but with no progress putting it back together, we had a miracle.  I mentioned to my Facebook friends that we were feeling discouraged and didn’t know how to find workers.  A friend I rarely see or talk to reached out and said  her brother-in-law worked in the area and he had a crew he was going to have to lay off for the winter due to lack of work.  They would happily take it on.  It was truly an answer, and we were so thankful for their dedicated efforts through one of the coldest and snowiest winters in years.

Things slowly started coming together.  It just felt so good to see the skeleton created, to be putting things back instead of just taking it all apart.  There were glitches all along the way, of course.  We realized we needed to get an entirely new septic system, and we needed a whole new fireplace insert along with the rock work, for instance.  There wasn’t anything that didn’t need attention. 

But we kept busy at home at this time. Because we live in Montana and don’t have sales tax, we opted to buy as much as we could there and then take it down ourselves.  We met with our flooring specialist to choose hardwood for the main level and laminate for the basement.  We wanted the top floor to feel like grandma’s attic, so we repurposed pine and had it painted.  We had our niece hand white wash ALL the boards for all the ceilings in the entire cabin, can you even imagine!? We are so grateful to her! We chose tile for the showers and tubs, floors, and backsplashes but had no idea how any of it would really look when altogether; I was in constant communication with our flooring guys and I was in the storeroom weekly. 

We ordered doors and windows in Montana… all the exterior and interior doors for rooms and closets.  Look around and note how many there are! We brought them all down in a covered trailer on one trip and had them painted here.

We brought down boxes and boxes and carton upon carton of flooring from Montana… all the tile for the kitchen, mud room, bathroom floors and all the tile for the walls. We unloaded it all box by box, thousands of pounds. Then we brought back all the unused mortar, leftover boxes of tile and flooring, etc., a constant pick up and return cycle between Montana and Idaho.  We’d also take home trailer beds full of wood, leftover from projects, the siding we took down, stuff that was just left here.  We’d get home late at night and unload it all into our shop for future projects.  Some of which, in fact, Todd used to make a floor in one of the bedrooms at home.

We ordered and brought all our appliances, toilets and sinks and faucets and hardware from Montana.  We ordered door knobs because we couldn’t find what we wanted in stores and had hooks handcrafted because we just wanted them to feel unique and like us.

We brought artwork home from trips to Maine and Vermont and from Switzerland. Our daughter did the watercolors. We tried to support local artists everywhere we went, wanting a curated look that felt eclectic and meaningful, yet hopefully cohesive and homey. We bought most other art pieces from Etsy for the same reasons. I shopped Hobby Lobby sales like a fan club member; I was there sometimes three times a week, especially during this last December, buying frames and floral decorations on sale, at the same time I was trying to do Christmas everything.

We are thrifters by nature and have been collecting from antique and junk stores, along with estate and garage sales for decades.  Our own house is full, and so while we kept finding great deals we couldn’t pass up, it wasn’t until we bought this property that we had any idea what we’d do with it all.  We’d just always find things we liked and figured we’d decide about them later.  This turned out to be perfect landing place for some of them.

We started buying other items years ago, storing everything we could in our horse stalls in our shop.  We bought silverware and dishes when I found ones I loved.  We bought hutches and dressers anytime we found a good deal at an estate sale, not knowing where exactly anything would go. I didn’t really have a plan at all; I just bought things I liked and figured we’d put it all together down the road.  I bought wreaths and art and just anything that seemed like it might work. At some point we’d notice one room didn’t have a dresser or we needed bathroom mirrors for another, one wall was a little bare, we needed a little something there, and we’d make lists of what we still needed. I have been collecting books and games the entire time, always trying to envision a 5 year-old putting together a Star Wars puzzle, a 10 year-old girl curled up with a chapter book, cousins in pajamas playing cards late into the night, a grandpa with a historical thriller book, a mom taking a moment with a Magnolia magazine, I wanted everyone to have something and I’m constantly thinking of you when I’m at my garage sales. :)

One funny experience was when we bought couches for the main floor.  This wasn’t too long after Covid, and we’d had friends who had had to wait months and months for their furniture, so we ordered them several months before we anticipated needing them.  They came two weeks later.  So, for many, many months they sat in the room right beside our kitchen table in their boxes piled on top of each other.  We couldn’t store them in the shop because mice would get into them, so there they sat, right next to where we ate everyday.  I had to climb on them to open the windows.

So as we collected furniture, rugs, kitchen necessities, toilet paper, cleaners, towels, bedding, etc. we’d just pile it all up until the next trip, sometimes right in our living room because there was no other place; at the beginning some of our kids were still living with us.  We had everything delivered to Montana, including all the windows, the pool table, beds, mattresses (count how many there are!), curtains, etc.  We did do a huge IKEA run when we were visiting our kids in Chicago and filled our entire truck and boat with duvets, curtains, cutting boards, etc., and that was a 17 hour drive home.  It rained SO much on that trip that several items became moldy, some of which came clean; others had to be tossed and bought again. We stored them in our basement bathtub for months!

Todd does woodworking, and so he made the bathroom mirror frames that are rough-looking.  We bought the mirrors at Good Will and garage sales, and he cut them to size.  We just couldn’t find what we were looking for, and he has tons of wood, so it worked out!  He also made the puzzle table and bench behind the couch on the main level, and he and his brother made the one under the skis, both of which also sat in our house for several weeks/months waiting for a ride down.  We spent one weekend making the woodshed.  Todd is meticulous, and even he conceded that he may have over-engineered it, but it will be convenient to have wood for the fireplace so close.

We made SO many mistakes along the way.  I bought shower curtains that looked all wrong when I got them hung up.  I bought bar stools right at the beginning and stored them in the shop for months, but then we got them all set up, they looked horrible with the hardwood and kitchen tile; they were a gray green wood (throw up) color. I carted them back to Montana and tried them in our house.  Same bad vibe.  So we had to sell them at a huge loss and get new ones.  We took down couches that we thought would look right and took them home. We had the tilers put in one or two of the showers with tile we’d chosen, but the sample piece looked very different from the varieties in the box.  Installed, it looked like the walls of an old community swimming pool dressing area, with yellow rust streaks running down the walls.  While we hated to, we asked them to tear it all out and we chose another tile, not quite as rustic. We had lumber that sat and got warped with the weather that had to go. Like I said, we had no idea what we were doing, we’re not professionals, we just kind of tried to buy things that were good quality that we felt went together, but like I said earlier, it was hard to remember what things looked like when they were in boxes in the shop from months earlier and to visualize what colors would look good together from hundreds of miles away.

We love all the rustic woodwork and the beams.  We wanted it to feel old and new at the same time, and we wanted things to also kind of blend away.  It took a long time to do all of that woodwork, but we so appreciate the finish carpenter’s hard work.  We had a little extra hole on the top floor where the tv is between the two beds, and he just made a little book shelf for us without us even knowing, which we love!  And he also created the tiny closet in that room where the fire extinguisher is, so clever; such talent!  We’re so incredibly grateful to him and all the others who have worked tirelessly with us over the years, using their talents and abilities on this project.

Lastly, some have asked how we chose our name.  We brainstormed so many options with our kids! I wanted something unique, not traditionally cabin-esque, but that captured the essence of the experience we hoped to create for you.  I found this sign years ago regarding an old way-station/boarding house and felt that it encapsulated our desired mission:

Refuge: And it shall be for a house for boarding, a house that strangers may come from afar to lodge therein; therefore let it be a good house, worthy of all acceptation, that the weary traveler may find health and safety while he shall contemplate the word of the Lord.  (I know that last part is a little churchy, I’m sorry, it was just part of the original quote so I left it.  Maybe just leave it at contemplate… whatever you want!)

And then I stumbled upon the word and idea, Arcadian.  I know it’s usually to depict a specific place, but I started looking into it and found other definitions that resonated with me, that I felt shared the spirit of what we hope you’ll find here.

Arcadian: idyllically innocent, simple, untroubled, any real or imagined place offering peace and contentment, pleasant, provincial, rustic, countrified, a person who lives a simple quiet life, calm, serene, restful, still, tranquil, placid

Our overall objective was and is to help all who visit feel at home.  We want you all to feel comfortable, to have what you need, to feel like you can relax and not worry about things. It’s still a work in progress.  We have so many fun ideas we want to incorporate, but goodness, it takes a lot of time when we are far away novices!  But we really are so happy that you’re here, and we truly hope you are enjoying your loved ones and time away. 

xoxo Much love, Todd and Caren

Just friends

My dear friend and I have a weekly walk/lunch/movie date; we just saunter around the neighborhood for a bit, make sandwiches, and plop ourselves in front of tv for a couple hours on top of whatever we do together as couples on the weekends.  We both have plenty to keep us busy, but we just decided to make this our time to see each other.  When we had our little kids we would meet at the mall at 6 and walk.  For years.  But then she went to work, and we had less time together.  Now that she’s retired, it’s been so fun to enjoy our flexibility and to take a little break right in the middle of our lives. We each have our lists of movies that we think would be fun to watch together.  We have similar tastes for the most part, and I’ve loved everything we’ve watched together.  So yesterday it was her turn to pick; she told me the ones she’d sifted through with a little description of each of them, and she mentioned that she made sure none of them was rated R.  I sighed out loud, awwww. :)  I couldn’t believe she would be that sensitive and thoughtful.  And to be honest, I’m not completely sure what I think about our American rating system, but I told her as a youth leader, I just never want the kids to see me doing something their parents wouldn’t want them to do.  I was so very touched by her kindness, truly.  That was the sweetest gesture.

But I’m not sure I do the same for her or other friends and relatives who see life a little differently than I do.  I want to be that same kind of thoughtful friend she is to me; all I can say is I’m trying.

I’ve been asked how we maintain friendships with people who have left the church.  And while I have ideas, I also have no idea what the real answer is. I’m not sure I’m getting any of it right.  But I can tell you that my sister and my best friend are the dream.  They are so supportive, so loving, and so accepting.  They attend religious milestones for members of our family.  They ask about our church activities and mutual friends.  They know what we believe in, and they show so much respect as they make the effort to strengthen our relationships.

I hope they feel comfortable with us as well.  We have the house and cabin stocked with coffee/tea.  We have a coffee pot and tea kettle.  We ask about new tattoos.  We go to their churches.  We drink our soda and water alongside their drinks.  We don’t care one bit about any of it.  Because we care so very, very much about them.

I often feel as if I’m riding my huge yoga ball, trying to stay true to what I believe and learn more while at the same time acknowledging and embracing my friends’ various thoughts, hurts, and beliefs.  I feel so strongly about my Savior and his teachings; he means everything to me and I want to talk about him all the time; I feel it’s so important to share that.  But I also want my friends to know that just because that’s my vision and paradigm, I absolutely get it that not everyone feels the same or anywhere close.  I think everyone has a complicated belief system actually.  My friends who have left are all over the place.  Some don’t believe in God anymore while others still believe in Jesus and love his teachings but don’t want anything to do with “Mormonism” and have some very strong and upset feelings, which I totally get.  But people within the church are also all over the place; ask anyone in it what they think about the Sabbath Day and what they feel is appropriate to do, what they think about garments and when and how they should be worn, how they should pay tithing and on what, or what callings they’d be willing to accept and you’d get a million different answers. Whether we’re actively engaged in this particular church, adamantly opposed to it, in another church, neutral, agnostic, or atheist, my overarching hope is that we can just be ourselves.  And hopefully friends.

Just last week I felt hurt a couple of times over this.  A young person I’d shared a heartfelt religious discussion with over Christmas acted as if we were strangers when I came to her line she was working; in fact, she was a little hasty and short with me.  Another rejected my offer to be friends online.  Which is all fine, heaven knows I’m not the right fit for everyone.  Maybe our religious differences play into it.  Maybe I’m too much.  I don’t know because we haven’t talked about it, but I have of course wondered what went wrong, where did I mess up, and why does religion have to be a thing?

I wish it didn’t have to be so touchy, but religion is an emotional issue.  We can see it as the obvious catalyst behind many wars and contentions between countries, family members, friends, and even strangers. But I don’t think it has to be so controversial and so divisive.  We’re simply seeing the world and interpreting it through different lenses based on our personalities and life experiences.  There’s no harm in that, there’s no reason we can’t accept, allow, and welcome that in our relationships.

In my mind, it is naturally easier when we’re socializing with like-minded people, whether we’re talking about school board issues, political candidates, athletics, books, or religion.  Of course.  Because you don’t have to check yourself, you can just say whatever you think and not have to worry about how it comes across because everyone else at the table feels the same way.  Easier, yes.  But better?  How much do we learn, stretch, think, sympathize, question, ponder, or change when we stick with people, mindsets, and situations that are simply an extension of ourselves?

This is precisely why I insist on trying to go beyond what’s comfortable. While it’s a little scary, I really don’t want to remain where it’s simply safe and easy.  I want to stretch, I want to hear another perspective—lots of perspectives.  I want to know what I don’t know.  I want to hear what my friends and others are thinking, going through, experiencing, questioning, believing or not believing.  I know honesty and openness can be risky and intimidating, I feel that very poignantly.  But so is everything worthwhile in life: friendship, marriage, parenting, accepting a new job, trying a new hobby.  It’s an investment.  We put in a little effort and hope for the best. Successful people aren’t content to stay the same.  They push themselves into the unknown and take a chance.  And I can’t think of anywhere that matters more than in relationships.

I’m like you.  I have many family members and friends who don’t believe the same as I do, and I don’t see the world exactly as they do.  And I don’t know what the right formula is for navigating all this is, but I feel like my relationships with these loved ones are just getting stronger and closer.  Many of them are familiar with the church and its culture because most of them grew up in it or have been around it.  I love that we can talk about it in general terms because they obviously know the structure and many of the same people as I do; we actually laugh about our funny culture a lot too.  But most of my friends and I don’t talk about actual doctrinal differences we have unless we’re one one-on-one and it comes up.  I love listening to them, truly love it.  But I never want to push religion.  Maybe it’s wrong, but as the one who is still in it, I want to defer to them and their comfort level.  And maybe that really is wrong.  Maybe I should be asking more questions and bringing it up.  And yet I never want them to think religion ever needs to be part of our friendship equation.  See? I have no idea. :)

It makes me so sad and a little irritated when people who have had loved ones leave say they don’t have anything in common or to talk about anymore. And yet I of course get it, I see what they’re saying; I just don’t feel the same.  Our particular religion is pretty consuming; it infiltrates nearly every aspect of our lives and plays into so many of our decisions, yes.  But there is a whole world around us to share.  Just because our religious beliefs tend to be a very large presence in our lives, we are still living in a very complex, beautiful, enriching, expansive time and world.  There is so very much to bind us together, to share, to talk about, and to experience with one another.  Let’s talk about trips we want to take, where we’ve lived, our hobbies, shows, books, articles, podcasts, passions, health trends, heartaches, parenting, disappointments, our upcoming graduations, being empty nesters, going back to school, retirement, our aging bodies, dreams, projects, kids, sports, music, concerts, recipes, school, jobs, grandkids, our pasts, our aspirations… goodness! Just like politics doesn’t have to come up, neither does religion.  And yet, if you’re that kind of friend or family, think how enriching it could be if we did allow for and expected and engaged in respectful and reciprocal sharing.

I just refuse to believe our differences—whatever they are in life—should become labels.  We’re seeing how detrimental and upsetting this has been in our current culture, and it’s no good.  I vote we shun anything or anyone who tries to make us adhere to such one-dimensional tags; we are more than churchgoers or avoiders, more than our political leanings, more than where we live, work, or visit, more than our upbringings and more than what people think they see.  We’re multi-faceted, fascinating, evolving, and emotional beings.  We have so much to experience and enjoy and learn during our short time on earth, and I would a million times rather do it all with an open mind and heart surrounded by people I love.  I long for a world and a life where we are more than our differences.  I just want to be friends.

Continuing Ed

Back when Todd was a vet student and we had baby Andrew, I felt that I needed to get a job to supplement our student loans.  Working turned out to be one of the biggest regrets of my life, but at the time I couldn’t see another clear option.  It was 1996, and so we didn’t even use email; the only thing I used our computer for was to write letters.  So working in those days, as far as I could tell, meant going to an actual job or selling things from home.  So I tried Discovery Toys and then Mary Kay.  Both were nightmares.  I hated trying to be a salesperson, I thought the products were way too expensive and almost completely unnecessary, I hated leaving Todd and Andrew, I avoided calls from my coaches, and I gave away more product than I sold.  I still have many of the toys from the Discovery Toys $100 start-up pack, so that wasn’t the worst.  But Mary Kay encouraged us to keep a hefty inventory, so I invested $1000 to get started.  It took little to no time for me to admit it was all a mistake.  But thankfully, they had a contingency plan for those like me who wanted to opt out.  We could sell our product back for 90% of what we paid for it, which is what I did.  As a consequence, I would never be allowed to sell Mary Kay again.  Which was perfect with me.

But I felt awful.  We lived on $1000 a month back in those days.  Our student loan checks for living expenses were about $4,000 a semester; so that was a substantial amount of money I’d used for this experiment.  I am still embarrassed about it, and I of course wish I had just been true to what I know about myself (ie selling is the last thing I want to do), but at the time I felt desperate to stay home with my baby and it was all I could think of that I could do; I would try anything in order to be with him.  And so I have this mark, this error, on my record and I wasted a ton of money and time trying to make these enterprises work.

But I eventually decided to relabel this and so many other “experiences,” mishaps, or mistakes as part of my continuing education.  Just like we’ve all paid hundreds and thousands of dollars for tuition throughout our college years, I feel like my post-collegiate days are still demanding something akin to tuition, and I’m paying it.  But I’m settling into the idea because life’s lessons unavoidably continue outside the classroom.  I’m constantly doing chemistry experiments within my home’s kitchen.  I’m writing and erasing and reconstructing essays, letters, notes, explanations, and blogs over and over and over.  I’m flailing at real-life math as I find myself being wasteful and overspending.  I’m still struggling to figure out the events of history and am grateful we don’t have graded fill-in-the-map exams anymore (although I like to test myself on the computer when no one’s around).  I just find that real life isn’t all that different from college, and so renaming my mistakes, refiling them in my head under continuing ed, assuages my guilt a little, but mostly permits me to accept that I’m simply still learning on the daily.

Just this week I was using a frozen ham bone from Christmas.  But I started on our split pea soup a little late.  So of course I simply turned up the heat to speed things up.  But as Todd came home from work and checked the pot, we realized all the water had been eaten up and I’d burned the pot black, along with the contents.  So we had eggs with our homemade bread instead.  I felt so embarrassed, I know better.  I should’ve started much sooner (but I hate cooking and am always procrastinating), and I already knew we all hate ham soup.  I was just trying to be healthy and to use up the ham bone, wasting vegetables and split peas and ruining our dinner in the process.  But I gave myself grace and let it go.

I was hasty as I was unpacking more items for the cabin’s kitchen.  We had so very much to do in a short weekend window, so I just pulled the crockpot out of its packaging only to hear it immediately shatter all over the kitchen tile.  I was again so embarrassed, mad at myself, and so disappointed.  Not only had I wasted our money, I was trying to make French Dip for us that night and was annoyed I’d ruined our plans.  But I told myself in any building or making project, there is excess, there is overage, scraps are a given.  It’s not unreasonable for us to waste a little in the process of building a cabin.  Sigh.  But this was a completely unnecessary expense.  I didn’t have to tell Todd what had happened, the whole house heard it.  But I did tell him how sorry I was and how ashamed I felt, to which he told me he’d had the workers order a whole new sliding glass door handle set for $170 simply because they couldn’t find the original one in all the mess.  He showed me the one we had found, in a mashed up box, a little too scratched to return, just wasted.

We’ve done that so many times with the cabin.  Not just a $30 crockpot or even $170 door handle.  We’ve had to get rid of couches we thought would work but are completely wrong no matter how we’ve tried to make them work in different rooms and both our house and the cabin.  I accidentally ordered a leather loveseat when I thought I’d ordered a navy one.  How do we return that mistake? We’ve lost or returned all the shower curtains, I can’t remember; so we’ve been showering without them when we’ve gone and I just ordered all new ones.  The eight lovely bar stools we got over a year ago are so sturdy and nice looking, but as we put them together, we realized how awful they look with everything else.  We might switch them out with our home ones because I dislike them there so much. The tile in the showers clashes with the tile we chose for the bathroom floors, which grates on me every time I see them, but there’s no way to undo all that.  Although we did at one point have our workers tear out showers with tile we thought we liked but that turned out all wrong.  So much waste.  But I tell myself, we’re amateurs.  It’s so hard for us to know how things will all look together, and we’re over four hours away, we can’t just pop in and check.  So we’ve made a lot of mistakes and wasted a ton of money.  And yet, we realize that’s just the cost of building and learning, and so we move on.

I’ve bought a lot of clothes over the years that I’ve eventually donated.  Usually thrifted items that I bought on a whim, but sometimes not.  I remember years ago just wanting a high-quality sweatshirt, just one good sweatshirt I could have for many years.  I’d bought others from my alma mater, but they got stretched out, the fuzz faded, a zipper broke, one is too tight so I never wear it.  I thought it I could just find the right one, I could finally be free from sweatshirt problems.  So I did my research and found one with all the good reviews.  It was nearly $100, which is crazy for me.  And I was so excited when it came.  Except it was awful.  The color was a dull gray (which I chose because I thought it would be versatile and neutral), thin with no fluff, and very, very durable (ie stiff).  I hated it.  But I tried to adopt it and like it, like an arranged marriage.  I resented it every time I had to wear it.  But because it was so expensive, I felt obligated to.  For like a year.  Finally, I just got so annoyed with my mistake I decided to get rid of it and just admit it wasn’t working.  Thankfully, I thought of a young friend who is more into rugged outdoor wear than I am, and she took it. I hope she is truly loving it.

I’ve also altered several items, hoping to make them work a little better.  I’ve bought trim that I’ve added to the bottoms of skirts and dresses to make them a little longer, some have worked, some were kind of a flop.  I’ve cut off jeans, some I’ve used, others I accidentally/hastily made too short.  I’ve even cut the neckline of a sweatshirt. I bought two pairs of grandma flannel pajama pants at an estate sale, so vintage and sweet but all stretched out.  So I got some elastic and replaced their waistbands… but they just weren’t good. I hadn’t realized at the time how worn and stained they were.  Sadly, I gave them away.

I also have shoes I’ve spent good money on that I just don’t love… I’m not sure what inspired or motivated me.

And of course I’ve had my share of crafty sewing projects, pillows I hand stitched but that I finally gave away because I didn’t like the fabrics after a few years.  I’m in the middle of a quilt I think I’ll also give away, a different technique I tried that I’m not in love with.  I’ve donated many an unfinished project to thrift stores with confidence that a more skilled crafter will come along, see the potential, and take them to their true level of beauty.

I had the uncanny ability to buy books that I end up hating.  There have only been a handful of books I’ve bought that I’ve truly liked.  Every now and then I’ll buy one at the real price for book group.  I have only ever liked one (and it was a used copy now that I think about it).  It is so weird and so typical that I have learned to only buy thrifted books or to use library books; I don’t trust myself.

Were these experiences, supplies, clothes, fabrics, ingredients, and dollars wasted?  I’ve taught myself to think of them differently. Sometimes I wonder if I was just the middle man.  Maybe it was perfect that we were able to give our friend a couple of couches or a hearty, built-to-last sweatshirt or a new blanket that I’d gotten for a great deal and toted around for years but always hated or the bathmat I thought we’d like at the cabin that looked awful.  Maybe that’s how I’ve learned to cook, because I’ve been making flops for over forty years.  How else am I going to know if a recipe is one I want to keep unless I try it?

I just think of it all like college.  We spent money on the opportunity to go to class.  We bought text books, calculators and other tools and supplies (like when I took a sewing class).  We spent time reading.  We got back tests we didn’t do that great on.  I even took a class over once.

I remember when I had little kids at home feeling guilty for leaving them for a week when we’d go to Todd’s continuing ed vet conferences.  And even more so when I’d go away to Education Week or read just for fun.  But I reframed that guilt and decided this was my continuing ed. This was my conference, these were my text books, the fabrics are my class supplies, the time I watch videos on how to make bread or sew are my lectures.  My exercise time is my p.e.  My lunch break is just as necessary now as it was when I was a student.  My part-time jobs then were to slice bread and give campus tours; now they’re painting the house or weeding the garden. But I still need time to study. :)

I just love how easy it is to let things go (after a moment of grief or upset) by simply using this reframe.  I am amazed—absolutely astounded—at how many mistakes I make, how much I waste, and the kinds of flops I’m a part of.  And yet, I’m learning to just switch it all up in my mind and just call them all by a different name.  For some reason, that’s made all the difference.  I’m less anxious about what will inevitably go wrong in a day and tell myself I’m simply still learning.