First Home Purchase On My Own--Ever
What a week. I purchased my first home, a condo in a 55 plus development where I already live in a house. Every other home purchase has been with a spouse, shared decision making, bouncing ideas and costs off of one another. This week was different. Although I did consult with friends and family, the decision was mine alone--and it was down right scary.
Another reminder of the loss of a mate, a lifelong buddy, partner. I've been filling in with girlfriends, of whom I have several terrific ones and more I can cultivate. But when we get down to signing the papers, it's only me. If I make a mistake, it's only me. We are not created to go through life alone.
Over the past few weeks I have been more tuned in to how many people do precisely that, go through their lives essentially alone. Perhaps it's just lack of siblings and extended family, inability to develop social skills, to read social cues critical to forming friendships. And maybe it's just a bad turn of events that puts you out on your own.
Prior to leaving on a trip East to see family and pass some loving healing time following my husband's untimely death, I participated in a Rosh Chodesh discussion around the meaning of Tzedakah (Justice), which we think of mostly as Charity. The Rebbetsin suggested that if we are usually an annual giver, instead we divide our charitable giving into daily events as that would create more of a sense of charitable giving. Since I was headed to NYC anyway, where I knew there would be street panhandlers/peddlers/homeless there would be many opportunities to practice daily charity. When I got off the airplane I armed myself with lots of single dollar bills. Each day I decided how many I would give away and then I did just that. No judgement, no deciding that this one wasn't deserving because he looked young and healthy. That one didn't deserve because he was smoking, if he could afford cigarettes, my prior thinking went, he could afford to eat. I just passed out the dollars to the first persons who asked. I looked each in the face, said "God Bless" or "Have a nice day" or "I hope you can find a warm place to stay." And you know what, it worked. Instead of averting my eyes each time I saw a person asking for change, I smiled and said hello--even after I ran out of my dollars for the day.
At the end of my first week in the city, visiting with my fabulous cousins, I walked downtown to Grand Central for the train to Long Island, my next stop. Not yet having had my favorite New York meal, a kosher hot dog with warm sauerkraut, a square potato knish, a bowl of mushroom barley soup, all topped with a Chinese cookie. The Concourse Glatt Kosher food stand offered the first three so I headed there. I know this isn't what most of you are thinking when you think New York foodie, but it was perfect. It was more food than I'd eaten at any one sitting in many months, but I ate every bite. So many memories attached to each of those items they nourished my soul much more than my body.
Dessert was next, Zabar's had fresh cookies and hot coffee. Armed with a tall cup, small paper bag, the suitcase I'd dragged from uptown 99th street to Grand Central on 52nd, a winter coat, fedora hat perched precariously on my head, I searched for a table. There weren't many empty ones so when I spotted a small table top between an Asian couple and an African American man I quickly headed over. They saw me coming. The couple moved the coats they had piled on the adjoining seat, the man cleared some debris from the table and welcomed me with a smile. Who ever said New Yorkers weren't friendly? I thanked my seat mates and settled my belongings and my tired body into the small space and then thanked the man seated to my left. It wasn't long before I offered to share my way too large cookie with him, and a conversation began.
My seat mate, a middle aged, cleanly dressed, well-spoken gentlemen said that his doctor cautions him against eating too many sweets, but a small piece of cookie once in a while was okay. We talked about where I was going (in general terms), and I mentioned my wealth of cousins. He didn't have any cousins, or parents, or, it seemed friends. His grown daughters live in Florida, his mother died the past year, and he was homeless. How did he keep warm? He slept in the subway, rode the train, hung out in the Concourse. He received some social services but avoided shelters because "they let in all the druggies and drunks." How did this happen? A series of bad steps, lacking a safety net be they family or friends, unemployment, perhaps a little mental illness--although I'm not sure. How easy to fall from grace. How grateful I am to have so much richness in my life--family, friends, money in the bank.
Intellectually I have known about homelessness, but my gentleman friend, and he was a gentleman, never asking for a handout, speaking well, listening, asking questions, offering some responses openly without whining or complaining, he was my first person to person contact with a person living on the streets--and I'm 74! Homelessness has been there but invisible, the homeless disappear when you turn your face away and close your mind. More than the lack of funds, I am dismayed over the lack of connections. How do you go through life and not connect? It happens. My internet friend, a Vietnam Vet with PTSD, has few, no family, no spouse or children. When I think I am alone since Stu died, it is still not the depth of aloneness so many suffer.
"Can you ever forgive me?" the film recently nominated for an academy award for best actress, portrayed this lack of connection much better than I. Author Leslie Lee lacks the social skills that could move her into the bestseller lane. She is utterly alone after her cat dies. For the Melissa McCartney character we understand that it's lack of social appropriateness which catapults her into that loner portrayed on the big screen, that's just one possible cause. And so I ponder, mindful of the connections I do have. Aware, more so since the death of my best friend Stu, that to have a friend you have to be a friend, reach out, practice justice, charity, tzedakah every day, all the time. I thank the Rebbitson for highlighting tzedakah and pushing me to make it an every day occurrence. She has opened my heart, made more room in my mind, and helped me to see even the invisible.
What a week. I purchased my first home, a condo in a 55 plus development where I already live in a house. Every other home purchase has been with a spouse, shared decision making, bouncing ideas and costs off of one another. This week was different. Although I did consult with friends and family, the decision was mine alone--and it was down right scary.
Another reminder of the loss of a mate, a lifelong buddy, partner. I've been filling in with girlfriends, of whom I have several terrific ones and more I can cultivate. But when we get down to signing the papers, it's only me. If I make a mistake, it's only me. We are not created to go through life alone.
Over the past few weeks I have been more tuned in to how many people do precisely that, go through their lives essentially alone. Perhaps it's just lack of siblings and extended family, inability to develop social skills, to read social cues critical to forming friendships. And maybe it's just a bad turn of events that puts you out on your own.
Prior to leaving on a trip East to see family and pass some loving healing time following my husband's untimely death, I participated in a Rosh Chodesh discussion around the meaning of Tzedakah (Justice), which we think of mostly as Charity. The Rebbetsin suggested that if we are usually an annual giver, instead we divide our charitable giving into daily events as that would create more of a sense of charitable giving. Since I was headed to NYC anyway, where I knew there would be street panhandlers/peddlers/homeless there would be many opportunities to practice daily charity. When I got off the airplane I armed myself with lots of single dollar bills. Each day I decided how many I would give away and then I did just that. No judgement, no deciding that this one wasn't deserving because he looked young and healthy. That one didn't deserve because he was smoking, if he could afford cigarettes, my prior thinking went, he could afford to eat. I just passed out the dollars to the first persons who asked. I looked each in the face, said "God Bless" or "Have a nice day" or "I hope you can find a warm place to stay." And you know what, it worked. Instead of averting my eyes each time I saw a person asking for change, I smiled and said hello--even after I ran out of my dollars for the day.
At the end of my first week in the city, visiting with my fabulous cousins, I walked downtown to Grand Central for the train to Long Island, my next stop. Not yet having had my favorite New York meal, a kosher hot dog with warm sauerkraut, a square potato knish, a bowl of mushroom barley soup, all topped with a Chinese cookie. The Concourse Glatt Kosher food stand offered the first three so I headed there. I know this isn't what most of you are thinking when you think New York foodie, but it was perfect. It was more food than I'd eaten at any one sitting in many months, but I ate every bite. So many memories attached to each of those items they nourished my soul much more than my body.
Dessert was next, Zabar's had fresh cookies and hot coffee. Armed with a tall cup, small paper bag, the suitcase I'd dragged from uptown 99th street to Grand Central on 52nd, a winter coat, fedora hat perched precariously on my head, I searched for a table. There weren't many empty ones so when I spotted a small table top between an Asian couple and an African American man I quickly headed over. They saw me coming. The couple moved the coats they had piled on the adjoining seat, the man cleared some debris from the table and welcomed me with a smile. Who ever said New Yorkers weren't friendly? I thanked my seat mates and settled my belongings and my tired body into the small space and then thanked the man seated to my left. It wasn't long before I offered to share my way too large cookie with him, and a conversation began.
My seat mate, a middle aged, cleanly dressed, well-spoken gentlemen said that his doctor cautions him against eating too many sweets, but a small piece of cookie once in a while was okay. We talked about where I was going (in general terms), and I mentioned my wealth of cousins. He didn't have any cousins, or parents, or, it seemed friends. His grown daughters live in Florida, his mother died the past year, and he was homeless. How did he keep warm? He slept in the subway, rode the train, hung out in the Concourse. He received some social services but avoided shelters because "they let in all the druggies and drunks." How did this happen? A series of bad steps, lacking a safety net be they family or friends, unemployment, perhaps a little mental illness--although I'm not sure. How easy to fall from grace. How grateful I am to have so much richness in my life--family, friends, money in the bank.
Intellectually I have known about homelessness, but my gentleman friend, and he was a gentleman, never asking for a handout, speaking well, listening, asking questions, offering some responses openly without whining or complaining, he was my first person to person contact with a person living on the streets--and I'm 74! Homelessness has been there but invisible, the homeless disappear when you turn your face away and close your mind. More than the lack of funds, I am dismayed over the lack of connections. How do you go through life and not connect? It happens. My internet friend, a Vietnam Vet with PTSD, has few, no family, no spouse or children. When I think I am alone since Stu died, it is still not the depth of aloneness so many suffer.
"Can you ever forgive me?" the film recently nominated for an academy award for best actress, portrayed this lack of connection much better than I. Author Leslie Lee lacks the social skills that could move her into the bestseller lane. She is utterly alone after her cat dies. For the Melissa McCartney character we understand that it's lack of social appropriateness which catapults her into that loner portrayed on the big screen, that's just one possible cause. And so I ponder, mindful of the connections I do have. Aware, more so since the death of my best friend Stu, that to have a friend you have to be a friend, reach out, practice justice, charity, tzedakah every day, all the time. I thank the Rebbitson for highlighting tzedakah and pushing me to make it an every day occurrence. She has opened my heart, made more room in my mind, and helped me to see even the invisible.
Comments
Post a Comment