Karen Nichols

This past weekend, I was driving down Estero Blvd on Fort Myers Beach on my way to Publix and noticed a couple of Open House signs. The official temp was about 95 but with humidity, it felt like 110. I wondered who would be tempted to leave their comfortable air conditioning to see a home for sale, and what, if anything, could tempt people to come to an Open House. Cold water just won't be sufficient and there's too much liability involved in serving cold beer. Then, I thought, with temps in the 90's and humidty through the roof, what would temp people more than a swim in the pool. The agent would need his assistant (or friend) to act a lifeguard, of course, but adveristing a dip in the pool just may make a summer Open House a success.

And, if your Open House home doesn't have a pool, you may want to wait a a few weeks until the humidity dips.

So, where was I? Oh, yes, the woman was sloshing down pills with her vodka. By this time, I am a little taken aback and my husband has come into the room and has taken in the scene, also. She then smiles and asks us if we want to smoke some pot. I say no, we don't smoke pot. She shrugs and asks us if we minds if she indulges. I say yes, I do mind, that I don't want it in my house. She then stands and says she'll smoke it in the yard. I tell her that I don't want it on my property. She then says that she'll go to her car and smoke it. I don't say anything to this and she goes. My husband and I then quickly confer and agree that we'll have to stay up all night to make sure she doesn't try to burn down the house or something else of that nature.

I make it an early night, as you can imagine, but I did fall asleep and when I awoke, she was gone, but her car was still in the yard. She came in a few minutes later, saying that she had been for a walk on the beach. I tell her that she'll have to hurry, as I have to get to work. (At the time, I worked as a Paralegal for a Cape Coral law firm). It's Monday. Anyway, I'm all ready to go, and grab an apple for the road. She's sitting on the sofa very comfortably. I tell her that it's time to go. She says: Oh, that's okay. You go to work. I'll hang around for awhile. I was polite to that point. At that point, I said: No, you won't hang around. It's time for you to go. She got it and left. My husband and I watched her drive off. I left for work. My husband double locked the door.

The armoire is gorgeous.

A couple of years ago for Christmas, I wished to give my husband a special present. I was having trouble fitting his clothes in the closets and the bureaus in the bedroom because of my clothes, so I decided to purchase for him an armoire for his office, the old fashioned type where you can hang shirts and also with drawers. We both love art deco so I bid on an original 1930's art deco armoire on ebay and I won it at a great price. Before I bid on it, I had called shippers and they gave me a price of $250.00 for shipping it from New York to me in Florida. The seller lived in Queens. It had belonged to his grandmother. Well, after I won it, the shipper gave me a different story. The price of $250.00 was for shipping business to business. To go pick up something from a residential neighborhood in New York and deliver it to me in Florida would be more like $1,000.00. I considered that a bit much and looked around for other options.

I advertised on Craig's List. It had occurred to me that so many people up north drive to Florida during the winter that I thought someone might want the extra money by picking up and delivering the armoire. I actually had a few responses but I obligated myself to the first person who answered. She was a woman who lived in Pennsylvania. She said that was planning to trip to Florida around Christmas and that she lived about an hour or so from Queens(where the Armoire currently resided) and that she had a van. She wouldn't have to lift anything, as the seller and a friend of his would put it in her van and then upon arrival, my husband would take it out. She would just need to drive it here. She had excellent references and I checked them out, so I said yes.

I drafted a Contract regarding this transaction and emailed to her. She signed it and faxed it back to me. She planned to pick up the armoire in New York on Xmas day, as the traffic would be lighter. She then planned to stop in Virginia to visit a friend for a few days and to be at my house on January 2nd. She kept me well advised of her plans and movements. I will give her that.

I received an email from the Seller on Christmas Day. She did indeed pick up the armoire on Christmas Day. She didn't exactly have a van. She had a mini van, but he and a friend managed to get it in, but he said that it was a tight fit. I then received an email from her on New Years day. She was in Virginia at her friend's house but had slipped on the ice the previous evening and had sprained her arm. She would be laid up there for a couple of days. I received another email from her two days later. Arm still hurting. Would be staying at friend's another couple of days. Two days later, same message. Finally, I received an email that she is on her way. Another email. She stopped at a friend in Tampa and lost her purse. At police station. Four days later, she is on her way again. She arrived at our house on Fort Myers Beach at the end of January on a Sunday, late afternoon. It was a tight fit, and it took Lloyd and three neighbor guys two hours to get it out of her van.

But, It was gorgeous. By this time, it is dark outside. I inquire about her plans. She said in her emails that her final destination was Miami to visit some friends and go down the Keys. But, it is dark outside and I see that she is tired, so I feel obligated to ask her to stay the night. She accepts. I am so happy about how incredible the armoire is that I am in really good sprits. I tell her that I will order Chinese food for dinner. I ask her to take a sit on the sofa and relax. I order the food. She seems a bit stressed, all that driving. I ask her if she would like a glass of wine. She says no and I'm about to offer her tea, when she informs me that she has a bottle of vodka in the car. She runs out to get it. She comes back with the bottle of vodka and a plastic bag full of prescription pills. She pours herself a drink of vodka, straight, and then takes a pill from one of the bottles. I ask her if she wants a glass of water. She says no and puts the pill in her mouth and drinks it down with a gulp of vodka. I cannot help but ask what the pills are for, and she explains that she has back trouble.

Conclusion of Journey of the Armoire in Next Bog.

With the real estate market slow and stagnant in many areas of the country, the Jack White Land Co. has recently been using a new marketing tool to create interest in hopes of boosting sales. Instead of usual open houses, which often don't result in sales, Jack, Kelly and Drew White are hosting art shows. One recent show, featuring the work of Lesley Giles, an English-born painter, brought the artist sales and extra buyer leads for the Whites. This concept, of course, will highlight the lcoal town and local artists, which would be interesting to prospective buyers and new residents. An Onen House usually involves an empty house. How about an empty house with paintings displayed throughout the house and the Artist present?

I am an artist. I find the above idea innovative and exciting.

Portrait of Todd by Karen Nichols (Oil on Canvas)

The Final Out by Karen Nichols (Oil on Canvas)

Man at 50 With Mom by Karen NIchols (Oil on Canvas)

Karen E. Nichols

Fort Myers Beach, Florida

Karenenichols@aol.com

I've shared a few of my poems with readers of my blog. I've mentioned before the poet, Wallace Stevens, has been a major inspiration. So, instead of one of my poems, here is one of his. poems.

The Idea of Order at Key West

She sang beyond the genius of the sea.
The water never formed to mind or voice,
Like a body wholly body, fluttering
Its empty sleeves; and yet its mimic motion
Made constant cry, caused constantly a cry,
That was not ours although we understood,
Inhuman, of the veritable ocean.

The sea was not a mask. No more was she.
The song and water were not medleyed sound
Even if what she sang was what she heard.
Since what she sang was uttered word by word.
It may be that in all her phrases stirred
The grinding water and the gasping wind;
But it was she and not the sea we heard.

For she was the maker of the song she sang.
The ever-hooded, tragic-gestured sea
Was merely a place by which she walked to sing.
Whose spirit is this? we said, because we knew
It was the spirit that we sought and knew
That we should ask this often as she sang.

If it was only the dark voice of the sea
That rose, or even colored by many waves;
If it was only the outer voice of sky
And cloud, of the sunken coral water-walled,
However clear, it would have been deep air,
The heaving speech of air, a summer sound
Repeated in a summer without end
And sound alone. But it was more than that,
More even than her voice, and ours, among
The meaningless plungings of water and the wind,
Theatrical distances, bronze shadows heaped
On high horizons, mountainous atmospheres
Of sky and sea.
It was her voice that made
The sky acutest at its vanishing.
She measured to the hour its solitude.
She was the single artificer of the world
In which she sang. And when she sang, the sea,
Whatever self it had, became the self
That was her song, for she was the maker. Then we,
As we beheld her striding there alone,
Knew that there never was a world for her
Except the one she sang and, singing, made.

Ramon Fernandez, tell me, if you know,
Why, when the singing ended and we turned
Toward the town, tell why the glassy lights,
The lights in the fishing boats at anchor there,
As night descended, tilting in the air,
Mastered the night and portioned out the sea,
Fixing emblazoned zones and fiery poles,
Arranging, deepening, enchanting night.

Oh! Blessed rage for order, pale Ramon,
The maker's rage to order words of the sea,
Words of the fragrant portals, dimly-starred,
And of ourselves and of our origins,
In ghostlier demarcations, keener sounds