Spring Cleaning for the Empty Nester

 JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: I'm getting started on my Spring cleaning, and some of you may be saying, "Isn't this a little late for for that, Julia?" Others of you with low and snarky minds may be saying, "What, Spring cleaning 2019?" But friends, I honestly have a good reason to drag my feather duster this year - the Maine Millennial is moving out.  Into her very own, title-and-mortgage house! 

As some of you may recall, she moved back in with me in December 2019, after breaking up with the Very Tall Boyfriend. Then stuff happened. You may have read about it in the news. Two and a half years later, she has a new job, a new guy (the Very Redheaded Boyfriend) and finally, a home of her own. (More about this Saturday.)

 

Her very small bedroom, which looked like a ship container stuffed with used first world clothing headed for the tropics? Will be emptied.

 

Her Ebay side hustle (she's a millennial, of course she has a side hustle) which has required me to turn over 75% of my family room to storing wares, empty boxes, and packing material? Will be relocated.

 

Her cat, who stopped using the downstairs litter box and began PEEING IN MY BEDROOM until I got it a new litter box all of its own (which I also empty every other day, because, again, bedroom)? Will be in a new bedroom. Which has wall to wall carpeting. Heh heh heh heh heh.

 

Her dog, who barks at the slightest pretext and follows me everywhere I go, and whom I have been caring for five to seven days a week for the past eighteen months? Will be trying out a new day care. The Maine Millennial's new house is an hour and a quarter away from me, way too far to drop the dog off. It's sad. So very sad. I am sad. Do you believe me? 

 

And of course, all the little things that get dropped, left, crumpled and misplaced will cease to exist. 

 

It's not that I regret having the Maine Millennial here, or that I won't miss her. She could have moved out after finished grad school, but that was when Ross started to get sick, and her presence (and car) was a godsend. When the pandemic shut us all up our bubbles, she (and Youngest and Guest Son) kept me busy and moderately sane. And most importantly, having her spend the bulk of her twenties at home, without charging rent or expenses, enabled her to save up enough money for a twenty per cent down payment, with enough cash left over to buy a new queen bed and a sectional sofa. That was a great gift to be able to give her.

But now, baby, this house is mine, all mine! I'm going to be dusting. And sweeping. And vacuuming. And mopping.  Since I didn't really do anything with it when she went to college, there are parts of her bedroom that haven't been touched since it became hers in 2004. The family room will be getting a deep cleaning for the first time in years, and I'm going to be tossing out SO much stuff I don't need or want anymore. Just losing two pets out of six will lower the animal-hair-everywhere quotient by a third!

 

How about you, dear readers? Have you ever said, "Yee-haw!" when getting rid of the last child?  Did you roll up your sleeves to scrape Pokemon stickers off the wall? And did they ever come back? (No, don't tell me that last. I don't want to know.)

WHO'S IN CHARGE HERE?

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN: Whatever happened to Charlotte McNally? Where’s Jane Ryland these days? I say—the characters in my series are off having wonderful eventful lives while I write my standalones. And eventually we’ll find out about that.

But did they leave the nest? Or did I? The iconic and fabulous Betty Webb’s been thinking about that--since she’s just experienced a singularly pivotal moment in the writer’s life.

BETTY WEBB:  Ever hear of Empty Nest Syndrome? If you’re a parent of grown kids, you have probably experienced it yourself. One day your children go off to lead their own lives and you find yourself missing their smelly bedrooms, their snarky comments, and the sea of fast food wrappers surrounding them.

Have you ever wondered what writers go through when their protagonists leave the nest? As the mother of two wonderful young men who left home years ago to create their own families, I can tell you that missing your fictional children is eerily similar to missing the real ones. I’ve been sniffling around the house ever since Lena Jones, the Scottsdale, Arizona PI who has lived with me since 2000, finally left home in “Desert Redemption.”

BETTY in Lena Land

Lena and had I covered a lot of ground together. We snuck into northern Arizona polygamy compounds in “Desert Wives” and “Desert Lost,” poked through an A-bomb testing site in “Desert Wind,” and paced the perimeter of a state prison complex in “Desert Rage.”

But now Lena’s ridden off into the sunset on her Appaloosa mare.

I was whining about this the other day while having lunch with a friend. Not being a writer, she didn’t understand.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Betty,” she snapped. “Lena’s not real.”

“To me she is.”

“Off your meds again, are you?”

Well, you see what I mean. Lena would never talk to me that way. Granted, my girl was prone to getting into fistfights, and sometimes even shoot-outs, but she was always sweet as molasses with me. She was respectful, where my flesh-and-blood children were defiant and unpredictable, especially during those interminably long teenage years when they didn’t agree with a word I said. That is, if I was fortunate enough to have them talk to me at all.

Thus, Lena was – is? -- the only person in my life I felt I could control. Tell her to saddle up her horse for a ride across the Rez, and she’d do it. Tell her to investigate that funky-smelling garbage bin, she’d hurry right over. Why, I could tell Lena to do any crazy thing – sky dive, climb a mountain, insult a politician – and she’d do it with gusto.

My flesh-and-blood children?

Oh, ha.

But now that I’ve written my complaint down in black and white (or whatever color this blog will be printed in), I’ve discovered something interesting. When I look back along the years Lena and I spent together, I can recall incidents where she didn’t obey.  Yet I seem to remember feeling especially close to her during those occasions, like the time I told her not to investigate that cult, or the time I told her to stay away from that abandoned building, and like all those times I told her to break up with that two-timing cowboy.

Arguably, Lena was more like my defiant sons than I’d realized. Did I write her that way on purpose? Or did it just “happen”? 

I’d like to hear your thoughts on the subject.

How have you handled empty nesta in your life?

If you’re a writer, do you feel closer to your characters when they’re following orders, or when they’re defying you?

 If you’re not a writer, what do you think about this whole writer-versus-character “control” issue?

Or--which do you most enjoy most -- the good girls or the rebels?

HANK: Since 2000! WOW. Standing ovation to you both. 

As to your question--tough one! Certainly I’ve seen my characters come to life, and say things I’m surprised about. My newest heroine, Ellie Berenson (so far, it could change) definitely has said some things that surprised me. (hurray.) And every time I try to write a good girl, it’s a complete failure. 

How about you, Reds and readers?

Ed. Note: Yes, yes, I'm behind! Winners from this week to come asap!

 

ABOUT BETTY WEBB

For 20 years Betty worked as a journalist, interviewing everyone from U.S. presidents, astronauts who walked on the moon, and polygamy runaways. A nationally-syndicated literary critic for more than 30 years, she currently reviews for Mystery Scene Magazine. She is the author of 10 Lena Jones books and 5 Gunn Zoo mysteries.

You can find Betty at www.bettywebb-mystery.com

PUBLISHERS WEEKLY

Desert Redemption: A Lena Jones Mystery

Betty Webb. Poisoned Pen, $26.95 (328p) ISBN 978-1-4642-1095-2

In Jones’s electrifying 10th and final Lena Jones mystery (after 2017’s Desert Vengeance), Scottsdale, Ariz., PI Lena is approached by Harold Slow Horse, one of Arizona’s leading artists, who insists that she investigate the Kanati Spiritual Center, a compound promoting a mishmash of Native American symbolism and philosophy, where his flighty ex-wife, Chelsea, has taken up residence. Lena reluctantly agrees, and discovers that Chelsea is thriving on the fresh air, sunshine, and gourmet cuisine on offer at the center. When the body of a woman with a possible link to the center turns up in the desert, Lena begins to think that there is "something more horrific than religious plagiarism going on at Kanati." Lena gets on a trail that leads her at long last to answers about her troubled past: "I was an orphan… I’d been found comatose on a Phoenix street at the age of four with a bullet in my head. No one came forward to claim me." The resolution will satisfy series fans, though they’ll be sad to see the last of Lena. (Mar.)