Some things I'll miss

I set my paintbrush down for a moment this morning and took in the breeze. There is a soft one off the inlet today, helping to take the edge off the heat. The heat, too, is a bit more gentle today. I feel the need to hydrate just a tad less than I did yesterday at this time.

I stood on the porch and looked around, took in the boats in the marina, the Olympics off in the distance, the clock tower before me. What I love the most about the view is the outrageousness of the angles, the wackiness of the shading as the day progresses. I love the color changes to the water, the way the sun plays with the tides. I look at that view from my porch and know that it will be the singular thing I will take with me whereever I go. It won't matter much if I live in some small town or a big burg. It won't matter if the house is small or if it's a condo or a new place in a subdivision. I will close my eyes and still be able to look across the water and tell you, if you asked me, how that scene looked according to the season or the time of day.

I sat down in the living room afterwards and it hit noon. At first all I could hear was the tinkling of the chimes on the porch, then I heard two toots from the Horluck ferry down at the waterfront as it prepared to leave, then heard the tones from the clock tower start up. The tunes haven't been as varied as they once were, but those old showstoppers, those old Broadway and Tin Pan Alley favorites have become my own special Port Orchard soundtrack, and have been tattooed onto my aural soul for life.

Once that wee concert was finished I took myself outside to finish up my clematis work. It's rambling over the wall of the house now, just like the English Ivy, and has taken to climbing roofs as well. I've stripped both those plants of there adventurous tendrils, and will miss their annual struggle to take over the house. Mostly I will miss that spectacular bit of blooming in the spring, not only of the clematis but of the Oriental Pear and the Italian Plum and the ornamental Cherry. It was always one of my favorite scenes, stepping out of that back door to head to off work and be assailed by the scents and wild colors of blossums all about me. It was like snowfall sometimes, all those petals falling. Grand. And all for the sake of supplying my Estranged One with a bit of privacy.

This little house has been good to me. It's been a home for my children, a place for my friends to come and gather and sit and tell tales and partake of good food. It's been a place of refuge for family and erstwhile companions, a place to stand and take in the fireworks off of the sound and a home to come back to after long sorjourns and difficult journeys. It's been a home and there will be much to miss about it. But there it goes, it's been a home and my home will always be where I hang my hat.

I have been looking at houses in that faraway place and know that there are many that I could choose from if things go right. I look at the features and the "bones" of the place and know that there is yet another little house out there for me, a place to paint and chaulk and strip out old carpet. A place to sink nails and hang paintings and make altars. There is a place out there that I will be able to come back to after long ramblings and short trips. There is a place where my children will be able to gather and laugh and play in again. It is coming. And know that that place, when I shut my eyes and move onto to other things, I will remembered fondly, too.

There will always be something to miss no matter where I go.

Salud!

Home for sale

It's not everyday that I get to see the results of a long campaign spread out before me on my coffee table. It's been a week of hard de-cluttering, waiting for the moment I could say to my realtor "yes, go ahead, put it on the market". Her satchel of papers told me I was on task and ready to go. And now the house is, too.

So this morning I put my home up for sale. What a magnificent line in the sand that was.

Three years ago there was no way in hell you could have convinced me to do it. Five years ago it was just too far away from being ready for anyone to be interested. Last year, heck, even earlier this month it was still unapproachable in it's messiness. But after three weeks of grueling work I can say that I would be happy, even proud, to have folks come walking through my door and taking a look at my home.

Watching the movie "Up" the other day with my kids clued me in to the great reality, that this beloved little place of mine is just a house. Putting my name on the jet-inked line this morning made that thought even more concrete. But what has been freeing, even more than watching all that clutter go away, is knowing that I am one step closer to truly grasping some greater realization, and that is that my children, and time, and not my possessions, are what matter in this short and happy life.

I have no idea what awaits me in Idaho. I have no idea what I will do for work, where I will live or how much of an inpact I will be able to make in my children's lives. But one thing is for certain, and that is that I will no longer be ten hours away from them. When those emergencies happen, when those plays are held, when those recitals and ballgames and sleepovers take place, they can have me there as a witness. I will finally, after four years, be able to share their joy in real time.

This house has been a witness to my personal growth, but it's time to take those hard learned lessons to the place where they really can take root and grow.

My home is on the market. For those of you who have been here for supper or barbeques and loved the view, please tell a friend. It's priced way below value. Come and see, especially at sunset. It's a mighty grand little place.

Salud!