Fini

So it’s done. The check’s in the bank, the lawyers and real estate agents have gone their separate ways, and our home is being invaded by strangers.
Our house is sold.

          After our celebratory dinner last night, I woke up at 4:30 this morning with the realization that I’ll never be able to stroll through that back yard again or lounge on the porch on a warm summer day.

 An entire fall of hoping and wishing for buyers and now I had seller’s remorse?

          We really used every inch of that place, too. A painting room upstairs for My Guy, a room downstairs for me to write. A living room big enough for my book club and a den for visiting grandkids to watch soccer on TV. A big deck to sit and look out at the woods - the woods where the grandchildren climbed over rocks and waved sticks at each other. The small hill perfect for sledding from the neighbors down to our yard.

          But then again, a kitchen that was actually a hallway, which meant I’d need to get into the fridge just as someone else was passing through. And seemingly every member of the family in that kitchen on Thanksgiving – instead of the living room or den – while I struggled to work around them.

          The arrival of the field mice into the basement every fall.

          The spiders so numerous I can’t believe I never woke up enshrined in a giant web.

          And speaking of waking up, on two different occasions I did wake to a bat wheeling and diving around our bedroom.

          The Lake Erie-sized puddle in the driveway after every rainstorm.

          The army of ticks that invaded more of the yard with each passing year.

          Ditto the poison ivy.

          And the pièce de résistance, the final message that it was time to move, the swarm of gypsy caterpillars enveloping every inch of the trees, driveway, sidewalk, and yard with their abundant effluence, making last spring the grossest in living memory.

          So, yes, the house is sold and you know what? I’m good with that.