So long, farewell

So I am officially a renter, no longer a home owner. I’ve yet to see the money, but the powers that be tell me the deal’s done; I’m no longer the co-owner of my former house.

Good riddance, right?

Pretty much.

But I did have some good times there, and I did watch my kids grow from babies, to toddlers, to actual kids. I lived there a little over 6 years -- not that terribly long, but when I think back on it, it's the longest, single address I’ve had since junior high (which was a lot longer ago than I like to admit).

Moving with two kids after six years of accumulating their and your own stuff is such a monumental effort that you’re incredibly grateful when you drag that last box out of the house, or, as the case may be, that last bag of frozen food that the pest-control people double bagged for you and left in the freezer. (I was taken aback by their kindness. I just figured I’d throw it away; who knew they’d pack for you before poisoning the premises?)

So I wasn’t sad, just eager to get the job done. The last trip to the house I made alone, leaving my kids playing happily at a friend’s house. My goals were to get all the garbage to fit in the already over-flowing garbage can, leave the keys and garage door openers for “the buyers,” and to get those final, final personal items out of the house and into my car.

The house was so-close-to-empty and very echoey when I walked in. Every dirt smudge stood out on the wall, as did the nails and nail holes that I did not have the time (or inclination) to pull out and/or patch up. I would have liked to, but my life just isn’t that life right now. I didn’t even find time to leave “the buyers” a bottle of wine.

After completing my tasks to the best of my ability (I was forced to take one damn cast-off speaker out of the trash can to fit in other, less transportable trash), I did take a few minutes to look around at what I was forever leaving behind. I didn’t tear up or even get nostalgic (I’m really happy right now and ready to move the hell on), but I did snap a few photos--photos of things I’ll miss, if I miss anything at all.

First and foremost there’s the very cool, very 1950s built-in toothbrush stand.





























Isn’t it neat? It’s one of the things I liked when I first looked at the house. One of the original details that sill remains.

Then there’s the very classic bathroom floor tile that I picked out and love, even if it was a bitch to keep clean.

There's also this bitching green tile that makes up the kitchen’s back splash. It’s perfect with the black countertops, and, if you want to know what I really think, it sold the house. My realtor even told me that he got more comments on that green kitchen tile than on any other single item in the house.

Of course, I also love the tire swing (and I hope “the buyers” do too, because I did not have a ladder, or a knife, or space in the garbage can for the tire, even if I were able to cut it down). Isn’t my daughter’s choice of royal purple rope perfect?

And finally, there’s the massive, majestic tree that takes up more than its fair share of the back yard. This tree dumped pine cones and pine needles and its hateful sap all over the deck and patio furniture, but I loved this tree. I used to lie under it sometimes and just look up, like this

Doesn’t it make you slow down and remember what is really important?

It’s not your address, that's for damn sure.