On Selling a Home
A time of remembering and looking forward, 7 years at a time
To hear the related 5-minute audio file that I uploaded today as my Morning Journal flash briefing for Alexa devices, please click on the play button:
The Synchronicity of Moving On
Yesterday two things happened on the same day that resulted in strong emotions as I sat in a chair in the living room of our home in Cambridge, Mass.
When we listed the house for sale 70 days ago we imagined numerous offers, a bidding war, and a quick sale above the asking price. Instead, there were no offers until yesterday.
As it happened, I was having lunch with my sister at her home near Boston when I received word of the offer.
With the help of our realtors, Lisa May and Abby Clutz, and our banker, Andrea Garcia, the gap between the offer and our reduced asking price was bridged to everyone’s satisfaction. The closing will be in September.
Darlene had a haircut scheduled in Watertown, so I hung out at our home with Sophie for a few hours before we all headed back here to Maine.
What was I feeling?
I didn’t really know until this morning when I had a chance to visit with Darlene and then record today’s episode of the Morning Journal. It also helped to email a writer friend from my Bennington days and talk with my friend Gil in Sanibel.
The passage of time is what I was feeling. Yesterday I could not remember how many years we’ve lived in Cambridge—seven, it turns out (Thanks, Zillow.)
Too fast, too fast.
I also felt gratitude for my Lab, which is what I called my study upstairs with the boyish wallpaper I picked out myself, the Oriental rug from my parents’ home in Cambridge, the podcasting closet, and my big leather chair. Darlene’s fabric collage art decorated the house, along with paintings by my Alaskan friend Kes Woodward.
In our bedroom in the basement, Darlene had a poem of mine, “What Color is Love?” stenciled on the wall. Now that it’s been removed, I can’t find the original or a photo. Ah well.
We have fond memories of Christmas next door to my daughter Roo, her husband Mike and the boys, Ryan and Jake. They came through a gate in the fence wearing pajamas.
Looking ahead seven years, we hope that Sanibel will be spared from hurricanes and that we will continue to be in good health and spirits.
We also hope the new owner of our home—a woman returning to Cambridge from New York City, we’ve been told—will her own fond memories in a very special place.