Selling My House

In order to put my house up for sale, I had to put most everything else aside to focus, focus, and focus on a job that was too big for me. No time for blogging. No time for scrapbooking.

My brother helped me. My sisters helped me. My nephew. My sister-in-law. Even my friend Dale who had just gone through the horrors of moving herself. These people all volunteered to put in time they could have spent a thousand different ways. I had not wanted to impose. I'd been too afraid to ask.

Once I decided to move, the work didn't stop. I cleaned, polished and tossed things away. I got things repaired that should have been repaired years ago. Twenty years, almost twenty-one years is a long time to live in one place, a long time to accumulate junk. One day I saw the futility of paying for a place to house all my belongings.

When's the last time you moved? No matter how positive you are, the amount of work required never seems to stop. "We" filled up my brother's giant trailer---his Model A trailer---three times. By "we," I mostly mean "they" because my back and most of my body gave out at the beginning of packing. I've hobbled and limped since March 2010. There must be 100 boxes that over-fill a rented storage space and my sister's garage.

My last night on Castlebrook was spent on the floor; I'd sold my beautiful futon to my friend across the street. I traded the discomfort of the floor for the peace of mind that the futon was gone. I was desperate to close up the house.