It’s Not Personal, It’s Strictly Business…

Such an exciting time ahead of me.  Okay, maybe a tad stressful as well but I’d rather focus on the good parts, if you know what I mean.  A perfect time to analyze my “stuff” and see what really means something to me and must stay and what can be let go.  Or, a time where everything gets shoved in boxes to be dealt with later!  How about a mix of both… that way I won’t spend too much time with the preparations.

The agent has been met, the price established and, before the ‘For Sale’ sign can be hammered into the newly exposed, spring-stink grass, the ‘home stager” must be met.  I consider myself lucky that part of the commission I shall be paying to sell this behemoth includes the services of said stager.  If not, I had contemplated, maybe, in investing in the services of one.  Because, you know, a different set of eyes and all that.

Well damn.   The doorbell rings and there stands Nathalie,  standing at five foot-nothing, wearing jeans and boots – “no, no, please”, I insist, “keep them on.  I didn’t wash the floor and I have a dog.  Would much rather you not end up with slippers for socks.”  She goes back to her car – very nice car, so business must be good – and gets her sneakers.  Hands me her coat and with a handshake that would make a 6’2″ man proud got down to business.

Not a stroll around the house to see what’s to be dealt with, first, oh no.  Immediately, she tells me to get a pad and pen so I can take notes.  Notes?  I ain’t got time to take notes!  My 5’9″ legs are practically having trouble keeping up with her!  She has walked into the dining room, after having passed through the living room.  Immediatelly told me to take down the two paintings (sorry, Richard, apparently Mick and I have no taste so your lovely works of art don’t belong there).  She made me take one from the dining room to placed in the living room.  Told me to remove the hooks and nails we were not using and kept on going.   And so it went.  “Remove this, store that.  Do you really need to keep that there?  Try to find an extension cord so you can move your water fountain.  Do you really need to plug it in?  Seriously room-temp water is better for you.  OK.  Remove all pictures of your family.  OK.. Take that picture and put it here.  Don’t forget to remove the nails.”  Takes notes?  I think not.

“Yes.  OK. That’s good.  No, this will NOT do.  I really don’t like those curtains.  Do you really need them?”

“Well, yes, I do, when the sun shines, I can’t see my computer screen.”

“Well, speaking of that.  Can you get rid of that other desk and move this one over there?  Can we move some of this stuff downstairs? It is so important to have access to the windows.  They must be free of stuff.  No?  Then remove this.  And put this over there.”

Fuck no!  Jesus… I am officially spinning.

“Let’s go upstairs, shall we?  Ok.  Let’s move this bureau and bring that plant over here.”  OK… this one, I gotta admit, I really like.  “And make sure you remove all that stuff from your nightstands.  And get a lamp for that one.  It’s too dark.  Move that picture over to centre it.  Why is it like that?  And make sure you clean up that bookcase.”

“Since I sold my son’s bed, I figured we should move his desk into the guest bedroom and bring that bed in here.  What do you think?”

“Yes, good idea.”

Woot!  I had a good idea….

And then we enter the eldest’s room.  “Ummm…”

“Don’t worry.  He knows all the stuff has to come down from the walls.  And he has to clean up the space.  It will be done.”

“Does he really need that desk?”

“I can’t say.  Will work on him for that one.”

Let’s go down into the basement, shall we?”

Huffing and puffing, I follow.

She comes down the stairs, looks at the new vinyl flooring on the one side.  “Before you even think of it. No.  That was a bitch to remove.  We are NOT removing this side.  I had it cleaned.  I know it still looks ‘meh’ but it will remain.  By the way, I figure we should bring this couch  back over and that table.”

“You don’t want to bring the TV back here?”

“No.  I don’t trust the kids to make another mess.”

She looks at me disapprovingly.  “I sill think….”


“OK.  But still, remove those posters and maybe move that one over there.”

“OK.  I still find it odd that people want to see a house that appears totally unlived in.  That there isn’t a family here.  To me, it makes no sense that there wouldn’t be at lease one family picture.”

“Statistics have shown that, that’s what works.  So, Madame, my work here is done.  Good luck on the sale of your house.”

Another crushing handshake and she is gone.

Whew!  I sid down and try to get my bearings.  I am now tripping over my antique chairs that I bought to go with my antique table that I must now hide.  I am supposed to make my kitchen look like I never use it.  I must store all my artwork that was not considered “fitting” and box all family pictures, no matter how cute.

I’m hoping, that with all this work, my house will be attractive to potential buyers.  Till then, I’m to roll up my sleeves and do what needs to be done.  There is some selling, re-organizing, moving, shifting, clearing, sorting, schlepping… I’m exhausted just thinking about it!



Starting Over – Again **Friday Fictioneers**

Good Wednesday-Friday, my Peeps!  I thought I’d have to wait until tonight to write my FF but got cancelled from work because of lack of golfers.  Woot!  Ah, celebrations were short-lived.  They realised that by cancelling me for 11, they would be short for 4.  Oh well, at least it gave me a few extra hours to ruminate over this lovely picture supplied by Ted Strutz by our illustrious leader, Rochelle.  I confess I totally was inspired by a fellow blogger’s own post from last week.  So, thank you, Raye.  I hope you don’t mind!

To join in on the fun, click on the blue frog to add your link.  If you’re not sure how this party works, just click on Rochelle‘s name for the how-to.

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Genre:  Fiction inspired by real events

Word count:  Toujours 100

Starting Over – Again

It happened just about every three years.  She couldn’t explain it and didn’t bother trying.  The urge to pack up and move to a new place was strong.  It wasn’t for the money because basically she exchanged four quarters for a dollar.  It wasn’t because she couldn’t forge friendships with her neighbours.  All started with exchanges of food goodies and plants and moved to dinner parties.

Suddenly, the itch started and wouldn’t be ignored.  Again the procedure of selling the old and finding a new, usually, one town over.

This time was different.  The island would keep her longer.


Comes In Waves

I can’t stand my own company in the quiet house so Zeke gets a late dusk walk.  I figure I’ll at least change the air in my lungs for a bit, if not the company.

As I walk away from my house, the sounds get quieter (blasted highway can be particularly loud when the air is as dense as it is tonight) and all I hear are my footsteps, Zeke’s panting (as if it’s 35ºC and not the 19ºC it really is ~ which proves just how humid it is!) and the occasional birdsong (the rain song, Mick used to call it).  I’m not sure I would call it the rain song as it comes in spurts, as if even the birds can’t decide if the predicted thunderstorms are coming or not!  If they do, it will be once I’m snug as a bug in my bed!

I breathe in the mixtures of scents:  the wonderful lilacs, the freshly mown grass and, what’s that?  Oh THAT! That stinky tree with the white flowers (I know not what it is but I used to have one ~ ugh!) that smells like a cross between skunk and bad fish and just plain yuck!  OK, OK, I Googled it:  It’s the Pyrus Calleryana or the Callery Pear tree.  You don’t need to see ’em to smell ’em!  Don’t be fooled by the pretty white flowers – they’re not but a ruse for you to buy them!


Anyway, stinky trees aside, when it is quiet like this, my brain goes into full hamster-wheel mode (think the Mel Gibson when he first gets zapped and can hear all the women’s thoughts in the movie “What Women Want”)!

There is no order to my thoughts.  They go from one subject to another and have no rhyme nor reason.

I think of my morning and how, after showing the trailer to yet another potential buyer, I empty a few more items from it and get all emotional once again.  Camping is over so it needs to go. (The proceeds of the sale are going into the “take the boys to an all-inclusive-trip-fund, however.)  There are many memories tied to that white box and I just ache from the loss.  As I’m sitting in my blessedly quiet back-yard (the neighbours are out!), feeling sad, I get a “ping!” from Messenger and there is my sister saying aloha from Hawaii!  Their flight was fabulous, though long, and they were getting ready to leave for their cruise.  So far, so good; the two couples are getting along famously (both are celebrating 25 years of marriage).  This brings me joy.  Because I’m feeling this way, I grab my camera and take pictures of my bleeding hearts, smoke bush and rhubarb.  This brings me more joy.  I don’t usually stay in the sadness for too long…

Then my thoughts go to the house and the immense job I have ahead of me to sort out what to keep, what to sell, what to throw away and when to actually do all this.  I know, I know, start with something, anything and just take it one thing at a time.  I get all emotional, looking at all THIS and think of our plans that are now nought and sadness comes again, followed by anger (how dare he leave me to deal with all this by myself!), followed by overwhelm.  Then I think of the Mary Kay business I signed on for and wonder what the hell was I thinking with all this other stuff going on?  Do I really need the added work? But I get a phone call from a client who found me on my MK website that I had created just two days earlier and make a sale! Maybe not so crazy after all.

As I walk (wishing each step would miraculously take a layer of insulation off my thighs), I think of my future and dating and OhMyGodAmIReadyToShowThisBodyToAnyone? I don’t go into panic mode but there may be a small (OK, bigger than small) level of insecurity. WTF!  I keep reading how “women of my age” are totally at ease with who they are and accept all the “bumps and bruises” that life has given them to reach this point in life and are comfortable in their skin.  This, of course, leads them to a fulfilling sex life where they need not worry about their boobs being too saggy or their cellulite, or the extra love handles because it just means there’s more to love.  When you have been with the same guy for almost twenty years and he’s seen the changes you’ve gone through from your first meeting to your last good-bye, which includes giving him three beautiful children, and whatever else you’ve shared, you know where you stand. You’ve aged matured together.  You’ve earned your said “bumps and bruises” together. Now, the thought of future lovers (see my positive spin on this?), who themselves have certainly had changes happen to their bodies (understand I am not crazy enough to think of hooking up with too-young boys who still smell of pee-pee) are probably quite conscious of the fact that a 50-year-old body is not that of a 20-year-old one!  Obviously I’m talking of the regular folk who are trying to age gracefully; not the scalpel-loving-living-in-denial folk (not that there is anything wrong with that ~ we’re not here to judge!)  They are probably not expecting perfection either…

So I keep walking, thinking, occasionally arguing with myself (pretending to talk to Zeke) and tellng myself to not sweat it, to just be my fabulous me and all will work out in the end.  I am not a “wallower” and will not stop living or looking for rainbows.  I will move forward doing what needs to be done, all the while enjoying the journey, even if a few tears are shed here and there, because I know the sun always comes out after the rain.

(I couldn’t decide which one I liked more, so I’ve included both!)