Sunshine, a ringing phone, and Bobbi on the line. “Somebody made a completed contract last night. Your house was not to be, so shall we set out again today?”
Of course. Coffee and pancakes. A lot of coffee. A dull ache of disappointment where I had promised myself there would be none. I had fallen in love with a home and had been rejected. So what?
In my head, I believe that rejection is a wonderful and necessary thing, that it gives us valuable feedback, saving us time. “Not here,” it says, “Not now, not this.” But I found it hard to erase the dreams I had for the white fence, the wild flowers, the baby rabbits, and the bees in the peach orchard.
Once again we three set off, joking about being jilted, about my broken-heartedness, and how life brings us what we need, but not necessarily what we want. Easy for me to banter, but a little pang of grief remained.
Our second day of searching was much like the first. Charla would do the walk-throughs as I nursed my aching knees in the car. Many more houses. So many for sale as we criss-crossed the countryside.
Late in the day, Bobbi said, “Now this house may not be what you’re looking for, but it’s on the way, and it won’t hurt to look.” She handed me the page of pictures and statistics.
Unappealing, but it was on the way, so we might as well check it out.
I decided to hobble through this one. The owner swept the red door open with a flourish as we staggered through our fatigue into the entrance hall. A turn to the right, and we were in the living room, mostly empty except for the late-afternoon sun and the butter-colored carpet, tinkly new-age and native American music, and the scent of baking bread and cinnamon candles throughout the house.
In a daze, we ploughed through.
Finally, Charla and I stood in the sun room and looked down into the woods. The house had “good bones,” clean lines, essentially a long rectangular box built to capture every possible ray of sunshine in every room. Only the living room faced west, and the other rooms faced East. I’m a morning person and crave morning sun. It was beautiful, simple, good enough.
I turned to Charla. “Should we?”
“Of course. No question.”
“No objections? No second thoughts?”
We talked briefly to the owners about maintenance costs and other things we should know.
Bobbi drove out the driveway. “Now our next stop is…”
I interrupted her. “No, our next stop is your kitchen table where we make out a contract for this house tonight.
“Well, all right.” And she turned the car around in the middle of the road.
May 8, 2008 No Comments