Deconstructing a house/life
We are putting the house on the market Friday. I'm so sad about it I've been driven to watch the Turner Movie Classic channel. They are playing a movie with Frank Senatra and Louie Armstrong as himself and good ole what's his name. It's a musical. I'll think of what's his name by the end of this blog.
While talking with our realtor on the phone he asked why I sounded so down. I swallowed back tears and brightly chirped something about life and big changes, etc. I went downstairs to find Steve on the computer reading an e-mail from a pilot who sent a picture and wrote about his recent flight into Bongolo. Steve was pouring over the e-mail green with envy. He can't wait to fly those African skies. I swallowed back my tears and left him to his e-mail.
Bing Crosby, that's his name! I heard he beat his kids in real life. That's so disturbing. But his voice, his velvet-like voice... one could crawl up inside of that man's crooning. It's his voice that is the back-drop to my heartache. My grief of leaving. Don't get me wrong. I know it is a far far better thing we do than we have ever done... (or something like that) But it is sooo hard.
Our realtor thinks we can get a better price than we first discussed. Good news, right... All I can think about is deconstructing our life. We have to sell, store, or get rid of everything. I've been looking around more than usual taking everything in. My eyes get all soft and weepy when I look at the teapot we had in England, the one my great grandmother painted for my dad's sixteenth birthday. Of course we will store the special family stuff. Not everything goes. But we won't have our stuff in France and most likely not in Africa. It's just stuff. Stuff packed with memories. Stuff that tells the stories of our travels, our childhoods. Stuff that encompasses a life or five. But who's counting?
I feel like all lamenting should be done with a Brittish accent. So as you read these words put on your best Brittish accent and think of Bing crooning in the background. I realize it's a bit of a mixed bag but have a go at it! Do you think it's possible to choke on unshed tears? I don't have the time or space to release them just yet.
More later... Cheerio Mates!
While talking with our realtor on the phone he asked why I sounded so down. I swallowed back tears and brightly chirped something about life and big changes, etc. I went downstairs to find Steve on the computer reading an e-mail from a pilot who sent a picture and wrote about his recent flight into Bongolo. Steve was pouring over the e-mail green with envy. He can't wait to fly those African skies. I swallowed back my tears and left him to his e-mail.
Bing Crosby, that's his name! I heard he beat his kids in real life. That's so disturbing. But his voice, his velvet-like voice... one could crawl up inside of that man's crooning. It's his voice that is the back-drop to my heartache. My grief of leaving. Don't get me wrong. I know it is a far far better thing we do than we have ever done... (or something like that) But it is sooo hard.
Our realtor thinks we can get a better price than we first discussed. Good news, right... All I can think about is deconstructing our life. We have to sell, store, or get rid of everything. I've been looking around more than usual taking everything in. My eyes get all soft and weepy when I look at the teapot we had in England, the one my great grandmother painted for my dad's sixteenth birthday. Of course we will store the special family stuff. Not everything goes. But we won't have our stuff in France and most likely not in Africa. It's just stuff. Stuff packed with memories. Stuff that tells the stories of our travels, our childhoods. Stuff that encompasses a life or five. But who's counting?
I feel like all lamenting should be done with a Brittish accent. So as you read these words put on your best Brittish accent and think of Bing crooning in the background. I realize it's a bit of a mixed bag but have a go at it! Do you think it's possible to choke on unshed tears? I don't have the time or space to release them just yet.
More later... Cheerio Mates!
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