Archives
September 2007
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
9:06:00 PM EDT
Feeling Anxious
Hearing KJAZ Radio
It’s hot and humid… like a sticky Fourth of July Fair Day where every movement elicits beads of perspiration that adheres clothing to body. It is as if September has abdicated, relinquished control to allow her sultry, steamy sister July another turn at the helm. I’m seated at my favorite table, located at the edge of the grassy, campus mall. The campus “bell tower” has dutifully chimed off another half-hour. Getting closer to 5 PM and feeding time at the zoo. Clots of students, faculty, and administrators navigate the maze of concrete sidewalks dissecting the lawns.
Most students are still decked out in their full summer regalia. Gals prowl in short-shorts painted on rounded buttocks and tanned thighs while their breasts seem barely contained in loose fitting tops or packed tight in strapless halter-tops. Men strut about in nylon sport-shorts, or baggy pants hardly hanging onto non-existent hips. Many have thrown on a t-shirt adverting beer, our local U, or various musical groups. Those who have the build, and some who don’t, let their toned 6-packs show through netted tee’s or bulge beneath tank-tops.
Administrators are the most obvious. They shuffle about in dark designer dress pants, necks secured in a noose that binds them to their responsibilities while stains of sweat expand beneath each arm. Some stroll casually across campus, suit jacket unceremoniously slung across one shoulder. Others wear their suits like armor against the ever oppressive, mounting duties of their calling. One suit strides along quickly, a black computer case tucked under his arm as if it contains the secret codes for an alien invasion and even now agents close in. He pushes black-rimmed spectacles up the dampened bridge of a long, sloping nose as he tap dances past in patent leather shoes. Beneath a stand of fir trees three guys stop for an impromptu game of hacky-sac (I thought that game had exited with the 90’s). They apparently concur with July’s stifling return and have declared summer immortal. One lad in dreadlocks nimbly bounces the hacky off one knee and sends it sailing to another guy whose shaven head glistens in the late afternoon sunlight. Watching them from a distance they seem to be immersed in a carefully choreographed dance, each move rehearsed a hundred times.
Here in the northern plains we need to enjoy every last snippet and delusion of summer. September has only paused to gather her skirts. A glance at the forecast promises cooler temperatures by Thursday, with temps only tickling 60 by Friday. Global Warming or no we rest on the teeter-totter of seasons where in a few weeks time even winter could poke a whitened head in and whip up a little frost and snowflakes.
Meanwhile our home has slowly been transformed into a house. Stripped of family photos, knickknacks, mementos, and much of its furniture our beloved home of nearly twenty-four years has been gutted for the market. When is a home not a home? At what point is it merely a bookmark keeping our place between the chapters of our lives? The bare wall echo as we discuss our future in hushed tones, and the wood floors creak when we tip-toe from room to room seeking the soul that has fled our once vibrant home.
My love has reported that she feels like an intruder in her own home, the pressure to keep each room meticulous for the ever anticipated “showing” that never seems to materialize. It took us nearly a year to ready our home for the market and now even the patched and painted walls and refinished wood floors can’t resurrect the cozy, comforting home we raised our family in.
Gone is the warm, undulating, inviting waterbed that enticed you in then lulled you unconscious with its seascape motion and cushy, multi-colored comforter. Our family spent many a Saturday and Sunday morning piled into the bed rehashing the week’s events and listening to my love retell favorite stories from her past. Like the overstuffed bed in the Napping House by Audrey & Don Woods, our bed held a clan of cats, a trio of siblings, couple of parents, and literally overflowed with stuffed animals. Yet it was in many ways the center of our home. Exhausted and ill children gravitated towards the warm confines of our waterbed. Two beloved cats spent their last hours curled upon our little ocean until death ushered them away.
Did we do the correct thing to heed the advice of several realtors and clean out the clutter, strip the walls, and empty out the excess furniture so potential buyers can envision their possessions in the confines of our abode? The walls did need painting and patching and there was NO WAY to get around the monstrous waterbed dominating our room. And once emptied the twenty year old mattress seemed to deteriorate before my eyes. It has been over two months and yet only one showing. We’ve reduced the price, painted most of the rooms, and heeded as much advice on home selling as we can afford. Alas I fear my love is losing heart and getting depressed. While I travel north to work she must reside in the skeletal remains of our dwelling. Without selling the house there is no financing another place where I work, so we wait and pray and hope. I’m remaining strong and optimistic that it WILL sell and the right buyer is just around the corner. Yet my love’s pessimistic and dark mood is tough to shake.
Like September we are in the midst of change and our lives ride the teeter-totter of hope. Maybe tomorrow… maybe the Market will turn soon… maybe we will be together by… Halloween?... Thanksgiving? Christmas. Assuming the best, we have packed away all our holiday decorations… and my love doesn’t seem to have the heart to ponder another holiday in the shell that was once our home. Recently a tornado devastated a community not far from where I work. Many homes were either totally destroyed or severely damaged. We are blessed with a house that is intact, in really wonderful shape, and can provide us shelter from the elements until it sells. What is at the root of our distention is being ripped apart, living separate lives when this was to be a time to enjoy each other now that our children have moved on (sort of).
It is so hard to balance all these emotions… gratitude at having a home, frustration at not being able to share it. Not wanting to sound selfish but knowing time is against us before more than miles separate us.
Somehow I have to keep the faith and remember that this too shall pass. Thanks for stopping by.
Until next time… Be well. Laugh often. Play hard.
Be gentle and you can be bold; be frugal and you can be liberal; avoid putting yourself before others, and you can become a leader among men.
-Lao-tse
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9:06:00 PM EDT
Feeling Anxious
Hearing KJAZ Radio
Teetering on the Verge of Change
Most students are still decked out in their full summer regalia. Gals prowl in short-shorts painted on rounded buttocks and tanned thighs while their breasts seem barely contained in loose fitting tops or packed tight in strapless halter-tops. Men strut about in nylon sport-shorts, or baggy pants hardly hanging onto non-existent hips. Many have thrown on a t-shirt adverting beer, our local U, or various musical groups. Those who have the build, and some who don’t, let their toned 6-packs show through netted tee’s or bulge beneath tank-tops.
Administrators are the most obvious. They shuffle about in dark designer dress pants, necks secured in a noose that binds them to their responsibilities while stains of sweat expand beneath each arm. Some stroll casually across campus, suit jacket unceremoniously slung across one shoulder. Others wear their suits like armor against the ever oppressive, mounting duties of their calling. One suit strides along quickly, a black computer case tucked under his arm as if it contains the secret codes for an alien invasion and even now agents close in. He pushes black-rimmed spectacles up the dampened bridge of a long, sloping nose as he tap dances past in patent leather shoes. Beneath a stand of fir trees three guys stop for an impromptu game of hacky-sac (I thought that game had exited with the 90’s). They apparently concur with July’s stifling return and have declared summer immortal. One lad in dreadlocks nimbly bounces the hacky off one knee and sends it sailing to another guy whose shaven head glistens in the late afternoon sunlight. Watching them from a distance they seem to be immersed in a carefully choreographed dance, each move rehearsed a hundred times.
Here in the northern plains we need to enjoy every last snippet and delusion of summer. September has only paused to gather her skirts. A glance at the forecast promises cooler temperatures by Thursday, with temps only tickling 60 by Friday. Global Warming or no we rest on the teeter-totter of seasons where in a few weeks time even winter could poke a whitened head in and whip up a little frost and snowflakes.
Meanwhile our home has slowly been transformed into a house. Stripped of family photos, knickknacks, mementos, and much of its furniture our beloved home of nearly twenty-four years has been gutted for the market. When is a home not a home? At what point is it merely a bookmark keeping our place between the chapters of our lives? The bare wall echo as we discuss our future in hushed tones, and the wood floors creak when we tip-toe from room to room seeking the soul that has fled our once vibrant home.
My love has reported that she feels like an intruder in her own home, the pressure to keep each room meticulous for the ever anticipated “showing” that never seems to materialize. It took us nearly a year to ready our home for the market and now even the patched and painted walls and refinished wood floors can’t resurrect the cozy, comforting home we raised our family in.
Gone is the warm, undulating, inviting waterbed that enticed you in then lulled you unconscious with its seascape motion and cushy, multi-colored comforter. Our family spent many a Saturday and Sunday morning piled into the bed rehashing the week’s events and listening to my love retell favorite stories from her past. Like the overstuffed bed in the Napping House by Audrey & Don Woods, our bed held a clan of cats, a trio of siblings, couple of parents, and literally overflowed with stuffed animals. Yet it was in many ways the center of our home. Exhausted and ill children gravitated towards the warm confines of our waterbed. Two beloved cats spent their last hours curled upon our little ocean until death ushered them away.
Did we do the correct thing to heed the advice of several realtors and clean out the clutter, strip the walls, and empty out the excess furniture so potential buyers can envision their possessions in the confines of our abode? The walls did need painting and patching and there was NO WAY to get around the monstrous waterbed dominating our room. And once emptied the twenty year old mattress seemed to deteriorate before my eyes. It has been over two months and yet only one showing. We’ve reduced the price, painted most of the rooms, and heeded as much advice on home selling as we can afford. Alas I fear my love is losing heart and getting depressed. While I travel north to work she must reside in the skeletal remains of our dwelling. Without selling the house there is no financing another place where I work, so we wait and pray and hope. I’m remaining strong and optimistic that it WILL sell and the right buyer is just around the corner. Yet my love’s pessimistic and dark mood is tough to shake.
Like September we are in the midst of change and our lives ride the teeter-totter of hope. Maybe tomorrow… maybe the Market will turn soon… maybe we will be together by… Halloween?... Thanksgiving? Christmas. Assuming the best, we have packed away all our holiday decorations… and my love doesn’t seem to have the heart to ponder another holiday in the shell that was once our home. Recently a tornado devastated a community not far from where I work. Many homes were either totally destroyed or severely damaged. We are blessed with a house that is intact, in really wonderful shape, and can provide us shelter from the elements until it sells. What is at the root of our distention is being ripped apart, living separate lives when this was to be a time to enjoy each other now that our children have moved on (sort of).
It is so hard to balance all these emotions… gratitude at having a home, frustration at not being able to share it. Not wanting to sound selfish but knowing time is against us before more than miles separate us.
Somehow I have to keep the faith and remember that this too shall pass. Thanks for stopping by.
Until next time… Be well. Laugh often. Play hard.
Be gentle and you can be bold; be frugal and you can be liberal; avoid putting yourself before others, and you can become a leader among men.
-Lao-tse
Written by madmanadhd Blog about this entry |
Add to del.icio.us | digg this
This entry has 8 comments: (Add your own)
-
I hope that everything works out well for you. That you sell the house soon, and for a decent profit as well. Heck, I even have a few prayers for you. Take care, Michael, and good luck to you and your family.
Jude
http://journals.aol.com/jmorancoyle/MyWay -
Praying you can sell your house and be together soon! We are still in the heat of summer here in Kansas!
loving you with His love
karyl -
I could feel your weather!! Here it was cool and cloudy all day today. looking like it would rain any moment, but it didn't. We could have used some rain, many of the lawns are brown and flowers are drooping already. I fear winter will soon be upon us! I Hope and pray that your house will sell soon. One gson is off to U of Chicago to get masters in literature, journalism and philosophy--two others off for freshman years--one at Bethel and one at VCSU. I will be busy sending emails and cookies!! Take care and best of luck with house and job! Barb
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It's unfortunate that you need to sell at a time when the real estate market is in a slump. But sooner or later it will sell. I hope it's sooner! - Karen
9/16/07 12:33 PM
Krissy :)
http://journals.aol.com/fishe