With our house on the market for almost two months, be assured that my second guessing is alive and well. I’ll be sad if it sells and not unhappy if it doesn’t. I’ll also be annoyed if it doesn’t sell after the whole parade has gone on down the street for nothing. We have been vulnerable all summer to the critical eyes of strangers. Not that we have anything to hide. Apparently, they don’t know what we know… don’t see what we see.
Yesterday’s feedback informed us that it will cost a lot to fix the old electrics around here. We’re unmoved by this information. “Ya think?” Old houses like ours have an odd mix of old and new and “put together” of all things structural and infrastructural, of course. How often have we told ourselves that the only possible way to correctly redo this house would be to gut it first… Start over, entirely. Who would do that to an old relic of history and story like this?
So I’ve been loving our cottage as usual, with nostalgic pieces of art and fussing over book arrangements. Fresh painted window sills, and new pavers for the patio. Always garden flowers on the table.
When it’s time to sell, then we’ll take the next step. That’s all we ask. That’s all we need. And here’s the thing. We’re going to live beautifully and happily wherever we live. Maybe what I fail to see is what will be left when we’ve moved our lovely home out of this house to reestablish in a different house. Maybe what’s left… the bones, are too old and messy. It requires too much, maybe.
Whoever you are, dear buyer, please know that we have nearly forty years of being sheltered strongly and beautifully in this place. God has been good to us.
Stone House Scribblings 