restless

I’ve moved enough times that there is a rhythm to each move. There’s the relief of deciding to sell the home and move. Then the flurry of activity necessary to get the house ready for selling. I had a head start on this house, because before COVID I had considered selling and got rid of a bunch of stuff. That was a great help. After that, there is the wait for someone to buy.

That’s where the rhythm sped up. I’ve never sold a home in a market like this one. It sold in three days. We only had one bid but it was the right one. Our realtor wisely negotiated for a sixty day close and an additional sixty day leaseback. Because the corollary for a hot seller’s market is a tough buyer’s market.

I really like our realtor. I hav known him for seven or eight years through swimming. He is a good swimmer, and I either swam a few lanes over in a slower lane or was lifeguarding while he swam. Showing up at a pool at 5 am, sleep tousled and in a bathing suit to voluntarily swim a few miles tells me a lot about a person. That’s how I knew he was a realtor, and it’s also how I knew I could trust him to be reliable and trustworthy.

I think it takes a certain type of personality to be a great realtor. You’re not so much as selling something as guiding someone through one of the most purchases most of us ever make. You have to get to know what the person wants, yet make it clear what they can have. You have to explain strategies and pitfalls and advantages and all sorts of terms. My daughter is a virgin home buyer, so a large part of our realtor’s job is to explain the whole process to her. Our realtor is pathologically cheerful and patient, and has done all of the above, and more.

So we have a contract. I’m working on all the problems of making repairs, which is always a hassle and has its own peculiar rhythm. In fact, everything about a move is a “hurry up and wait” kind of motion. Some days are spent worrying if you’ve done the right thing and other days are seemingly consumed in a flash with phone calls, appointments, and paperwork. If I add watching the Olympics or writing into the mix, it makes getting anything else done extremely difficult.

What I’ve discovered about myself is that I can no longer juggle multiple things and push through a hectic day without paying the price. I lose my train of thought on one thing when I’m interrupted and can’t get back on track. I fall asleep at eight pm and sleep until six but I don’t feel rested. What level of stress can I handle now? I guess I won’t know until I’ve tested the limits, and this move is proving to be the perfect situation.

I miss the rush of having a jam-packed day of chaos and knowing that I dealt with all of it. Katie and I were talking about the time she went back to her second semester of school in January 2005 and discovered that Pikes Peak Community College had a Zookeeping degree program. This was what she had been looking for. She withdrew from Mesa State, I came and got her, we drove to Colorado Springs, enrolled her in the program, found an apartment and moved her all within three days. I doubt I could do that now.

When we moved to this house I got the house in Evergreen ready between December twentieth and January fifth. Katie and I packed over 85 boxes. I also found a new house all before I left for Bennington, VT on January thirteenth for my first term of graduate school. I was still negotiating the contract on the shuttle bus from Albany to Bennington. When I returned ten days later, I had seven days to finish packing, close on both houses, hire movers, and move in February second. I know I couldn’t do that now.

This move is dragging out, though, because of the craziness of the market. I have started thinking about packing, but it’s too soon. Besides, I am getting rid of at least half of my stuff, maybe more. But that depends on where we move and how much space I will have and how much space Katie will have. Because this will be primarily her space, not mine. I’ll be a co-owner but not here for the day-to-day living. I’ll be in Tucson for a while, then I’ll be all over the place, I hope. Eventually I hope to live somewhere outside of the US for six months each year and travel to see friends/tennis tournaments/for pleasure for weeks at a time. It’s funny, that doesn’t seem daunting at all. Because I will have total control of my travel times, recovery times, and when I come and go. I won’t have to clean the house, or do yard work, or deal with all the everyday things that sap my energy.

The end result of all the chaos of downsizing my world will be worth it, though. A much smaller property which means much less upkeep. I’ll have a co-owner I can trust who happens to be my daughter. She is thrilled to finally be a property owner. A smaller payment, which means more money for living. And lastly, a great shedding of things from a former life. Time will tell if that will be liberating.

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Katie

I discovered two things about myself the day Katie was born: I would die for another person, and I would kill for another person. That a love so fierce could spring up inside of me was a surprise I think no new parent can anticipate. I’d been waiting for her my whole life. Why have I not written about her until now? I suppose I felt that we’re far too close for me to be objective. Then it occurred to me. I don’t have to be objective. She is the center of my universe. Anyone who has known me for even a short time knows this.

Sometimes I don’t know why I love her so much. She’s fractious, strong-willed, and completely uninterested in pleasing me. Within hours of being born, she was kicked out of the maternity ward for disturbing the other babies. I was amazed when I heard other babies crying. They sounded puny compared to the robust shrieks that Katie produced. The only times she wasn’t lustily demanding attention were when she nursed or slept. Katie was a world-champion sleeper and eater. She weighed 26 lbs at six months. She took naps until she was seven.

Katie is an artist. She would not take direction or classes. A wise art teacher told me to buy her supplies and books and leave her be, so that’s what I did. Sometimes I think she is part mermaid, part fish. She took to water like, well, a duck. That was her first word, at seven months. She hasn’t shut up (at least to me) since. She drew this picture when she was five:

This is how she saw herself, even then. She loved animals from the time she was conscious. Once, we went to a pioneer farm outside of Houston with my parents. While we weren’t looking, two-and-a-half-year old Katie was found hugging a sow who weighed at least 400 lbs. The farmer was apoplectic. Katie was thrilled.

She is one of those lucky people who knew she wanted to work with animals or make art from a very early age. She has never deviated from this, and today she is working to become a graphic arts designer for a zoo. I don’t know where these traits came from. I am not artistic, neither was her father (There are reports that this came from an uncle on her father’s side, but no one is sure, because that side of her family is shrouded in secrets and mysteries.)  No one is obsessed with animals. My side, of course, is a blank. We don’t know what my aunts, uncles, or cousins love because I’m adopted.

I think this was why her birth had such an impact on me. She is the only person in my world who looks, laughs, and talks like me. She gets me in a way that is primal and instinctive, the same way I get her. I can’t judge how I was as a mom. I made many mistakes, I know this. I also know that I did some things right. She knows I love her and accept her for who she is, no matter what. There were times when it might have been easier to crush her spirit to get her to do what I wanted, or to make my life a little less difficult. My intuition told me this was not the way, it would never be the way.

There were, as expected, many rough patches. The usual preadolescent angst made her snotty and dismissive. A major upheaval in eighth grade damaged and delayed her teen years. She understands #MeToo, just as I do. She left home for seven years, a necessary time to grow. She returned when she was twenty-five. I recognized she had grown, but my ex didn’t. They have long been oil and water, and as she’s gotten older, they have started to figure out how to have a relationship.

We live together now, in a house big enough to give us our own space. We prefer living with each other. There are never arguments about much of anything. Someone does whatever needs to be done. Oh, sure, we bicker sometimes, and sometimes get frustrated with each other. We’ve reached that stage where she is right about 90% of the time, damn it! It does work, though, mainly because we both need a lot of space.

When I got divorced, and later, after I was sick with Lyme, Katie has risen to a true equal. She has taken care of me as I took care of her. We will always be mother and daughter, but we are also two single women who are friends. Quirky, loyal, artistic, quicksilver, and most of all, herself, I will always love her more than any other person on earth, unless she decides to have kids. I’m not holding my breath, and it won’t matter one way or the other, because like I learned from my parents and she is learning from me, I love her anyway, and all I want is for her to be happy.

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