Posted by: morrowsl | August 30, 2016

It’s a seasonal thing

My tendency is to hide out in summer.  To begin with, it’s just too hot to want to be outdoors much.  Add to that the complete disappearance of cotton in women’s clothing in the last two decades.  Pile on quite a few more pounds than are absolutely necessary to enjoy life.  And top it all with a blazing sun and miles of concrete.
I don’t feel I’m being oversensitive at all.  Summers in North Texas are most likely the closest I’ll get to Hell while still on this side of the grass.

But this summer in particular, life just seems to be in a state of limbo.  Without benefit of a pole.  And there’s a definite lack of snappy music.  It just seems like the whole world, my world that is, is holding its breath.
Not a particularly intelligent thing to do when the ambient temperature exceeds 95 degrees.

It started with Mike’s decision to retire.  Well, that’s not entirely true.  It started with Mike’s employer meeting the end of the contract he was assigned to and having no other contract in place where his almost fifty years of aviation experience might come in handy.  He packed his bags one last time and made the drive from Oklahoma City to Dallas to begin a new chapter as King of my castle.  It’s almost amusing how much stuff I had to move just to give him back his space in his own home.  Then we emptied his apartment and relocated the incredible stock of dishes and furniture and “stuff” he’d accumulated over the years while of living out of state.  At the same time, our youngest daughter made the move south, with a lot less stuff than her dad had, and suddenly the house is close to capacity again.  Thankfully, this time, I did not need an OB/GYN to help me meet this accomplishment.

Finally, sometime in late July, we made the decision to start looking for a piece of property closer to our present home than our farm up north.  Our lives took a much different path than we’d ever anticipated and our family has such deep roots in North Texas that trying to have a family retreat twenty-one hours away had absolutely no merit, no matter how bucolic the setting.

Looking for anything that remotely resembles what I’d envisioned for the farm has been by turns frustrating and exciting.  I had, quite wrongfully, believed that simply logging on to a real estate site would provide most of what was needed to cull through the vast listings of available housing within an hour of our existing home.  Almost immediately I found a suitable spot with a newish house and young trees, very easily accessible by our entire family.  I nervously contacted the listed realtor and was almost giddy to see his immediate reply.  Until I read it and discovered the house had been sold two years ago, but never removed from the generic real estate site.

Seriously?

But he offered to help us and I sent him a “wish list” to give him an idea of our requirements.  A week later we drove southeast, not the direction I’d hoped to be looking, to meet him at the first of four listings he’d sent us for viewing.  The house hit one of our points – it had a huge pond – but otherwise it was nowhere near what we wanted.  And the realtor said as much as soon as he stepped up to shake our hands.

I think that’s what I liked about him from the start.  He knew it was the wrong property, but he wanted to meet and get a better read on us.  We departed in less than an hour with him promising to come up with something better in short order.  He also provided a couple of websites that he knew would be up to date and more realistic for me.  I surf the internet at night when I can’t sleep and I’d already discovered that checking anything other than a real estate company’s listings on their own site was a complete waste of an already sleepless night.

Then, one night a couple of weeks ago, I found a place that was newly listed and looked like it might just be a good match.  I sent the link to our realtor and we saw the property last week.  It is almost a perfect match.  And we’re smart enough to know we’re not likely to get any closer than this.

Yesterday, we signed a contract.  And tomorrow we’ll go back out and look with “owner eyes” to make sure we know what needs to be done should we actually end up buying this place.  Experience tells me not to get too far ahead of reality, so I’m tempering my emotions by constantly reminding myself there are any number of things that stand between us and a peaceful spot in the country.

We’re still, very much, in limbo.  Nothing is settled.  Nothing is packed.  Or even sorted, for that matter.  We’re still at capacity here and that isn’t changing anytime soon.  Fall decorations will come out of storage in a week and I’ll do my usual deep clean before the change of season.  The air will, eventually, start to cool and I’ll wash the windows and get ready for the blessed relief from air conditioning that comes with a stiff north wind.  Pumpkins will be appearing in the grocery.  I’ll start to consider Christmas decorations and get serious with my gift purchasing (already started, but also already hopelessly behind!) and this year’s theme for my tree.

Summer, for me, is the longest of the seasons.  Not knowing for sure what is coming makes me anxious.  But the idea of relief, in whatever form it takes this time, helps almost as much as a good soaking rain.


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