Selling the house

Sayonara

Sold the house today and bought the condo. We'll move in Friday. It's been a nice 18-year run, but it was time.

Send me an email and, if you're nice, maybe I'll send you the new address.

One of the fix-ups required for the sale should be done by the end of the day. See thus:

Josh and Dominico
replacing the porch windows

Ma and Pa Kettle

The food in Vienna

The rolling pill desk

I'm home this week. The woman has gone to Portland for a face-to-face with her girlfriends, so I am suffering through a Father's Day with my best friend under the circumstances -- myself. It's not so bad. The kids have called, and there are no control issues over the TV. I treated myself to breakfast at Simple, and got seated right way. Scrambled eggs, potatoes, sausage, just the stuff I like.

At Mom's yesterday I found her lined up in the penalty box with half a dozen other ladies, and immediately I thought of the old-folk's home horror stories you hear where people are lined up and systematically sedated. I don't think it happens at her place -- but how would I know? I tell myself it was a staffing problem -- hard to keep track of all the needy residents unless they're right in front of you.

Mom, in any case, was her normal self, which provides, possibly, a questionable contrast to sedation. We went down and checked for mail, and then went out on the plaza for a taste of the sweet lovely air. There were boats in the glistening harbor, and we sat for a few minutes -- but then suddenly she wanted to go back in.

At dinner, Fred, the man who lost his wife, Eva, a few weeks ago, ate at his little table with one of the nurses. She said "How do you like the meatballs?"

"I've eaten better in Vienna and Paris," he said.

*

Today, church. She was sleeping in her chair in the hall when I got there and didn't perk up through the entire service. Didn't even mouth the hymns, couldn't keep track of her place in the liturgy. She tried to stand at one point and I grabbed her arm and said, "Sit down." She defiantly pushed herself all the way to her feet, and I pulled her down and said, "Sit down. You're going to fall in church."

She gave me the coldest, angriest look I've seen on her face since I was an unruly kid.

She tried one more time on the way to communion. I pushed her shoulder down and said again, "Sit down."

We had quick coffee, then I brought her up and got her into bed. She had nothing left.

*

We close on the sale Wednesday morning, and the purchase Wednesday afternoon. We move on Friday. I am worried about my bike. Bring it up to the room every time? Leave it locked to the rack in the garage? But then I'd have to take off my tool bag, my front bag every time I come and go. Whatever it will be, it will be an impediment to just hopping on and riding, like I do here, and I just really hate it.

That, and I will miss living in Wauwatosa. After reporting on it, living in it, it is mine.

The Village

Totally upbeat

Kitchen and dining room

Our condo sellers invited us over for chat and furniture measurements. We also met our soon-to-be neighbor, a 90-plus-year-old Italian woman named Helen, who came over all dressed up in a blue frock. "She plays loud Italian opera, but we only hear it out in the hall," said Carl, our seller.

It was as we remembered it, neither larger nor smaller, just as nice, and, you know, one could imagine oneself living there. Our loan has been approved, and we close in 10 days. And we still have a heck of a lot to do.

Took Mom to chapel this morning. She was upbeat -- higher, really, than I'd seen her in a long time. Her muttering often made sense, and even when it didn't, it passed well for lighthearted banter. "Oopsie-doopsie," she said when we had a momentary wheelchair snag. She sang all the hymns, spoke the liturgy, said the Lord's Prayer. Watching her, she looked brave, unabashed about her frailties, as if to say, "Think what you will."

I said, "Mom, you look good."

"Do I? Well, thank you."

"You always look good, you know."

She tisked, but is still vain enough to accept it as her due.

So I wonder at this resurgence after so much difficulty. Maybe she's come to accept the place as her home. Or, maybe her mood has become detached and rises or sinks independent of her physical and mental states.

I'll take it.

Living room and porch

Piano not included

Bedroom, obviously

My lair