So I'm back. My whirlwind trip to Atlanta was more work than play, I've gotta say. We must have looked at 60 houses, due to a real estate agent who really does her homework, and my husband's need to see every damn thing on the market. We made an offer on a house we'd been admiring for 2 months online, one that P had actually visited twice before, on previous trips to Atlanta. Incredibly, the day we put the offer in, other offers went in for it, too, and ours wasn't accepted. It was a 60's modern, unimproved, on a huge lot. I was heartbroken, in the way that one shouldn't be over househunting. I cried loud and long, yesterday, when the realtor called and delivered the sad news. I was so sad, because we could have made the offer weeks ago, and we just waited, saying "it's too early, we're not ready yet." It was too early, but even if we'd made it 2 days earlier... Now I'm over that, though I think it will be a long time before I can drive by that cool house, once I'm in Atlanta. No other moderns on the market to speak of, though, so I think we'll write an offer on one of our backups. So much for my dream of the 60's kine atomic ranch lifestyle in the Deep South. I think the backup house is a normal ranch with a screened in porch, and a fireplace, though, so it's a happy compromise. It's a nice house, with a shady yard and some ethnic restaurants not too far away.
I really have to get my head out of the hypothetical imaginings that the real estate search always triggers in me. Like the job search, I can't put energy into it, unless I visualize vividly, the new life in the house. The meals cooked, the way the dogs look lounging on the floor of the living room. The way the light will fall across my bed in the morning. All that thinking and projecting causes me to fall in love, which invariably breaks my heart a little when the offer isn't accepted. I think I need to be more Buddhist in this endeavor, practicing nonattachment. Or more Wiccan, setting some energy loose in the Universe to work on my behalf, in the best way possible. And then, trusting in that process. This "I see it, I want it, I can see us in it, and I love it" approach is painful.
P says "toughen up". But he was sad, too, as he's the great fan of modern architecture, and is, in fact, the one who got me to start considering it.
I give you P's creation of "cheezettes"- little cheese turnovers made with feta, cheddar and the leftover filo dough. Great cocktail food, and a decent lunch with salad. Our friend Janis' mother makes the BEST version of these; I think she uses puff pastry and stuffs them really full with a mix of cheeses and herbs.
Our dishwasher died an untimely death last week. Nothing like having to replace an appliance when you're trying to make a move. The wiring was shot on it. But while the repairman was here, he found evidence of mice and rats back in the dishwasher cavity, and so the war begins anew. I had caught a rat in the snappy trap last week, and last night, my mousetraps were all sprung but caught nothing, so I suspect it's one of rat bastard's relatives. I've patched all the holes I can figure out that might be giving them egress, but apparently they're doing well in the house, or they have another way in. Dammit. The appliance repairman remarked that living against the mountain as we do, we couldn't avoid having vermin. And even last night, driving up our alley, I saw a mouse running from neighbor Vernon's to neighbor Barbara's yard. Grrrrrr...
Nevertheless, it's spring break, and even when I'm sad, I'm happy. I finished one of my jolly neapolitan socks; just need to graft the toe, and cast on for sock two. I haven't really felt the knitting mojo, but my 8 hour flight from Atlanta to Honolulu left me no choice; I had to knit that sock. I guess I'll be grateful, come next November.
Today, an attack of my teaching storage room, and a great purge of school and teaching stuff that I just don't really use. I've been dreading this part of the house clean up, as it's the biggest mess ever. A tarot reading yesterday focused on the Justice card, and the message of making decisions with wisdom and discrimination. Does the decision call for severity or mercy? I think severity is the order of the day as I attack that room. Not a lot of time to do it, since I'm lunching with Charlene at 2, and Blogless Michelle is coming by later to use my shower so she can go to her art opening, clean, after a daylong flight from Wisconsin. With a baby. Yikes. The woman has more fortitude than I do, that's all I can say.
Off to be severe with my stuff.