They were HEE–RE…Posted: July 16, 2008
The realtors, that is.
I called Mr. Man late in the morning to see if anyone had called him about the house loan. He’d tried to call me that morning, but evidently I slept through the ring! Anyway, he said the realtor we met wanted to come by the house tonight to get an idea of what we might list it for. *sniff*
BUT …it was an encouraging conversation.
NOW… all we have to do is start packing. Pictures off walls…depersonalize, rah rah rah.
Mom was reassuring yet again. She told me how happy she is for us.
BUT… it hasn’t happened yet. However, we have been approved for a loan. We’ll have to see what we can get for this house. The way the realtor was talking, it sounded like we could wrangle it.
Can you tell change and I aren’t exactly Buddies? Ms. Karen nailed it in her reply to yesterday’s post. She said that selling her home, which she also grew up in, would be like selling her childhood. Yeah, that’s pretty much it. It’s my history. My family’s history. But I take that and my memories with me, right?
Good gosh, I’m a head case.
Oh, here are the two houses that may be in our future:
Our first choice:
Our Alternate Choice:
Now, as I sit here watching Craig Ferguson, I have to say, I kinda like the moustache. I hope he gives it a chance; I’d like to see what it looks like grown out. But he’s going to cave and shave it, I’ll betcha a dollar to doughnuts.
My Daddy used to try to grow a moustache. He never could grow a decent one, due to our Cherokee blood. Mom always chided him that he looked like an outlaw, and should shave it off. This was an argument that went on more times than I can count.
When he got cancer, he was very concerned about his hair loss (he never lost it.) So, he decided he would try that moustache one more time. And it came in the very same way. Scraggly. When he passed away (three weeks after his diagnosis) we gave the funeral people a picture of him so they could do what they do.
Dad’s death devastated us all. Devastated. And that’s putting it mildly. Mom was worried about Brother and me. We were worried about her. Everybody was worried about everybody, and grieving our hearts out. When the time came to view Daddy, I dreaded it more than anything I’ve ever dreaded in my life. Going into the family room, we all held on to each other. When we approached the casket, and looked, I caught my breath, hiccuped and let out a mad giggle. My family thought I was having a breakdown. But I’d been saved from that. Because when I saw Daddy’s face, I saw that the mortician had left that scraggly, outlaw moustache, despite the picture we’d given them. Instead of tears, we were given laughter.
I can’t help but think Someone was at work there.
So, Craig, give the moustache another chance. What the hell.