#7 What I Believe - Life is Unpredictable & Unbelievable

What I Believe - Life is Unpredictable & Unbelievable

I can't believe I'm writing this post, and that I'm actually going to post it live. I'm astounded sometimes what happens in life--when daily living uproots me, spins me around, and launches me into the future.

My last post, less than 2 weeks old is about home and what I believe and feel about home. I stated: 

"This home is not my final destination." 

Let me say this fast and get it over with before I choke on it and slip into denial: We're moving. Again. As in selling our home and moving out. 

As in--

• Scrounging for apple boxes for packing
• Filling and stacking boxes
• Staging every inch of this little nest
• Calling our super cool realtor with good news: "Time to get back to work!"
• Lifting and carrying boxes x 1,000,000
• Moving furniture (Yikes! Please be careful!)
• Qualifying for loans (Ick...)
• Touring homes (Just as icky...)
• Walking away from potential great homes, and running from terrible ones
• Offering to buy homes with a fat earnest money checks and smile
• Negotiating. Negotiating some more. And even more...
• Signing papers until I forget how to spell my name
• Ordering home inspections
• Sealing the final deals and feeling sick to  my stomach
• Looking at new keys in our hands
• Opening new front doors
• Hopefully placing a "For Rent" at one new abode
• Stashing boxes in every conceivable corner of the other
• Tripping over boxes and stubbing toes for many days
• Exhaustion
• Relief
• Tears. Lots  of them. Self-talking: "This is good. I'm okay. We're okay. Everything's on track."
• Finally being home. (Oh, really?)

I am so overjoyed at this whole development that I'm pacing around in a nervous state of confusion, sadness and excitement--and holding back tears. It feels like I've guzzled a whole 2-liter bottle of Dr. Pepper in 5 minutes and now I've been told to calm down and write a check list and get started? Uh, no. Not going to happen until I calm down.

I'm pacing my Happy Little Home like a cornered pack rat trying to escape deportation and reformation. I've peeked in every closet, cupboard and drawer in the past 72 hours and silently shoved doors shut and leaned against them and sighed in disbelief. You see, in the past 7 months I've put stuff here and there as I've settled in forever. You know--ditched things from sight until I could determine their final resting place. I've enjoyed this home. Loved it, really. I don't feel like I've finished living here. (That's actually good because I'll be here for a few more months or longer...)

Behind some doors I found utter and complete chaos, although nicely stacked. That hasn't bothered me until now because I'm the queen of order and it was delightful and invigorating knowing there were still creative outlets awaiting me. I envisioned zero boredom problems on my horizon for a very long time. But now? Now I've got to define and refine space--and fast--rather than perfect.

I see work. The nitty-gritty kind done fast and furiously which usually equates to non-permanent, not satisfying and completely forgettable. Forgettable means losing track of items and having no ideas where to search for them. Losing track morphs into frustration and possibly buying a new whatever. New whatevers bug me. On the up side, I might find my lost little crock pot. 

So, here comes a brief home tour I'm going to cry over...

 

This is my current and very temporary kitchen. More than any other area in my home I planned it to  perfection. How do I give up something like that? I'll miss the wall oven most, and the raised bar and "butterfly" style island that invited me to watch TV while I fussed over dinner. (Oh, skip the fussing part. I just fixed...)

Meet the dining room area. It's tiny and tight, but just right. French doors open onto great views, a sunny deck, and a private little back yard where iris planted last fall are finally waking up to greet spring.

My favorite cat naps in a basket nestled between the dining area and living room. Sometimes he snuggles with kid's toys. There's nothing like a cat to transform a house into a home, and this is the best kind.

Welcome to our living room. Big windows frame an old farm, clydesdale horses, Mt. Timpanogos, changing weather, spectacular sunrises and sunsets, and holiday fireworks. No artwork could ever be hung to rival that!

I just ordered decorative nails to trim out the little upholstered bench sitting across from the washer and dryer, but they haven't arrived yet. Nothing else seems to announce better how fast our plans have changed. Between packing boxes and stowing them I'll be finishing this bench. When we show the house it will already be tucked away in storage. (*sniffle*) With dried flowers tucked into an old window frame making the space pretty, I'll miss this area. I'll forever be looking for something similar.

Hello truck. Parking is a huge issue in our neighborhood. Maybe not for everyone else, but definitely for us. This is our baby. It has traveled the country with us, taken us sight seeing in British Columbia, moved one family member after another, and been a loaner for a day, a week, or for months. We've packed it with fun memories and now have it waiting for our next adventure. 

My husband is talking about another trailer. Not the kind restricted to only traveling North and South as snow falls or the sun pounds down. Not one with an on-board washer and dryer and satellite dish, but the kind that ventures into mountains and deserts and parks beside the ocean or a stream. Something hard to plant in one place for more than a week or two, and is eager to roam.

There you go. The retirement bug is biting hard. Very, very hard. This landing pad hasn't got enough glue to hold us here. 

Next house needs: Parking spaces. More parking spaces. Just parking spaces. Plenty of parking spaces. Extra parking, too.

And a nice kitchen, pretty please?