This Old House

The universe gets you: no secret what you want, or what you don't want. It just can't tell the difference, right?  Hence the constant, cosmic push-me, pull-you. The stuff you want held before you, ironically tempered by all your doubts, fears, confusions, uncertainties.

And by stuff, I mean everything. From relationships to possessions. From bootie to booty, as it were. But here, it's all about houses. Homes.

I love my house and home. I've lived here longer than anywhere else, and being here still pleases me deeply, on a daily basis. Yet, when our new house is built, we will leave this place. Someone else will take over and determine its fate. Now, as the universe well knows, the prospect of relinquishing responsibility for this beloved space ties me up in knots.

Will anyone else understand how to care for this old house? Worse -- will, they even care? To some degree, it's a matter of perspective. After all, someone lived here before us. I've spent years changing that person's personal stamp, and if she saw it all now, wouldn't she wonder why? She won't see it though. She moved far away. Whereas, I am moving only two blocks south of here. Which is a blessing, and a curse.

I've lived in many places and I've chosen to not revisit them. It might even be possible to avoid recontact here. If I don't walk by, I won't know if the walkways are swept, or the bushes are pruned; what color they repaint, or whether moss impacts the roof. I won't see contractor trucks and imagine heart-wrenching changes inside.

But what about the trees? Not everyone loves redwoods. They shed, they drop widow-maker branches in storms, they filter sunlight. Newcomers may not appreciate their lush foliage and nuances of color. The storm fearful might not delight at their windswept dance and sway. Sun-worshippers won't welcome their ever cooling shade. More and more of the big old trees get trimmed up like lollipops, or felled completely. You might think that only a tree lover would buy a house positioned directly under towering redwoods -- but you would be wrong.

My heart is at home here. Part of it always will be. Why leave, then?

It's a story for another day.