It’s much cooler, and it’s sunny, so not a bad day overall. As far as the very very end of July goes, not bad.
Except for the red alert air quality warning. Sigh. So much for that walk.
Before we finally launch into the saga of what has actually been going on with me all of this time (don’t worry, it’s all fine) thank you so much, Gail, for the coffee! It’s so amazing to me that we can connect as people this way, with words electronically scribbled on an open page. I’m so glad they reached you, and thank you.
And now, Life Stuff.
I have sold my condo and moved in with my Dad. He’s fine, it’s not because of his health, and I’m fine, it’s not because of my health. It simply seemed like a good thing to do now, with the world as it is, after all that has happened in the past several years.
Whether superstition or pragmatism, I didn’t want to talk about the sale until it was done. My building was built in the late 1950s, and I had an original kitchen and bathroom, which is not exactly buyer bait. I also lived there for around 20 years, so even facing the move was daunting.
On top of that, the building is undergoing major, expensive repairs, extremely disruptive ones, for the kitchens and bathrooms. The kitchens were to be without water for five weeks, Monday-Thursday, and as soon as I knew that, I knew I wouldn’t be staying there to wait out the work.
Then it made sense to make it permanent.
Bit by grueling bit, it came together; a query on a whim led to negotiations with a developer which never seemed to quite work out, though we’ve both wished one another well.
I found a realtor, quite easily, actually, given with regularity, for the last dozen years or so, his face has arrived in my mailbox with a list of units he’d recently sold in the building. He recommended a junk man to clear out detritus of my life, the parts not chosen to continue on with me, and I watched him and his crew dismantle it all, bit by bit by bit.
In seeking to finally ready it for sale after the kitchen work was complete, I asked one of the management team for a painter recommendation. Our first attempt at a meeting never happened, as he forgot.
The other painter fell through, and we arranged to meet again. He explained that a lot of life had happened–his not mine, so I won’t go into detail–and then he asked me why I was going to pay for anything like painting if I wanted to sell as is.
Then came the fateful question.
“Why? Do you want to buy it?”
And the answer was yes. The offer was not what I had hoped, not by a long shot, but also it felt right in many ways. The space that was mine for so long was no longer mine, it was his. Or more specifically, his adult child’s, as redoing it for them was his intention.
So with all the stress and push and pull of that, we wrapped it up yesterday. The feel of it had shifted entirely; my time with the unit had run its course.
I’ve been here with my Dad for a few months already, and I have a lovely room with a great place to work, lots of windows, far more space overall than I had. And I get to spend time with my Dad.
Win, win, win.
So this is why I have been less present, as the crises rose and fell. This is why I felt overwhelmed and stretched paper thin.
But that time is mostly over, but for the cleaning up, and this new time can finally, finally begin.
Have a great Thursday.
A Bit to Read 
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