Fingers Crossed

Ongoing saga of the house sale.  The realtor rang yesterday.  The potential buyers asked the realtor to make a contract for us to sign.  Unfortunately the contract had the previous price.  Told D that we're not selling for that and not to waste their time, or ours, by putting it together.  But he was adamant.  They are serious sellers.  They are selling their house and have a buyer.  It's only $7000 less (so why don't we take the money and run?).

Richard thinks they won't accept our counter, original proposal.  I think they will.  Who blinks first?

We sign the contract tomorrow and then pass it to the realtor to pass to them.  Then we wait.

Such a small thing on the scale of the really big things in the world.  But in our world it is a big thing.  Moving.  Moving close to the sea.  Going for a coffee on the beach.  Taking the dogs for a walk on the beach.  Humidity.  Mangoes and bananas.  Yoga classes.  Art.  Tree hugging environmentalists.  Dreadlocks and surfing.  Sunglasses and sarongs.   Views across the treetops.  Views.  Mount Warning and the sea.  Breathing.   Taking deep breaths and letting go the past.

I walk the dogs in the afternoon and see the cows and horses that in a few months will be thin and rough-coated.  A few months after that they'll be RSPCA ready.  And the phone call to say what the cows and horses can't say for themselves and then the watching to see if anything is done. Oh, they visit, the RSPCA, but how much good does it do?  I think they are so short-staffed that follow up visits are only a pipe dream.  Not sure about that but haven't heard anything to the contrary

And then, following the skeletal animals comes the fires.  Every spring the fires.  And the birds and skinks and snakes and lizards and anything that can't get out of the way.  They die.  Burnt to death.  Adult birds fly.  Babies sizzle.

So I hope, oh how I hope we sell the house, that the people sign the contract and that we can begin the shift to a new locale and a new outlook - one where fires are the outrageous rarity and not the norm.  And the animals are better looked after.  And where we can drive a few minutes to the beach to have that coffee and watch the sun come up.

Here's hoping.              

Every day I think of things I want to write and every day I do not write.  Today I write.

Just looked up the quarry, the one we are going to move away from.  It's for sale for $9.5 million.  We have entertained the fantasy that if we won the lotto we'd buy it, thinking it'd be worth just a couple of million. Now know we'd have to win the big $20 million which is offered occasionally to even come close. 

Thinking about moving house is frightening.  I used to be so brave.  I can prove it as I'm writing this on an island continent in the southern hemisphere, tens of thousands of miles away from my birthplace.  I made the move in my twenties.  I had a large soft bag of clothes, a tackle box full of pastels and bucket loads of courage.  Now I have much more 'stuff'; a husband, animals and a crushing sense of responsibility and anxiety.  We wouldn't be moving except that I have made such a stink about living next to a quarry. If it doesn't work it will be my fault.  Part of me knows it will be fine; tiring, stressful, scary but fine.  Another part of me screams failure, regret, disaster.  I try not to listen to it. 

One step at a time.  The birds are off the verandah.  The verandah has been thoroughly cleaned and is ready for undercoat.  When the final coat is dry and  the windows have been washed, we ring the realtors.  Can't believe we'll do it.  Was watching tv last night and there was a shot of people sitting on a queensland beach.  That could be us I said.  And it could.  We can't afford to live on the beach but we can afford to live within easy driving distance.

I do believe that it is time to embark on the next chapter in our lives.  We need other places to explore, other people to meet.  Being closer to the the populations centres does have disadvantages - more people, traffic, crime, etc. but it is also ripe with opportunity. 

I spend alot of time vacillating between calm acceptance bordering on a simmering joy and a low grade anxiety bordering on fear.  On the one hand I know that I will never be given something I can't handle.  Even death.  Death has only one outcome and you can't fail.  On the other hand, I am afraid, just afraid.  I suspect Richard not only has Parkinsons but the beginnings of Alzheimers.  There, I've said it.  I've made manifest my deepest fear.  By saying it do I make it true?  Of give it more of a reality than it has now?  Conversely, to pretend I don't notice how he has changed isn't very smart either. 

The changes are little.  Forgetting to close the feedroom gate so that the horses have a real feast.  I furtively check that he's closed it now.  Not rinsing his toothbrush so food debris is stuck not only in the bristles but on the handle.  Asking questions he has always known the answer to, that he hasn't even had to question before.  Asking the same question several times.  Needing reassurance, lots of reassurance, about little things.  Also, a kind of turning inwards.  When we walked yesterday (he's coming part of the way now, just past the Pedersens's) I pointed out a sun dog.  Did you see it, I asked.  No.  Did you look?  No.  Do you know what one is?  No.  So I explained (again) what a sun dog was and pointed it out to him.  Richard wasn't really interested. 

On the plus side, he is building an aviary.  That require math and measuring and accuracy and he's doing a brilliant job.  No major mistakes, it's coming together beautifully.  Since he's started it he's napping less.  He complains about chores and jobs and projects but I suspect he needs them.  He needs to be needed.  So, I'm going to keep giving him projects.  There are lots of them.  They aren't as major as the aviary but anything to keep him involved with life. 

He's very chuffed because on Sunday it's Grandfather's Day at Marnie's school.  He's going.  What do I have to do, he asked.  Just be there and love them.  He does get anxious about things that didn't used to bother him. 

It's odd because sometimes he's so engaged and energized, he is as he always was.  Other times I want to shake him and shout, "Wake up!"

We will make a final decision about the house on July 31.  Shanahan is putting the quarry up for sale.  That would be good news but if someone with lots of $$ buys it meeting the imposed conditions won't be an impediment.  The inheritance is coming through (the timing of that seems to indicate it's time to move on) so we will have a few more options of where and what kind of house we live in.  Moving may be the best thing to do for Richard too.  Out of a rut with new sights and sounds and people.  Might make a huge difference.

I know I'm up to it.  When I'm tired I don't feel as optimistic.  Usually, however I trust that the Universe provides me with everything I need, including strength.