here), skinny jeans and (Fluevog) boots. Also featuring the grey I've released in my hair over the last six months . . . a process which I've promised to chat about in a future post. . .
As Pondside commented here, we have left the house now, at some emotional level. She claims it's the hardest part of selling and I'm going to believe her. It seems to be true that getting that sign up has meant letting go at some level, but I'm really glad that we were able to follow that action by spending a week in our city apartment with the delightful distraction of a granddaughter visiting from Rome, our other kids' families all gathering around that visit this coming weekend (as I type, I'm waiting for two toddler girls to arrive with their parents in tow).
I will say that the emotional waves threaten to swamp still and again. The market we are moving into has been a tough one since even before we bought this 500 square-foot place when Pater took a position in the city ten years ago. It's even more difficult now, Vancouver rated as one of the most unaffordable cities to live in in the world! -- 3rd most! No question of looking for our new home until our island place is sold (No room for "subject to financing" clauses in this market, nor for any "subject to's" at all for that matter, and offers need to be made within hours of viewing and an offer isn't credible unless it's well above asking price). So we're appreciating our luck that we at least have this little perch, another "opportunity" to prune material goods and focus on what is really important.
Meanwhile, recognising, increasingly, the space limitations we're headed toward, I'm trying to reconcile myself to let go of the grand piano that my dad helped me find -- a grand is a bit of a stretch for a condo, right? (Pater keeps saying he thinks we can hold out for a place that will accommodate my Kawai, but I'm skeptical, and I think I need to do the emotional work now, in readiness.) And it's not as if I was managing to play very often, although getting my fingers back was definitely on my Things-To-Do-In-Retirement list. . . And I've had a piano in the house since I was five, owned my own since I was 22. . . it's an identity thing. As are my books, of which I have about 120 linear feet of shelving full. . .
I've been thinking lots (and planning to write, eventually) about houses and material "stuff" and identity and commodity culture. . . all trying to rationalise my way to living with less, contentedly. Feeling foolish and privileged and guilty about it being a big deal at all when we've had so much for so long and will still have so much more than enough. But feelings are what they are, right? I'm processing -- I know already that some of you will jump in to reassure or to briskly dismiss or to commiserate. And I thank you for that, in anticipation. Really, though, I do know that it is going to be okay, better than okay. I just need to say some of the stuff I'm feeling out loud, speak back to it, rationalise feelings back into their corner, much smaller for having had an outing, and then I'll get on with it. 'cause over all, life really is good.
A little pointer, though. Should you ever list your house for sale, then plan to leave it two days later, do NOT. I repeat Do. Not! make up a batch of kimchi.
There is nothing about the smell of newly fermenting kimchi that is likely to heighten the appeal of your home for prospective buyers. So if you do make up such a batch happily slicing up cabbage and daikon and scallions, massaging salt into them, draining them, rubbing a spicy, fishsauce-aroma'd mix into the greens before packing the whole into a burpable glass container. . . . well, just know that as you pack up for the city, you will be carefully wrapping a lethal-smelling glass jar to bring along. And that once you get to your 500-square-foot apartment in that city, the burp you release from that jar, once or twice a day, will be enough to let most of the building know that you have Korean culinary propensities. At least, you might want to put signs up announcing that you do, because otherwise they might think your digestive issues really need to be addressed . . Just saying . . .
And on that charming note, I'm going to sign off in anticipation of some delightful visitors. One of our little ones has learned to walk since we last saw her. Oh, the joy!
Comments always so much appreciated. These days especially, thank you!