I've been working for the last few weeks getting our house ready to be listed for sale. I've seen a lot of dust and junk and shmutz. But today the videographer was here and the house looked about as perfect as possible. I took a step back from critically assessing every square inch and tried to see it through his stranger's eyes. It dawned on me that my house is beautiful, and not just because it has really nice upscale features. It is beautiful because I have loved living here in this perfect neighborhood, in this tropical paradise, in this enclave of peace and safety for the past twelve plus years, longer than we have lived anywhere else. I chose (or inherited) every piece of furniture and every picture on the wall and every piece of linen and every tchatchke and I made all but one of the window treatments myself. I love the layout of the house and the tranquil pool and hot tub and each and every room. I love the dark and welcoming library filled with books and the certificates and diplomas on the wall and the comfy chair for reading.
It reminded me of a poem (thanks again Dad), Heap O' Living by Edgar Guest.
Ye've got t' love each brick an' stone from cellar up t' dome: It takes a heap o' livin' in a house t' make it home.
I do hope the house sells quickly but I will always remember the heap of wonderful living I did here...
:-)
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