Cobwebs

What I don't want this blog to be about is the past.  I want it to cover the present experience of putting a house on the market, possibly selling it, finding a new place to live, packing up and starting over in late mid-life.  I want it to tell the story and also to cover the logistical, geographic, financial and emotional elements that come with it.

But some "filling in the blanks" seems necessary to set the stage.

My husband Ken, 64 yrs old, bought the house as a bachelor thirty five years ago.  He wanted to be near the water and had what turned out to be a pipe dream of working at the Stratford Festival Theatre.  He's been a Broadway tech supervisor and stagehand for about forty years and has been commuting on Metro North 6 days a week for about those thirty five years.  About a four hour round trip commute.  This winter finally did him in.  During one of the snowstorms, he got on a train at Grand Central Station at 10:30pm and walked through the front door at 5:15am.

If anyone had actually said to me in 1982, "Let's get married and move to Stratford, CT," I would have replied "What!!!  Are you out of your mind?"  I loved living in New York City.  And, at first, we had the best of both worlds.  You all have a general idea of NYC (although it's changed since my wayward youth) but you should know that, despite its problems, Stratford has definite charms.  A beautiful coastline, our neighborhood (Lordship), the kind of place where generations lived and where people were able to leave their back doors unlocked and you could go in, grab some milk or oj, leave a note or leave your kids.  Note to thieves:  That's changed in the last 10 years.  Locks and alarm systems now.

So, I didn't want a house.  But a house became a home.  More so when Zebadiah (born 1984) and Elias (born 1987) came along.  Their elementary school with playground is across the street from our house.  And nothing beats those "mothers on the playground" friendships, most lasting when certain of the mothers bond over shared points of view, parenting issues or spousal conflict.  Those friends are there when it seems no one else in the entire world is.  Sue, Carol, Jerri...you know who you are.

Meanwhile, I commuted sporadically due to an empathic partner (thanks, Jane, wherever you are) who understood what it took to be a good, proactive mother and helped me to understand that once you have children, they come first no matter what.

I also felt that it was important that, if someday one of the kids had drug problems or something, I didn't feel guilty because I had left them for days or hours on end with a non-parent (no matter how wonderful.. and we had wonderful.  Kudos esp to Rosey and Donnette who took care of all of us and taught me so much).  Of course, when one of them DID actually have drug problems,  I had no one to blame but myself.  Let it be known that all of those named above, as well as great friends on both coasts and my brother Jamie, were there for me and said child every step of the way.

Throughout all this, I nursed a desire to return to NYC.  A place where I actually feel more calm and among my tribe.

Now that may be a reality.  But, at 59, and being a non-resident for 27 years, it's not a return anymore.
It's a re-invention. And a leap of faith. With financial restrictions - and two dogs who are used to a deck door and fenced in yard.  But those two "kids" live in Brooklyn and there are sustained friends in a couple of the boroughs.

Much unknown, but first..

..the sign went up.  The listing is online. The photos and sign made my heart clench. Still do. 

I had to tell our neighbors, best we've had.  Their kids said "Don't go.  We'll miss your dogs." Andrea said, "Dennis is away but he'll be so upset."  Dennis plowed me out while Ken was gone doing "Book of Mormon" this winter.  Dennis also was there to help when one of the cars died and Eli didn't know what to do.

Colleagues at work who have embraced an old but game gal are added to the mix.  They have helped me to live the counseling mantra that change is possible without transition; but transition is not possible without change.  Think about it.  Plus, they make lunch, every day, an occasion.  And support me in this, and in every moment and every day, in ways I didn't know could happen.

Our  realtor, John (met while aforementioned dogs - two Chinese shar pei, Wilson and Keaton - were walking me) is our delightful cheerleader.

He's bringing first potential buyers tomorrow night.  I'll put on the lights, light some candles and drag the dogs (in late spring sleet and snow) over to Sue's.  We'll have some wine.  Maybe a pizza.
And freak out about all this in the way that only friends do.  Our combined four dogs will run around and I do hope that Wilson doesn't piss on her couch again.