Opening night

This morning my little blue house was open for its first Open For Inspection. It finished several hours ago and I spent the 45 minutes at the Dog Beach with Susie, something I’ve been looking forward to.
Exactly like a big trip away, there’s frantic preparation for months getting more and more frantic in the final weeks and days and minutes...then finally you’re on the plane and it’s all done. I’m totally exhausted and have been standing in the living room just now with absolutely no idea what to do. There’s nothing to paint or repair or scrape off of anything else. I spent Mothers Day up a ladder and under desks with paintbrush and hammer in knees are bruised but my house is “sparkling” as we say in the real estate trade.


At one stage I wondered how I was managing to get water in my rubber glove all the time.

Now I wait for the be-skirted dynamic agent to ring and give me some feedback. I can’t quite imagine how feedback will be useful- if the house is too small for somebody I won’t be extending, nor re-painting the skirting board under the desk for somebody else. I guess I’ll find out.

Having done so much physical work to get it ready is actually very satisfying. I’ll really feel I’ve earned whatever it sells for. The flowers I’ve put around rooms are the potted ones I have anyway, or are out of the garden just as if someone were coming to stay.
It feels good to be presenting the house as I’ve lived in it rather than pretending it’s something else.

...As I’ve lived in it except with certain things painted and repaired and scraped off of one another. At the same time it feels like I’m some bird in my male plumage, primping, bowing and fluttering to catch the eye of a potential partner. Maybe if I move that vase a tad to the left...You have no idea how carefully I chose the nasturtiums.

I felt a thump of depression on Thursday - the day the sign went up: For Sale. It made the whole thing real. I’m really selling. It’s actually happening. And if I’m feeling depressed, maybe that means I’m doing the wrong thing.
Then it hit me that after 22 years living here, having raised my kids here, of course it’s an emotional move and sad and scary, but I mustn’t attach that feeling to what I’m wanting to do next. Just because it feels sad to leave doesn’t mean what I’m moving on to is wrong. It means it’s sad to leave. But I have to leave to make room for the next chapter.

Speaking of which, the first copies of “My Sister Has A Big Black Beard” by Duncan Ball arrived last week. It’s always exciting to see my illustrations turned into a real book, and I’m chuffed with it! It even has embossing on the cover! Now, how can I place it so everybody will see it but it looks unintentional...???