The End of Another Phase

The past six weeks have been some of the most intensive in my life. With an early July date for putting the house on the market looming, work began with paint applied to every surface, inside and out. The results were so inspiring, that new carpet, tile, refinished wood floors, and landscaping became mandatory. New fixtures, knobs and hinges throughout, and the house became something very exciting and creative. I moved in, working with tilers, painters and handymen to fix and improve, all the while thinking about how much Mom wanted to do the very things I was doing, but didn't. What has emerged is a cleaner, pared down, brighter, less confused, more contemporary home than the one my parents lived in.
My hands are knicked, pierced, worn, stained and arthritic. The decorative gaps in my wedding band are clogged with spackle. I've destroyed three pair of Levis and two pair of tennis shoes with paint, mud and bleach.
A few days ago I was planting roses in the back yard. It was well past sunset. Like Willy Loman in the final scene of "Death of A Salesman", I talked out loud as I dug the holes, coated them with warm compost, and inserted the thorny buggers. I found myself consoling the roses, reassuring them with gentle words as I firmed the soil around the roots. Somehow the roses were like my parents, and it was my place to take the sting out of the transplanting, reduce the shock with soothing words. I had lost my mind - usually a prerequisite for acquiring something new.
While all this was going on I continued to sort, toss and distill stuff. The garage became the final repository and exiting orifice for all objects leaving 26822 Hawkhurst Drive. Whenever the trash truck arrived, I'd run out to help the poor guy transfer all that was curbside into the truck.
The final act was to photograph the house. Knowing what times of the day the light worked best for different rooms and using my photographic skills was a satisfying final step.