10. A House for a House

They say when God closes a door, he opens a window. Or something like that. For those of you who believe in providence. Personally, if it’s true, I hope it’s a transom. I like transoms.

Yesterday some people came to my house to look at my stuff to maybe buy it and sell it elsewhere. They complimented my house. I told them to tell all their friends that it was for sale. Surely it will sell quickly, they said. I crossed my fingers behind my back that some miracle would happen and I wouldn’t have to sell it.

While I was showing them all the stuff we’ve decided to rid ourselves of to lighten the load, so to speak, I received a text from our new (and lovely!) realtor. He said he wants to put the house on the market by Saturday at the latest. I took a deep breath. I looked at the tile floor in the sunroom where we once had a birthday party “dinosaur dig” when my son turned five or six. I looked at the small crack in the plaster on the dining room wall, the wall that had seen countless gatherings and dinners, that I had wanted to paint apricot but it had somehow turned out terra cotta and I decided I liked that better. I looked at the kitchen counter, the small nicks where we had tossed keys and junk at the end of each day. I climbed the stairs to the attic where we watched TV as a family, sometimes as we heard the pitter-patter of raindrops on the roof just above our heads. I ran my hand along the bannister and looked at all the family photos on the wall, ones where my son was tiny in red-footed pajamas, looking outside at the snow from his bedroom window. Can I do this? I thought. Can I sell the house to someone else? Someone else will sit under my pergola on the patio and listen to the night insects. Someone else will maybe turn the room above the garage into a proper studio, or a playroom for their kids. Someone else will plant tomatoes in my little raised bed.

I’ve enjoyed this place as fully as I could. I remembered the evening that we had a house concert in the back yard. I remember having parties where people flowed in and out of the house, out to the front porch. We’d hosted two baby showers. We’d hosted a Thanksgiving in the midst of a kitchen remodel. These walls have seen happy times.

So this morning I bought some bright red geraniums and a buttery yellow begonia, two of my favorite summer plants, to adorn the front stoop. Although they will increase that terrible commodity, “curb appeal”, they will also give me much pleasure.

And before I melted into a puddle of my own melancholy, I received an email entitled “house plans.” Our builder in Oklahoma finally sent us the rough draft of what will be our new home in a few months. I opened it with a certain amount of trepidation; will it be what we want? Did they get it all wrong? But no, it was almost perfect. Sure, a few additions here and there, a few changes will need to be made so we can actually afford it, but mostly it was fantastic. And, as I looked closer at the fine print of the draftsman’s notes, what did I see? There it was, written in right over the front door, welcoming all to our new home.

A transom.