FIVE YEARS, FIVE DAYS

“DONE!” That’s how I posted it on Facebook along with this lovely photo.

It’s a far cry from how I’ve felt for the past twelve months:

done.

Depending on how you look at it, five is my lucky number. I first tried to sell the house five years ago. I was over the whole rural living experiment. Reconciled with the reality that we sometimes make bad decisions, listed the place, applied for and accepted a job back in the Vancouver area. But then the listing languished on the market. I stuck with the five-hour daily commute (there’s that number again) for three years and any sense of resiliency got worn down and wiped out.

I resigned myself to living that line from The Eagles’ “Hotel California”: You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave. Yes, I’d completely checked out. But I was trapped. And so I changed jobs again in order to work locally. Life became less hectic, but also less of anything and everything.

Just less.

All fall I delayed putting my house up for sale. I knew I had to do it. I just wasn’t ready—not strong enough—to have my spirit further beaten down by another long, long period of showings and up-turned noses from prospective buyers.

“Pass.”

“The place needs work.”

“The front door should be a different color.”

I met with a realtor in September. She took pictures for the listing and then I sat on the idea of putting the house on the market. I spent my weekends running away to San Francisco, Seattle, Whistler and Victoria. Too busy to think about the house, I told myself.

I am a master at avoidance.

But then I texted her in late December and we agreed on a date to meet, sign the papers and list the house. No turning back.

Perhaps timing is indeed everything. Five days after the listing got posted on real estate sites, I had competing offers coming in. Out of three showings, I had two offers being presented. Each offer was rewritten, the price upped. That’s unheard of where I live. Other houses in my area continue to have For Sale signs posted. One sign three blocks away from me is now completely obstructed by overgrown shrubs. Another house owned by a senior has basically been abandoned. The market remains bleak and yet somehow I am set up for an April 1^st release date.

April Fool’s Day. I still brace for the deal to fall through. I delayed posting this news. Too good to be true? But all the conditions have been removed. I have to believe it’s done. Yes, DONE!

I can look forward once more.

High fives, indeed!

NEW EYES

With the For Sale sign pitched out front, I am able to see things differently in my local environment. Instead of cursing my neighbors’ muffler-challenged pickup trucks and the five-year-old who stands in the middle of our street yelling four-letter words (and I swear my cursing didn’t influence him; perhaps vice-versa) , I can focus on the forest that the road backs onto, the fresh snow dusting the mountains and the view of the water. Yes, the scenic beauty that attracted me to this area stands out again.

It’s not that I had a tree trimmer come by and hack away at all the trees and hedging on my property. The view has always been stunning. It’s just that there have been times when all I wanted to see was city lights (even though it drives me crazy that entire office floors remain fully lit through the night). I am surrounded by young families and retirees and that same demographic exists in the nearby town. I’ve always been an odd duck, but here I’m stranger than Daffy and Donald combined—I’m more like that whacky “Disco Duck” that even 70s radio stations shun.

Since that sign went up, I’ve been like a tourist as I’ve driven into town, taking the longer scenic route to enjoy the peekaboo water views and to see the quaint knickknack shops decked out for the holidays. I’ve stopped and gazed at the sleepy harbour and the even more remote island enclave across the strait.

This afternoon the sun is scheduled to make a rare December appearance and I’m planning on walking the dogs along the hiking trail only a block away from home. We seldom go there as I’m usually in a hurry and more inclined to stick to the roads. (I also tend to lose all sense of direction and have gotten miserably lost back there so we won’t go far. I’ll kid myself in saying it’s because of my older dog’s weak legs. And it’ll work—sad how easy it is to play with my own mind!)

When I take the ferry to the city on Christmas Day, I might even give up my usual perch in one of the “business work station” carrels and stake out a window seat to do nothing but take in the soaring gulls, the choppy ocean water and the smoke seeping from cottage chimneys on islands we pass.

There has been no action on the house listing. It’s a far cry from Vancouver when both my houses sold in a week. I’m telling myself people are too busy with gingerbread houses to look at real ones of the plain brown and white stucco variety. Maybe some overspending on Boxing Day will humble home buyers into considering properties with a little less curb appeal. Buy those plasma screens! Scoop up the whole lot of hideous sweaters, still overpriced at 75% off!

This is a waiting period for me. Could last for months. I may nervously resume my childhood habit of gnawing on my fingernails, but I will also take the time to appreciate the charm and beauty of the present. Indeed, it shall be the holiday present to myself.