01 Dec Fifty Shades Of Mixed Emotions
As far as big weeks go … this last one was a doozie. I took a whirlwind trip to LA to visit my eldest kiddy-wink and arrived home in a jetlagged stupor to step straight into the epicenter of hardcore house sale negotiations. As a self-confessed control freak, handing the heavy lifting over to someone else (aka … my long suffering and very patient real estate agent) and relinquishing control over the outcome, comes about as naturally as PDA’s and the side splits. But pop the champers people because 24 hours after I touched down the contract was signed and sealed and I’m now feeling fifty shades of mixed emotions.
I should be familiar with this mixed emotions caper by now … in fact I think I might use it as the working title for my first book, which could also be called “Slow Learner” … because I’m feeling as wound up as a two bob watch and may need to revert to snorting chamomile to restore some kind of inner peace and equanimity to my life. A big part of me is ecstatic with the result and relieved that I can now use the ‘display’ towels, stop buying flowers and revert to my slovenly ways. But this elation is tempered by a real sadness at the thought of leaving this home that feels like a part of our family. So, I’ve decided to write my house a goodbye letter … #myversionoftherapy
Dear Homey McHome,
I admired you from afar before we first met and it was love at first sight when I walked through your door, but now it’s time to say goodbye and after sixteen years together, I feel like there’s a few things that I need to get off my chest.
So much has gone down between your walls. You’ve been witness to euphoric highs and gut wrenching lows throughout which you’ve been the unwavering constant on this rollercoaster ride. You were there when Tom discovered that the F word wasn’t “shit” and when Grace set a trap to catch Santa. You can take credit for the first and last project that my kids ever willingly worked on together … (the cubby house in your magnificent jacaranda tree). You’ve been witness to some disasters (like when I amputated my finger in the blender) and humiliation (like when I unwittingly flashed the pool guy en route to getting a towel. Poor guy … I suspect he’s still in therapy)
Thank you for having my back and keeping us safe. For watching over us all as we grew up, grew old (and grew out). Thank you for your patience and forgiveness when we were behaving like disrespectful shits and for giving me reason to do a little silent cheer every time I walked through your gate. Thank you for hosting a myriad of birthday parties, Christmas celebrations and long lunches, which may or may not have denigrated to involve some (tragically bad) pole dancing on your gracious verandah … sorry about that.
Thank you for your security in my darkest hours … when it was just you and me. You have been my safe place … the place where I can let my guard down and just be me … no expectations … no judgement. I’ve laughed and cried in every one of your rooms. I have always felt secure in your embrace and the memories made within your walls will forever be in my heart.
It’s time for us to move on and let you nurture and embrace a new family. I hope they treasure you as we have and realise how lucky they are. But rest assured homey … I’ll be checking in. Stan and I will be the weirdo’s who loiter by the gate and blow a kiss over the fence. Thank you for everything my gracious, proud friend
All my love,
PS … Please look after Mrs Williams and Greg who we leave behind (may they rest in peace)
(No need to call the cops … Mrs Williams and Greg weren’t the neighbours that we buried in the garden. They were a much loved bunny and pigeon … long story … for another time.