It’s official: I’m now a person of no fixed address. The Fort Wayne house changed hands this morning, and it’s as empty as Paris Hilton’s head, except for a homely couch we left behind for the new owners (with their permission, I hasten to add) and a few Spriggy-grams in the back yard (which I meant to get to last week but then, whoops, it snowed a truckload and they became someone else’s problem).
This is Kate’s last day at school, which means I’m at loose ends until late afternoon, and I have the classic homeless person’s problem: Where to go to while away the hours? I opted for Panera, which has free wireless, a classic third-place customer attractor, something Barnes & Noble should learn — the “free” part, that is. Panerablogging will keep me from thinking too hard about the unique circumstances of this day: A full tank of gas, a recently serviced car, a packed suitcase, a little dog to accompany me and, best of all, a substantial sum in two casher’s checks at my elbow. Today’s mortgage payoff could become tomorrow’s down payment…or it could be my ticket to a new life with an address like “c/o General Delivery, Pier 66, Barbados.” Which is also unfixed, but in a much more interesting way than my current situation.
The high today is supposed to be 18. I’m tempted.
The load-out was yesterday, and oh, it was sad, after we’d run the vacuum the final time and mopped the floor and swept the garage and looked at what we’re leaving behind. It was such a pleasant house to live in, but time keeps marching along. When we moved in, it was a riot of floral wallpaper and dollhouse curtains. We minimized with pleated blinds and saturated colors. Now I turn on “Sell This House” and see gay decorators sneering over faux-finish paint jobs. Two of our bedrooms had faux-finish paint jobs. Bastids!
I left a bottle of champagne in the refrigerator for the new owners, which is what we found when we moved in. I hope it’s a karmic blessing of sorts. Old houses need all the help they can get.
It’s 15 degrees outside, and the dog’s been in the car for 90 minutes or so — wrapped in my fleece scarf, but still. Time to push my shopping cart down the road. In three hours, we’ll be Michigan-bound.