After 5 days in the mountains, one of the first things I said when I walked in the back door was something like, "I'm ready to move to the mountains." I didn't notice the delight in Sweetie's eyes, until a day or so later.
"A realtor is coming by at 5 to give us an idea of what the house is worth."
I've been waffling on selling and moving ever since Dad died. Some days I'm ready to stick a hand painted sign in the front yard and sell to the first person that offers me something. Then there are those days when I seriously cannot think of not living here without hyperventilating. The days in between fluctuate between move and not move.
The pros on the move side are pretty straightforward. Downsize. Leave the ghosts for someone else to deal with. Settle down in a place I'll be til the end.
The cons, involve packing/unpacking, deciding where to go, find a new place, getting there, settling in, starting over. I can already feel my breathing starting to speed up.
Decision making has never been my forte. So I followed Sweetie and the Realtors around, listening to what was being said about the house I've called home since 1962. Even when I was married and lived in 10 different places, this is where I called home. It's a big house. It's a nice house. It's "Old Florida." It's well maintained. It's got a pool in the back yard, a new air conditioner and a mother-in-law suite.
It's got my family tree painted on the dining room wall. The end of the den bookcase has the marks to show how much the children and grandchildren grew from year to year.
As the scent of pine trees fades so does my determination to move to the mountains. I hate to say it, though, I think it's time to let go of what was, to make room for what's to come.
Anyone want a house in Florida? It's got good bones.