The last few days have reminded me how stressful buying a home can be. Since last Friday afternoon my nerves have been tingling and in a nearly constant state of tension. My heart has been pounding and my chest has been tight because waaaaaay before we thought it would happen we found the perfect retirement home and we are under contract.
I am a person (so my daughters tell me) who thinks and considers and weighs all the pros and the cons about every decision I make – and then I think and consider some more. I am not (so my daughters tell me) a person who looks at a house one time, wakes up the next morning and decides an offer must be made … now! “What happened to ‘we have lots of time, we just want to see what’s out there but we won’t get serious for probably a year’? they said.” “Who ARE you? Where is our mom?” they said. I’m not really sure what alien being has taken up residence in my body, but I do know this – sometimes you just know in your gut when a decision is right. And even though my brain and body are exhausted from offers and counters and paperwork and texts and e-mails and realtors and bankers … I’m excited because this just feels right. It feels the same as it did when I found THE wedding dress nearly 40 years ago. When I saw it I just knew. I don’t know how to relate it to men other than maybe it’s the same as when Dean laid eyes on my brother-in-law’s pellet grill for the first time, started drooling and hasn’t stopped talking about it since.
I won’t have any photos of the house until after Thursday when we meet with the inspector to get his (hopefully) glowing report but I can tell you our dream retirement home is on one and a half acres, five miles from town. There’s a nice deck off the back where you can sit and listen to the creek running alongside the property. It has the large heated, insulated garage Dean dreamed of and there’s lots of space on the property for his “treasures”.
I won’t have any photos of the house until after Thursday when we meet with the inspector to get his (hopefully) glowing report but I can tell you our dream retirement home is on one and a half acres, five miles from town. There’s a nice deck off the back where you can sit and listen to the creek running alongside the property. It has the large heated, insulated garage Dean dreamed of and there’s lots of space on the property for his “treasures”.
When I told Abby we’d seen two deer on the property when we pulled up she asked if Jorge could come and shoot or hunt on “our” land. Um, no. Don’t think so. Fishing in the creek might be an option but deer are in a shoot-free zone. Her question did get me thinking about hunting though, and since I haven’t had a lot of time to blog recently – what with buying a house and being mentally and physically wiped out – I thought I would share a letter I’d written to my parents about 30 years ago (which my mom saved and labeled Cathy The Hunter) after a hunting experience Dean and I each had. After re-reading it I decided it was probably just as well Abby got Jorge to the altar before he realized he was marrying into a family with limited no talent when it comes to hunting.
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| This was just after I cried and just before I pulled out the library book and held it up for Dean to refer to while gutting. |
5 comments:
I still have to laugh when I think of that letter.
Congratulations on finding a house so quickly. It sounds like a wonderful place with your own herd of deer to eat your flowers. Hope all goes well with the contract and all. When will you leave Casper?
Fun hunting story. I have a similar one--I walked into the woods up in Maine in the dark, before it was legal to have a round in the chamber and then forgot to load one. Fortunately, the white tail buck was up wind from me and only looked up when the 30-30 hammer clicked. I loaded, cocked the hammer, and got him with the first shot too.
Since Vietnam, where I found out what it feels like to be on the other end of the gun, I don't hunt any more.
THE wedding dress?! Really? I hope I don't find mine quite as ugly as I find yours 40 years later.
I don't think I could have killed an antelope, and if I did, I would probably be crying for a week. I like Leslie's "hunting skirt" though.
Here's hoping it brings the peace and fulfills those future retirement years.
Hunting would be a no for me. I don't like seeing anything die!
Hunters?
That what you call yourselves?
OSIRIS?
OPERSPE?
They call it something else in KANSAS KINGS.
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