With arms outstretched...

Compartment 14B

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Our house, in the middle of our street.

2006-06-30 - 10:35 a.m.

Iíve mentioned, weíre in the process of trying to sell our house. We had 3 showings yesterday, 2 on Tuesday, and one this past weekend. If Iím right about my ďreadĒ of people, there are two possibilities of serious interest from those 6 showings.

Iím not sure if Iíve mentioned this fact here before (if I did, it was a loooong time ago), but I actually designed this house*. I did the design and took it and a bunch of detail notes to an architectural technician who drafted the blueprints for me. I customized it for my tastes and itís got a lot of little details incorporated. For example, thereís an electrical outlet in the front corner of the soffit over the porch thatís operated by a switch at the front door. Every year when we festoon the porch and railings with Christmas lights I pat myself on the back. The backsplash over the counter is my design and incorporates pieces of glass that I bought on my first trip away for the weekend with J, who I met just as the old place was about to be demolished and just in time for him to help pick paint colours.

Stove backsplash.

You may be getting the impression that I have a lot emotionally invested in this place and in a way youíd be right Ė I put a lot of thought, time, and effort into getting this place built. But in another way, I know this place has served its purpose. I designed it for me and I designed it to be compact, without a lot of excess space to heat in the cold Ottawa winters, and then the living space expands out to include the deck, porch and balcony to take advantage of our all-too-brief summers. It served very well for me and another person. I knew that, even as I designed it, it wasnít likely it would suit me forever. In fact, I hoped it wouldnít, as that would mean I would never meet Mr. Right and/or never have a child. And this isnít a child-friendly house. Its clean lines and hard, smooth surfaces means there is no cushioning between tender knees and hardwood floors. The granite counter overhang in the kitchen is the perfect height for knocking little heads, and the open-riser maple stairs could probably just be slithered through by a determined baby who wants to explore and is oblivious to the dangerous drop. [shudder]

No, itís time to take my profit and put this place, and itís attendant hip, urban lifestyle, behind me and move on to the next stage which will include a large yard and quiet streets that Grommet can play street hockey in with her friends. I donít regret the move to a new house; itís part of moving forward with life. And I can always move back downtown when it suits my lifestyle to do so Ė maybe when J and I downsize after Grommet (and possible future sibling?) leaves home.

Still, when I sign the papers the papers to sell, it wonít be without a twinge. And I suspect I may shed a few tears when weíve packed the last box and the place is empty, waiting for its new owners to take up that downtown lifestyle where Iím leaving off.

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* Lest you think we are rich and you should track us down and rob us, let me assure you that the most valuable thing in this house is the house itself. Before J came along I didnít even own a computer. Or a hairdryer for that matter.

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