From septic tanks and wood stoves to ashes

It’s been one hell of a couple of weeks!

First off—housekeeping rates about 71 on my list of favorite things. Way, way behind reading a good or even just a decent book, drawing (okay, doodling) and walking the world with Man-wonder. Having to keep the house spotless has been hard, hard work.

I like a little dirt and cobwebs can be artful.

But the clean show has paid off. We received two offers on our home—and from the first two viewers too! How nice is that?

Since accepting one we’ve been on a merry-go-round of inspectors: septic tank sucking men, roof climbing tile checkers, property-lines measurers (not sure what that’s going to do because the house has been in the same spot for 27 years now) and finally, tomorrow the last one arrives, the W.E.T.T. inspector. He’s the taskmaster of soot and will declare whether or not our wood stove is safe.

Let’s hope so since we’ve been toasting beside it for a goodly number of years.

After that – it’s all done except putting the bow around the house and handing it over to the next family. I hope it soothes their woes, warms their hearts, and offers them many years of joy like it has us. Will we miss it? I think so but when it’s time to move on it’s time to move on and it’s our time now.

. . . . . .

On another note, my brother, sister and I scattered our Mom and Dad’s ashes two days ago. Thanks to our brother who protected Dad’s ashes until just the right time.

I thought I’d be like a Buckingham Palace guard about the scattering since I’m not completely trusting in the cremation process. I mean, really, honestly, without standing there watching, can one be one hundred percent sure just who’s ashes are in the can? I know what they (the cremators) say but in my heart of hearts. . .

Anyway, it was important to do it together and so we did and I was a nose-blowing, crying goombah and all because I decided to clean out my emails the day before and found a email sent to me from me.  I’d  snapped a picture with my phone and sent to the house and then I guess I filed it away. So I popped the attachment open . . . and there was Mom lying in the hospital bed the day before she died. No, I don’t know why I took that picture, but suddenly missing her came rushing back and hit me like one of those boxes of books we’ve been packing away.

Needless to say I was in shitty shape by the time we arrived at our destination the next morning and just wanted it over so I could crawl back home and wallow in sadness. But you know what? Once the ashes were scattered on the water I felt a warm sense of calm and peace fold around me. It was as if my soul was being hugged—I don’t know how else to say it.

I even remember standing there watching the ashes just hanging around the shore, like they didn’t want to leave, and having an insane urge to giggle about it. Even make a joke. But I didn’t. I stayed silent and watched.

We three over-the-hill orphans stood silent and watched.

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