And so it goes….

Everything was on track for two closings last week when I posted, and then…  I shall let Yeats speak for me this week. One closing happened but not until Wednesday. The other….

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun, 
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

 

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HOLY COW!

Well, I FINALLY found out what all the phone calls, whispers, texts, and emails were about.  Apparently, we are moving! OK, don’t panic.  We aren’t moving today, but probably in about 7-8 months.  And we aren’t dropping off the face of the earth.

Here’s what I learned.  The Bean has been worried that, without Mr. Bean living with her in the humongous 3-story + basement and separate carriage house with living quarters over the three-car garage with workspace, she would fall down the basement and languish, due to her medical issues, or potentially be unable to get up the steep stairs to bed, or even get to the grocery or the doctor.  The last time she got sick, she had to drive herself, and even in her very iffy condition was dimly aware that she should NOT be behind the wheel of a car.  She needed to have someone near her who could drop everything (if need be) and come to her rescue.

Dearest young Daughter who lives closest is a single mom of two with a full time job.  Older Daughter, the family Princess, has three girls, a newish marriage, a full time job, and lives in South Carolina.  Reliable Son and Dear DIL (our Auntie Glenda) live on the West Coast, but because of their work and lifestyle, they could drop everything and come to Bean’s aid.  The solution seemed to be for Bean to move there. So Bean began looking at houses and found one that’s perfect for her in Everett, WA, less than a half hour from Son, Auntie Glenda, Cousin Pip, and Cousin Amalynn.  An offer, a counter-offer, and finally agreement.  Then on to closing … almost.

The inspection revealed many unfinished aspects of a totally remodeled home: plug still in drain to dishwasher so flooded floor, leaks in a couple of spots, improper corrugated drain pipes, missing bushings, no seismic straps on the water heater, a missing strike plate, improperly laid vinyl plank flooring in two bathrooms, a window that won’t lock, and so on.  Nearly all were things that a diligent contractor should have ensured were finished before the place was listed, much less nearly two months after a previous offer that supposedly fell through due to financing. They were supposed to close Wednesday but that got pushed to Friday because they are still fixing all the stuff that should have been done months ago.  And on Friday, they were originally supposed to close on another property they own in Richmond, VA, but that got pushed to… somewhere, hopefully just next week.  Still trying to sort that out, apparently.  The buyer’s attorney has fallen down on the job in that case.  So two closings were to take place, and everything got messed up. The Bean keeps sighing.  It’s not pretty.  She is rather stressed.

So now we know, and like wow!  All of us dollies, especially Smidge, are freaked out.  Everyone wants to know whether they are going to get come too, if so, how they are getting from the East Coast to the West Coast, and how will their lives change.  We did some research, and it’s 2, 891 miles.  That’s a long, loo-oo-ong trip.  And Bean says not everyone can go in the car.  She did say that probably the Rurukos, Smidge, and I would come with her, however.  The old cat will be going first class on a non-stop airplane flight, courtesy of Mr. Bean.  Of course he has to first get her to the airport, which for a non-stop flight is three hours away.  She’s a VERY vocal cat on car rides, though extremely quiet in the house.  Bet he drives really fast!  Glad I won’t be there to hear her.  Oh, but then we have to pick her up from the airport in Seattle and bring her back to the new home…uh, Smidge and I think maybe we’ll just stay at the house that day. Yikes.

Meanwhile, Bean is hustling like nobody’s business to organize, clean, and purge the BIG HOUSE to ready it for market (yes, another house to sell) to the first buyer with handy cash and not too many contingencies.  She’s hustling us too, saying all of us have to start cleaning up our stuff and packing up. Like right now, preferably yesterday if not sooner.

It’s good to get a jump on things since it may take us till next July to even get ready to leave.

What in the world…

You know, sometimes it’s hard to tell what’s really going on in my house.  I keep hearing rumors, but nobody has told me a thing.  I know that it’s only a couple of weeks until Thanksgiving, and then Bean and Smidge will head off to Arkansas to carve, this time with Bean’s daughter, aka Auntie Sara.  She has carved before, so it’s not her first rodeo.  And, they will swoop by the Ft. Smith, AR airport on their way up the mountain to pick up Auntie Glenda.  And….drum roll please, once there, meet up with Smidge’s bestie, Voir de Wizzy and the famous Wiz and Mr. Wiz.  Oh the rapture.  Wonder if I can sneak into the travel case with Smidge.  I just might.

But something else is going on, and I just can’t figure it out.  I keep hearing the bong of the Bean’s cell indicating an email or a text, and it’s virtually non-stop.  The phone keeps ringing too.  It’s been like this all day since Saturday.  What in the world is going on?  I know Hitty Club is here on Monday, and Bean is prepping for her presentation at Williamsburg Doll Club next Thursday, but this can’t be either of these.  It’s too much emailing and texting and phoning to be that.  Sigh.

I imagine Bean will get around to telling me eventually, since I’m basically the family reporter, and of all the Beans and dollies in the house, I’m the one who knows the news and makes sure it’s printed.  I can’t share with you if she won’t share with me.  But I’m sure she’ll share. At least I hope she will.  I can’t tell you until I know, and I don’t know. Frankly, I’m about to die of curiosity.  Curiosity killed the cat, you know.

Oh well, death is inevitable, right?  I’m going to keep trying to figure it out and hope I live through the curiosity phase.  Besides, I’m not a cat.

If anyone else knows, I hope they will whisper the secret in my ear.

Remembering through the veil…

The veil thins at the turning of the wheel, like seasons moving into a new year of dark and cold that will, with time and patience and faith, turn back to light and warmth once more.  The Bean appreciates this evening, called All Saints Eve or All Hallows Eve.  Straddling the line between fall and winter, plenty and paucity, life and death, she thinks of Halloween as a time for internal meditation and communication.

The origins of Halloween are said to have come from the ancient Celtic festival of Samhain, when people would light bonfires and wear costumes to ward off roaming ghosts.  Now, folks lite jack-o-lanterns and hand out treats to fend off the onslaught of young visitors, who costume themselves each year on Halloween, posing as goblins and ghosties and all manner of costumed folk as they go house-to-house down the street.

The Bean’s father died 46 years ago, and she misses him every single day.  Tradition says that, on this day, the veil between the physical world and the spiritual world are thinnest, so the living might communicate with those who passed before, but only if they are receptive.  Every year, she sits alone with her father’s memory, perhaps his photo, before a single lit candle, and thinks about him.  She tells him about the year that has passed, about herself (triumphs, failures, and revelations), about his grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and about her hopes for the coming year.  No, she does not expect him to walk full blown into her sacred space: it’s simply a way and a day for her to set aside time to remember him. It’s not spooky or some sort of voodoo or anything else, though she says that her time spent in this meditative manner remembering him is a magical time for her. She says that what is remembered lives on. Her heart remembers well.

And by the way, we just happen to have moved a few years ago and live directly across the street from All Saints School.  Bean says that must be some meaning in that.