Well, it's been a tumultuous couple of months. Last night I dreamt Chris and I were driving an out of control eighteen-wheeler down the highway. Hmmmm. I don't think we have to pull old Freud out of the ground to interpret that one.
So, to bring everyone up to speed we're moving. The newly minted urban Morrison family is headed back to the country. Rural enough that going for a walk involves walking past a corn field. Is everyone happy with the decision? Unanimous, 'yes' from all parties. Is everyone prepared for the consequences of moving back to the land of one grocery store, one restaurant, one pizza place (that's closed in the winter), no clothing stores, and one tiny hardware store? That remains to be seen. But I'm pretty sure there will be some pouting in the future. And I won't be the only one.
Our moods have swung high and low as we've negotiated the labyrinth that is the world of real estate. We have actually missed the assistance the military offers when a family moves. And not just the financial assistance. The kids are resilient and are looking forward to the move. But constantly walking through the front door to be told they have to turn around and walk out again because we have another showing is wearing thin. They've eaten in too many restaurants, they are out of routine, they've spent hours and hours in the van. Behaviours are out of wack. Happy one minute, angry the next. And when you live in a community full of people who have immigrated from all over the world teachers and principals legitimately don't have a lot of sympathy for kids moving thirty-five minutes down the road.
And to add to the turmoil, the owners of the house we wanted to purchase decided they were fed up with showing their house. Fed up with leaving three times a day for showings, leaving every Sunday to accommodate an open house. So rather than taking their house off the market they decided to sell it to us. Now, think about that for a minute. That's the opposite of how it usually works. In over twenty years our realtor could count on one hand the number of times she'd seen it happen. We didn't make an offer on the house. They came to us with the amount they wanted. Back and forth. Voila. Done like dinner. To make a long story short, minus the pressure to sell our house, we feel good. The sellers feel good. Everyone is happy. We no longer have to worry about them selling the house out from under us. They can put stuff on their counters again and get back to living normally. When we sell our house we move into theirs at a mutually agreed upon date.
And so we wait to sell. We open our doors to anyone who wants to come in and take a look around. We're thinking of lowering our price. We're thinking of keeping it as is. We put in new closet doors, we painted, we cleaned, we purged and we packed. And now we wait. We try not to get overwhelmed or frustrated. We clean, and we clean, and we clean. This family is really tired of the process. We wait for the new sod to root in the backyard. We pray for rain when everyone else prays for sun. And in the end, the same rain that is driving everyone else crazy, gave us a much needed laugh.
In spite of the rain, and showings, and chaos Chris is trying to follow his training schedule for the Ottawa Race Weekend. He is planning to run the full marathon. He's had a few glitches. Last week the body wash he had stored in his backpack exploded all over his gear. He's missed many runs to help me get the house ready for showings. But, in general it's a beautiful time of year to run downtown. Tulips everywhere, every shade of green. Life in full bloom. So this morning Chris went for a fourteen kilometre run in the rain. He was prepared. Shorts, and his favorite Running Room jacket. He wasn't the only one ignoring the rain in favour of a good run. He acknowledged many fellow runners as they passed. All was normal until the half way point. He made his turn and headed back to a warm shower and his waiting work.
All of a sudden other runners were returning his nod, or wave with raised eyebrows. Some looked away. Some ignored him. This went on for a kilometre or so. Finally, Chris fed up with their rebuffs looked down at himself. What the heck was their problem? Oh, it wasn't their problem. It was his. On his way out the door Chris threw his running gear in his backpack. Changed at the locker room at work, and headed into the rain. Remember the aforementioned body wash explosion? Apparently he didn't clean out his backpack well enough. This became obvious when he looked down to see his rain soaked shorts covered in lather. Bubbly, white, soapy lather. And so he stood in the middle of the path and laughed. Laughed at himself. Laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. Raised his head and thanked God for the rain.