Living at Everleigh is a gigantic change in our lives. I suspect I like it more than GB does because at the house, I was responsible for everything. Shopping, repairs, maintenance, garden, meals, social calendar, chickens, dogs, cats, grandsons. I did that, plus work full-time for 48 years. He got to enjoy it.
No wonder I was exhausted.
Then add the necessity to deal with GB’s hydrocephalus that occurred during the previous three years, and I was damn tired.
Moving here gave me freedom from all of that. And, as a result, I’ve been able to simply enjoy new activities, working on behalf of new nonprofits, spending time meeting the many fascinating women who live here. And I get to spend time with my old friends.
I spend a few days a week having lunch with friends; a few days a week taking Monkey to Yappy Club; a few days a week doing nonprofit stuff. Every so often, there’s a speaker who’s interesting, so I drop in. I’ve started “teaching” a pre-ski season fitness workout on Tuesdays at 3 pm. There are Wednesday wine events, but I rarely go because mainly I don’t drink wine, and I truly do not like large groups of people. GB loves it so he goes, then plays poker afterwards. Tuesdays is house-cleaning day, and I love, love, love the fact that it takes me like 15 minutes to do a reasonable job. GB vacuums, cleans his bathroom, changes his sheets and does his laundry. I take care of the kitchen, the big bathroom, my sheets, dusting, front porch, patio. All good. We take Monkeys for her last pottie run around 10 every night. She usually complies. And as we walk around the complex, it’s very quiet. We look up at the windows and most everyone is asleep, save a few night owls. City traffic is calm, and we can hear the chirping of the gazillion crickets.
Last Saturday night, there was a concert at the South Lawn, a half-block from our apartment. GB was playing poker, so I joined my friends from the Yappy Club and we sat on the ground listening, talking, watching kids dance and run, dogs sleeping quietly with their people. The next morning, I put Monkey in her doggie carriage and went shopping at the Farmer’s Market. Yup. On the South Lawn. GB went to the Broncos. I came back and began work on reviewing grants for the Denver Foundation.
I can’t tell whether I’m moving faster or slower in this new lifestyle. I know I have time for so many more things.
But it’s not the same for GB. It could be a man thing but outside his profession, he never found much else to do. I used to nag him about this. When he turned 40, I suggested we get a Newfie to show, and he could get involved with that. He did but the Newfie, Winnie, wasn’t as interested as he was, so it didn’t work out. He has, however, become interested in woodworking. We have an amazingly well-equipped shop at Everleigh and he spends several days a week making pens and, hopefully in the future, bowls. Or boxes. Whatever. He likes it and it fits his skill set from dentistry. I think he’ll find more things to grab his interest. He’s made friends with the Everleigh poker group. They play twice a week and have tournaments the fourth Sunday of each month. He’s also made pals with the workshop guys. I try to avoid the place for fear someone will suggest I use a lathe.
There is still, however, the matter of selling the house. Here’s what’s happened with that.
In August we held the estate sale. It went amazingly well, and everything sold: the Mangold sculptures, the art, the furniture, the Navajo textiles, the Persian carpets. The remainder of August saw the house being painted, stuff fixed, garden trimmed, chicken house cleaned out.
The other day, the house was staged. t’s truly gorgeous. Everything about us is gone. It’s as though we never lived there. The guy washing our windows called me and let me know he was done and, by the way, the house was empty without us but still gorgeous.
That’s what I wanted to hear.
The house is fine without us.
Today, pictures were taken. Wendy, our realtor, let me know they used a drone to film the garden. At first, I thought it was a little sad there were no chickens, no Newfies, no cats, no 35 dogs chasing around wading pools and agility courses, or 300 people at a fundraiser under tents. There were no live bands playing Celtic tunes or country western songs. There were no valets parking cars throughout the neighborhood. No caterers working from the garage. But, I realized the ghosts I saw just a few weeks ago had left with us.
And, like I just said. The house is fine without us.
Air. 
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