We closed on the house yesterday. Prior to the official closing, we met with the new buyers, a couple, both lawyers in their early 30’s. I had prepared a spreadsheet of items, contractors, people who fix broken things, electrical information, swamp cooler, you know, house stuff. I also printed out information on the architect who designed the house and the people we from whom we bought it. We walked through the property, chatted about the need for leaves to remain in the woodland garden to protect the bees and butterflies, showed them a sculpture I had made. She liked it.
I liked that.
I showed her where we planted the lettuces and explained that we didn’t get much sun because we have so many trees. We talked about the birds that visit. I told her about the raccoons.
She liked that.
They want chickens. They want dogs. They’d like to adopt some Greyhounds, and I think that’s fine except now I’m worried that, as sighthounds, they’d eat the chickens. I didn’t mention that part. I recommended Newfies and explained that they were laid back like Greyhounds but with hair and drool.
I am worrying about the future chickens that Hannah and Eric (the new owners) will have.
I know. Not my problem.
We went back in and stood in the dining room. I told her (GB was talking to Eric this whole time and we both ignored our respective realtors) that each morning I would come upstairs, take oranges from the refrig, squeeze them and look at the garden. “I can’t believe I am so lucky to live here”. I said that every morning for 48 years. I really did. Except during the dry winter days when snow wasn’t on the grounds or flocking the trees.
And that’s when I teared up. Hannah gave me a hug.
I like her. And I like him.
They’ll take good care of the house. And the house will take good care of them, helping them create their own wonderful lives and memories there. Someday, they’ll be in their elder years and I know they’ll be lucky to have lived a full and vibrant life there. They’ll have adopted multiple animals, they’ll perhaps raise a family, they’ll grow their careers, they’ll have huge parties, they’ll talk late into the evening by the fire pit.
It’s what we had. And I’m happy to pass it on.
I suspect I’d be sad if I thought I had nothing in the future. But I do. We will still travel. I’m volunteering and so is GB. I write more. I read more. I exercise more. I’m waiting for decent snow so I can ski. I don’t get to wake up every morning, look out the window and say, “Wow. This is gorgeous”. I don’t have a view.
But I do wake up every morning, take out my oranges, squeeze them and go back to bed to read the news, watch the daily political disaster, cuddle Monkey and wait for GB to get up and tend to the coffee.
We talk about the news, what we’ll be doing that day, and drink our coffee. This morning, I contacted a travel agent to begin our plan to go to Kenya for the Great Migration. Maybe it’ll include a return to Rwanda so GB can climb the great volcano and sit with the gorilla, just like I did a couple of years back.
All in all, it’s quite lovely.
Air. 
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