Well, I'm no longer a homeowner. My Hubby, who has lived with me for approximately 15 years, has bought out my "interest" in the house. I received a cash settlement, he is now sole proprietor, and the world keeps turning.
Quite a few of my friends, and all of my family members, were opposed to this arrangement. And I must admit, it took me quite a while to come to terms with it. I still have moments when I'm overcome by sadness, anger, or regret - usually all of them at once. "That's YOUR house." "Kick him out!" "Why are you doing this?"
Why, indeed, do any of us do anything?
I can't afford the mortgage on the house. I can't clean it - and not just because it's full of H's junk and the kids' junk and dog hair and cat hair. It's too big for me.
It didn't used to be, but then again, I used to be younger, and healthier.
I am going to be 52 years old this month. Along with my advanced age, I have acquired some very sore and fragile joints along the way. Since I moved out of the house six months ago, I've become healthier. But I tire easily. I was never a great housekeeper - and you can put THAT in your file of "Understatements of the Century"! To quote Shirley Conran from her book
Superwoman: Everything you need to know about running a home in Canada today, "I much prefer to lie on a couch than to sweep beneath it." That expression pretty much sums me up.
I loved my house. I loved my neighbours. I love the yards, front, back and side. I love my swing, my hammock, my pool. I used my broken patio more than anyone I know. Once, Stepson said, "We're eating outside AGAIN?" I looked at him like he came from Mars (which would explain a lot) and said "It's May. We're eating outside till October."
There were birds, neighbourhood cats and dogs, skunks, raccoons, and squirrels. Lots of weeds - more weeds than grass, actually. I've grown corn in that garden. Tomatoes, potatoes, green beans, cucumbers and pumpkin. I gave up gardening about a decade ago when my joints started announcing their presence and my energy started to drop. I loved my Grandpa's Hollyhocks. They were a heirloom variety - meaning nearly extinct - that came from his home in Dunvegan. "The Country," as we called it.
There were poppies, phlox, forget-me-nots, and lily-of-the-valley, once upon a time. No more - lack of care and piles of junk killed all those. The rosebush went wild. All that's left of the south garden are a few Irises, some peonies, one bleeding heart and a host of day lilies. And weeds.
When I realized I needed a ground cover for all the bare spots, if only to prevent the growth of dandelions, I planted gout weed, which Hubby hated and kept destroying. I guess that pretty much sums up our marriage, too. We never were really on the same page. I loved it because it grew to about a foot high, maybe a bit more, the leaves were variegated green, if it wilted you could water it and the next day it'd be standing back up as if nothing had happened, it formed a nice rounded bush shape, it was self-propagating and it was virtually impossible to kill.
As far as I understand, Hubby hated it because he kept running over it with the mower or whippersnipper. And he kept blaming it for the death of his ferns in the front, despite my many attempts to point out to him that ferns grow in a rich mulch in the forest and in damp conditions. Under the eaves of the house, the ferns never received water from nature, and he refused to water there because the foundations of the house leaked. And he never fertilized, so, so much for the "rich mulch."
At any rate, I can't take care of the garden. When I first took possession of the house, I'd be out there cutting the grass three times a week in the spring. I can't do that now - my knees and wrists are on social security.
I can't take the stairs. Sure, I have stairs in my apartment right now, but only to get in and out. At the house, there are stairs to go to do the laundry and watch tv. I just can't do it.
So, I can't care for it and I can't pay for it... time to call a spade a spade and move on. I'm a little ticked I settled for so little in terms of the financial arrangement, but then again, Hubby couldn't afford anything else, and we're still good friends and my kid is still in his will and his kids are still in mine. That may change in a few years if we both find "significant others"... who knows what the future will bring.
In the meantime, I've been joking about "spending my daughter's inheritance." (I can hear my family members shivering.) Yes, I bought a dishwasher, a freezer, a flat-screen tv, a DVD player, some clothes, and a computer.
But I REALLY don't have the energy to spend it all! I'm exhausted! I went into four shoe stores this week - they were all in a straight line on Ste. Catherine street and all within three blocks of each other, and it'll be some time before I go shoe-shopping again, let me tell you!
Shopping bores me. See, I know exactly what I want, and how much I want to pay for it. I get frustrated in shoe stores because all the nice stuff has eight-inch heels. I'm already taller than 90% of the population - I don't need the height! Plus, my knees and toes have something to say about it, too!
Appliances? I know the features I want. It takes me about six minutes to find an appliance I want to buy. It takes much longer to actually find a salesperson, and twice as long to stand in line waiting to pay for it.
I'm not a "shopper." Hubby is a shopper. He LOVES driving from one store to another in an endless pursuit of better prices and novelty. He memorizes the weekly grocery flyers. He tells me about all the different specials - but the info is useless to me. Half these stores are hours away by bus. I'm on a bike, or I'm walking, most of the time. I have to shop in stores near me, so a lucky day is when they're having a special on something I need. I only buy as much as my sore joints will let me carry. Realistically, that's not much.
I guess what surprises people is how much shopping I can do in a very short space of time. I don't hum and haw. I go in, I get what I want, I pay and leave. Now, I remember a two-year period in which Hubby was looking for a new pair of shoes. Not even dress shoes, mind you! Sneakers. He wanted black sneakers. And yes, I did say "two years." It got to be a joke. "Well dear, I'm going into HMV while you're
not getting yourself some shoes." By the time he bought himself a pair, he'd worn his old ones down to TWO holes in the soles. Ever done that with today's sneakers? They started out
two inches thick...
Well, I sold out my options in the house and I went shopping. It helped ease some of the pain of "losing my home"...
As I mentioned earlier, I'd had a difficult time coming to terms with this particular loss. I must thank my pal at work, C, for finally putting everything in perspective and getting me over the hump. She listened to me as I whined about all the memories, the plans, the good and bad times we'd shared, the fun we'd had. She shrugged her shoulders, shook her head, and said to me, "I don't know what to tell you, Deb. Shit happens."
Shit happens. I'd forgotten that. It's one of my principle credos. Shit does happen - to everyone. It happened in my marriage, and I got out of the marriage. It's too bad that I gave Hubby and his kids a home, and for my thanks they took it away from me. Shit happens. But I'm out, I'm happier. Life goes on.
Once, Grandma and I were talking about a dress I'd bought, for a date. She was as excited as I was about this particular event. We both thought I'd found a Someone. Turned out to be a TOAD. I told her about it. We were both very disappointed. Then she said to me, "Oh well Debbie - at least you'll always have the dress."
Yessiree. And this time, a few of them, and some appliances, and still money left at the end of the frenzy.
