Let's Not Make a Deal

My realtor sounded giddy when she called yesterday afternoon. The house we had wanted to rent, the one that had been handed over to someone else, had been handed back and was ours if we still wanted it. For a moment I thought about standing on principle, telling them to take the house and shove it. The moment passed quickly. There would be no need to move twice, no need for pricey storage, no need to sell off all the excess furniture in my basement in the next two weeks. I almost forgot about how angry I had been in the morning, how I had decided to fire the attorney who was diligently not working out the final details in the sale of our current home.

There was a spring in my step. I was in such a good mood I didn't even go through the roof when I received a copy of the email the attorney I wanted so badly to fire had sent to the buyers' attorney, the email that, in both tone and content, was pretty much the opposite of what I had instructed him to say. I remained calm, shot off what I thought was a pretty level headed suggestion on how my realtor could intercede to undo whatever damage the lawyer had done, and went back to the business of packing and tossing. I barely noticed the aches and pains that had overtaken every joint and muscle as I reached and sorted and lifted and pushed. Everything was going to work out, just like my mom always told me. 

And then came the email. The matter-of-fact one sentence missive from the attorney I wanted so badly to fire telling us that the deal was cancelled, "as per" the attached letter. "As per." I hate that phrase. Just like that. Poof. Done. Never mind, you don't have to continue to bust your butt packing so you can be out in time for the ridiculously short closing date these folks wanted. Not only would there be no need to move twice, there wouldn't even be a need to move once. And still, no pricey storage, no need to sell the excess furniture in the basement. Why the heck was I so angry? 

Anyway, while everybody was changing their mind, I got a call from the broker whose son owns the rental house that fell through and then was available again when the other one fell through (available, that is, if they got around to evicting the current tenant, which I had offered to do with my bare hands) before the other one that fell through became available again telling me never mind, I couldn't have it because they sold it. She sounded puzzled when I laughed. I'm happy for them, even though I have a sneaking suspicion it's all going to fall apart. It seems to be the way it goes.

While everything else seems to be moving and shaking -- or shaking up, more accurately -- some things remain constant. When I appeared in Starbucks this morning, my grande with room was waiting for me and at least a dozen boxes were stacked behind the counter, awaiting my arrival. I explained that I would not be needing them -- the boxes, not the coffee -- at least not now. But the folks in Starbucks don't give up that easily; they're optimistic (must be all the caffeine). They proceeded to break down the boxes, flatten them out for me so I'd be able to store them for the next packing episode.

Funny, as I sit in my house gazing at the newly emptied bookshelves in my office I feel strangely calm. I'm not going to put all the books back; somehow I'll manage to fill up the shelves and the drawers again, maybe more selectively this time around, without all the junk. It doesn't matter. The cleared spaces don't bother me; I'm just enjoying, this morning, the cozy familiarity, the security of knowing we can stay at home for a while. The truth is I wasn't really ready to go. At some point I'll have to be, but for now, I'm having no trouble slipping back into that sensible old shoe.

Predictably, when I emailed my mom to tell her the deal was off, she told me everything would work out. Probably even better. I believe she is right, as moms usually are.