Goodbye, 470

Tonight I sold my house, 470 Clarendon Avenue, Winter Park...my home for 8 years, the one I moved 1000 miles to live in.

• Where I laughed myself silly when I signed the contract to buy it, and the palm trees out front, and the ligustrum and sagos and wild pothos ivy all around, and the woodpeckers and wood ducks in the trees, fish crows mocking and squirrels barking somewhere unseen, and bald eagles and brown eagles and osprey gliding overhead, and the open rooms and dark wood floors throughout the interior. Much nicer than I ever thought in my life I would live in, much less own,
• Where I got the news in 1998 and thought serious thoughts.
• Where I lost Joni.
• Where my lovely next door neighbor brought her then-small kids, and my mother read to them.
• Where when I was preparing my house to sell, I fell off the ladder and jumped rather than be crushed under it. Where I brooded when [multinational corporation who shall remain nameless] then gratuitously screwed up my Brussels assignment, and I had to beg for my old job (here) back and tell the realtor I was going to keep the house after all.
• Where I read something like 200 books and learned to write and launched my novel.
• Where for almost 2 years I've had computers doing computation to find screen small molecules in a group effort to beat cancer (see United Device's web site).

So a week ago, I put the house on the market without telling anyone at work.

"What will you do with your house if you get laid off next Thursday?"

"Ohhhhh, I don't know."

I hate that sort of business. I just say as little as possible.

Last Sunday I had driven through pouring rain to see a model "apartment" of the same sort I'm likely to have to endure for 2-3 months in Chicago. True to their advertisements, it had a desk, queen bed, dining table, kitchen, nice bath--and the whole thing is smaller than my (admittedly ridiculously spacious) bedroom here. I couldn't believe how large 470 seemed when I got back.

So the next day--yesterday--Nikki my real estate guru told me I had two offers. One was from her parents, and she handled it very professionally, and the offer was great, more than I had asked, even. Pretty good for the first week of a war. Tonight I signed the papers. There is no turning back now. 470 was built in 1943; the new owners may live in it, or they may tear it down, which I could not bear to see.

I never wanted to leave this house. It's part of who I am and how I see the world, and however long I live and wherever I sleep I will probably dream of it .