When I was a little girl, cigarette smoking was the norm, and my daddy would entertain me by blowing smoke rings.
He was so good at smoke rings; it’s one of my fondest memories.
I have been flooded with memories the last few weeks as we’ve been getting the house ready to sell. I’ve struggled a little with the idea of making this huge change. Is selling our home the right thing? How will I handle losing the things I love?
Last night was the first showing on the house. Cleaning Dave and I got everything ready and I vacuumed up the last of the dog hair as we were putting the dogs in the car.
The next two hours turned into a bit of comedy.
First, we took them to the park, but the cold wind made all four of us miserable.
We drove to the mall where Parking Dave put the car in the busiest area while he sprinted in to get pizza for dinner. Dallas the Dog barked and drooled over the seat into my hair. Tara panted, whined and drooled into my hair
Thinking about the pizza, I drooled a little too.
Pizza Dave came back pizza-less! The shop was closed.
We drove across the street to a fast food restaurant where Dallas once again made his presence known by barking at everything. By this time the back of my head was nasty with drool, and I made a mental note to put a shower cap in the car for the next showing.
We were away from the house for two drooly, barky, panting-ish, hours. When we got home, the first thing I noticed was that someone had used my bathroom. Because “you use it, you buy it” is how I was feeling, I remarked to Dave that these people had better damn well buy this house or at the very least that powder room toilet.
The toilet and the house it sits in sold on the first showing, for the full asking price. I’m shocked, happy and relieved. No more showings, no more having to corral the dogs, sweeping up dog hair as I back out of the door, no more wet hair from backseat dog drool, no shower cap in public.
After the email from the realtor this morning, I was overwhelmed with thoughts and emotions. I went outside to smoke and center myself.
As I came back into the garage, I turned to see if I had locked the door. There, hanging right at eye level behind me, was the most perfect smoke ring I’ve seen since I was a little girl.
Thank you, Daddy.
The tears ran down my cheeks, and I knew the sign was sent to tell me all is well, this change is right and that no matter where I am my memories will go with me.
Home is in my heart.