As I sit here at my new farmhouse-fashioned office desk by an open window, I can hear the little boy across the street screaming at the top of his lungs, “TREATS FOR CHARITY! 25 CENTS EACH!” And I just realized that I never finished my house-hunting saga with the happy ending that came to be.
After almost four years in the apartment, we have moved into our house now. I suppose, for most, it’s a relatively small thing that normally would be taken for granted, but I will never forget the synchronicity of the experience and the people God put in place who made it all happen.
My son came home from Japan on June 30th. I told him about the fiasco with the crazy lady, so we checked the Sunday newspaper for more rental ads. We drove by a few that listed addresses and found one that he and I both really liked. It took five days of phone tag with the owners to finally connect, but once we did, it felt guided by a higher power. We got along perfectly and learned that we had a lot in common. There was quite a bit of competition for the house, though, because it’s in an extremely desirable area of Indianapolis and was really reasonably priced. I was nervous all weekend wondering who they'd choose. A house like this is so rare and I knew it. Plus, the thought of more crazies and more days and nights with pool-boy were making me have odd thoughts involving hexes and voodoo dolls and such.
Needless to say, the call came and everything went perfectly. I turned in the required 30-day notice to the apartments, paid all the necessary fees and deposits, scheduled movers, and lost my job. BUT before my agency even notified me that this contract was ending, I had received a call about, interviewed for, and accepted a new opportunity two days before that would start at the end of the month. See? Synchronicity? Higher power!
My son plays his electric guitar at night. He turns up his stereo when he’s in the shower. He has friends over. He washes his truck in the driveway. He likes to get the mail and take the trash to the street. He likes to do stuff in the garage. And the dog. The dog’s never been happier. The house has a long hall perfect for throwing the squeaky ball. She sits outside in the yard for hours and falls asleep in the sun.
I read the newspaper every Sunday morning in my rocker on the screened-in porch. I sleep better and dream more than I ever remember. I decorated the door for Halloween for the first time in five years. I take the trash out in my pajamas. I only walk the dog if I want to.
I can hear the bells ring from the Indiana School for the Blind from my living room. I hear children playing in their yards. I hear lawnmowers. I hear dogs barking sometimes. I hear a macaw every once in a while who screams like it’s being tortured, but it’s always followed up with a distant “shut up!” that silences it and never fails to cracks me up. I hear the wind in the trees and I hear nothing.
I see full, green trees and waving green grass. I see walkers and bike riders and skaters. I wave or they wave and I smile to myself each time. It’s a neighborhood and we're home…….for now.