The last few hours of 2013 are upon us. It is traditional at this time to contemplate the last year and anticipate the next. I remember when 2012 wrapped-up, I made the wish that 2013 would end with us living in Gettysburg--and here we are! We moved into town and now live two blocks from the very heart of Gettysburg--Lincoln Square.
Nothing has gone smoothly with this move and we were beginning to contemplate the possibility that the universe, our ancestors, or something out there was trying to tell us we had made the wrong decision-- Starting with the last night in our house. We had packed 90% of our possessions into the moving truck and it was 1:00 AM when we finally decided it was time to go to bed. So we laid out our sleeping bags on the floor of our bedroom. We were filthy and miserable because the buyers of our house were angry we weren't out yet, although we were doing the best we could. Roy and I lay on the floor of our room, staring up at the vaulted ceiling for the last time. We had built that house. We knew better than anyone what lay behind the sheetrock, and where the carpet hid areas of spilled paint. We loved that house. It was in our bones like no other house ever would be. We may build again, but it will never be like the first time.
The house was my inheritance. My father had died in the room across the hall. We had lost three cats and two goldfish in that house, and watched my stepson and nephew grow to adulthood. We had lost our faith and everyone attached to it. We had watched ourselves die to a former life and be born again to something we could never have anticipated.
Although it broke our hearts, it was time to say goodbye to the house and all it represented. It was time to move on, even though we didn't know what the future would bring. We stared up at the ceiling of the master bedroom, which no longer belonged to us. We contemplated its five acres between the Deschutes and Crooked Rivers and listened to the silence that we had loved so much. We knew it would be a long time till we experienced the same peace and quiet. Our voices became choked as we remembered the joys and grief the house had experienced. Death and rebirth. I wondered aloud if my father was aware we were selling the house he had willed to me.
We lay in the semi-darkness, lit only by the full moon, when the light in the master bath turned on spontaneously. Our conversation froze. The knots in our hearts plummeted to our stomachs as we lay very still, wondering if we were in the presence of a paranormal event. A message from the other side--possibly my father?
"Did that light just turn on all by itself?" I said from my supine position on the bedroom floor.
"Yes, I think it did," said Roy.
"Has it ever done that before?" I asked.
"Not that I can remember," said Roy.
Then my cynical pragmatist took over and I said dismissively, "The switch was probably not fully engaged. It was probably halfway between on and off."
So Roy got up to investigate. "Nope," he said. "It is fully on. Not halfway at all." Then he tried to get the switch to stick between on and off to see if it was possible. He couldn't do it. It was a newer switch with a wide, flat surface and, apparently, they don't stick as easily as the old ones did. Roy turned the light off and lay down again. Soon afterward we fell asleep, only to wake up four hours later and start a long day that would end in Burns, Oregon at 3:00 AM the following day.
As I contemplate the last five months in Gettysburg, we have had a period of adjustment and there were some moments where I wondered if I had made a huge mistake. Although I miss my house and the gourmet kitchen, it was time to move on. If I could have brought the house with me, I would have. But that is not possible. I have every confidence the people who bought it will take good care of it. They seemed to love it as much as we did.
We are grateful to be in Gettysburg and excited to be embarking on our next adventure. And as for the light anomaly on our last night in the house--I think the house was saying goodbye.
Nothing has gone smoothly with this move and we were beginning to contemplate the possibility that the universe, our ancestors, or something out there was trying to tell us we had made the wrong decision-- Starting with the last night in our house. We had packed 90% of our possessions into the moving truck and it was 1:00 AM when we finally decided it was time to go to bed. So we laid out our sleeping bags on the floor of our bedroom. We were filthy and miserable because the buyers of our house were angry we weren't out yet, although we were doing the best we could. Roy and I lay on the floor of our room, staring up at the vaulted ceiling for the last time. We had built that house. We knew better than anyone what lay behind the sheetrock, and where the carpet hid areas of spilled paint. We loved that house. It was in our bones like no other house ever would be. We may build again, but it will never be like the first time.
The house was my inheritance. My father had died in the room across the hall. We had lost three cats and two goldfish in that house, and watched my stepson and nephew grow to adulthood. We had lost our faith and everyone attached to it. We had watched ourselves die to a former life and be born again to something we could never have anticipated.
Although it broke our hearts, it was time to say goodbye to the house and all it represented. It was time to move on, even though we didn't know what the future would bring. We stared up at the ceiling of the master bedroom, which no longer belonged to us. We contemplated its five acres between the Deschutes and Crooked Rivers and listened to the silence that we had loved so much. We knew it would be a long time till we experienced the same peace and quiet. Our voices became choked as we remembered the joys and grief the house had experienced. Death and rebirth. I wondered aloud if my father was aware we were selling the house he had willed to me.
We lay in the semi-darkness, lit only by the full moon, when the light in the master bath turned on spontaneously. Our conversation froze. The knots in our hearts plummeted to our stomachs as we lay very still, wondering if we were in the presence of a paranormal event. A message from the other side--possibly my father?
"Did that light just turn on all by itself?" I said from my supine position on the bedroom floor.
"Yes, I think it did," said Roy.
"Has it ever done that before?" I asked.
"Not that I can remember," said Roy.
Then my cynical pragmatist took over and I said dismissively, "The switch was probably not fully engaged. It was probably halfway between on and off."
So Roy got up to investigate. "Nope," he said. "It is fully on. Not halfway at all." Then he tried to get the switch to stick between on and off to see if it was possible. He couldn't do it. It was a newer switch with a wide, flat surface and, apparently, they don't stick as easily as the old ones did. Roy turned the light off and lay down again. Soon afterward we fell asleep, only to wake up four hours later and start a long day that would end in Burns, Oregon at 3:00 AM the following day.
As I contemplate the last five months in Gettysburg, we have had a period of adjustment and there were some moments where I wondered if I had made a huge mistake. Although I miss my house and the gourmet kitchen, it was time to move on. If I could have brought the house with me, I would have. But that is not possible. I have every confidence the people who bought it will take good care of it. They seemed to love it as much as we did.
We are grateful to be in Gettysburg and excited to be embarking on our next adventure. And as for the light anomaly on our last night in the house--I think the house was saying goodbye.
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