Last Thursday, we listed our Denver townhouse. Before anyone ever stepped foot through the door, we had an offer. For 7% over our list price. I thought it was a joke. In fact, I called Brian a choice name when, at 6:15 am, he came to tell me. But it was real. And the offers kept coming. By Friday afternoon, our choice was clear, and we signed the contract.Fifteen hours later, we were on the beat in Salida, looking for our home there. We went to seven different places. And after the fifth, I began to despair. Perhaps we would not find the home of our dreams. There was the place that reeked of cigarettes. And two with slanted floors. And one with wiring so archaic, it looked as though it might burst into flames.
Then, we stepped into the sixth. And as of 6am this morning, we are under contract to buy it. I knew, the minute I walked through the door, that this place was special. Beautiful, open, natural. Lots of room to love and play, indoors and out. A yard for the kids and dogs. An amazing kitchen to make feasts. A little park across the street, and a beautiful trail leading to downtown. A porch where I'll sit and drink coffee, and watch my girls grow. A deck where we'll grill meals and enjoy a beer. Views that are unbelievable. A place that is quiet. And yet so full of life.
When we came back to Denver last night, and walked into our townhome, I encountered a shred of grief. This place has seen so much. The early years of my marriage. My first, second, third and fourth dogs. The parties. The naps. The babies. That incredible room for my girls. There are so many memories. And when I consider that one day soon, I'll walk out the door for the last time, sadness weighs on my heart.
This next month will be full. Packing, inspections, packing, wrapping up at work, closing this house, closing that house, unpacking. I think, I pray, that this will be a beautiful adventure. Because all I really want is more time with the ones I love; a little simplicity.
But first, the craziness.
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