In return for a snazzy sign
You can’t keep both of them! All of my friends and family have made that clear. And so, this morning, I made the big decision. From now on, my real desire gets my full attention; someone else will take care of the rest.
The contract is signed, with a realtor. In return for 5% of the eventual money from the sale, I get a snazzy sign on the front lawn, and someone else to blame when it takes too long. I’d post a picture, but that’s for tomorrow… or the next day. While we wait, there are boxes to fill, and miles to go before we sleep. Another reason to teach poetry in the high school.
Seriously, the sales team (they sent two, just in case we weren’t already convinced) understood what we wanted, and laid out a game plan for getting there. Keep the price low, and be willing to wait for as long as it takes. I’m hoping for brevity, but that’s just my view of the world. We were counseled to not pour money into the “pit”; let the new owners take over and spend their heritage. Our time here is over. Hard to believe that I’m so blasé about the last three decades of my life.
My big(ger) job, this evening was to find a way to pack the “traps”. That’s slang from before I was born, used to describe all the different things a drummer is supposed to hit, over and over again. In this case, I have enough cartons of varied dimensions to permit a reasonable packing job. The water pipe insulation was all my idea, if anyone asks.
