Monday, February 13, 2012

Missed Calls

WT TGAB, beginning a unit on acronyms tomorrow in school! Practicing here, in the safety of my blog.

On Friday I signed the papers to sell the family property. If you missed the back story, this was under duress because I was the only person in the family who wanted to keep the farm, and I couldn't meet the asking price.

Anyway, putting those legal documents in the mail is one of the toughest things I have ever done. There's something so doggone final about signing and notarizing a deed of sale. I know the mountain is still there, but it felt dead to me.

About two hours after leaving the Snobville Post Office, I got an incoming call on my cell phone. The number registered as belonging to the soon-to-be owner of my former family farm. He calls at least once a week, usually around 7:00, and at that time he has proven to be so voluble that one can only assume he's had a few.

On that night (and the following as well) I could not bring myself to listen to this guy tell me yet again that nothing has changed. I'm sorry he feels so guilty about buying a property he has wanted for 30 years, but I just can't listen to him absolve himself anymore ... or to make promises that his homeowners insurance salesman would cringe to hear.

Anyway, after missing that call, I suddenly became keen to see what other calls I had missed.

There must have been nearly 60 missed calls.

Six were from New Owner of Farm

Two were from recent hospital tests, seeking further information for insurance companies.

28 were from The Heir

15 were from The Spare

Nine were from Mr. J

As I deleted them, one by one, I had a facepalm moment.

What if there were no missed calls from The Heir? What if I suddenly would no longer get missed calls from The Spare? What if Mr. J never called me again?

My reality check came through the missed calls on my cell phone. There may come a day when I will be able to buy a little sliver of ground somewhere. But I could never, ever replace my family.

Gracious bored Gods and Goddesses of all pantheons, known and unknown, please preserve and protect my husband and children. Land may be sacred, but people are uniquely sacred. Bored deities, let me never experience a single day without the serene knowledge that my people are alive and thriving!

So might it be.

6 Comments:

At February 13, 2012 , Blogger Lavanah said...

And so will it be!

Interestingly enough, this is the message I thought to give you earlier today. My family has no old homestead. My great-grandparents escaped from the old country by the skin of their teeth. We have no physical space. What we have is family-and we create a very special and magical place when we are together. (for us, at least) It is enough. So may it be, for you.

 
At February 13, 2012 , Blogger YELLOWDOG GRANNY said...

sad for you.

 
At February 13, 2012 , Blogger Debra She Who Seeks said...

It's always great to have perspective.

 
At February 13, 2012 , Blogger Aquila ka Hecate said...

As someone who lost her entire family in one go, I do believe that you are right.

Love,
Terri in Joburg

 
At February 14, 2012 , Blogger Raven~ said...

O-sa-da!
O-sa-da-dv!

Amin!!!

 
At February 14, 2012 , Blogger Raevyn said...

And so shall it be. In the names of the Bored Gods. Ra-men ;-)

 

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