For the past year, The Husband and I have been immersed in this life change. We began looking at houses in Bear Valley Springs last October, and since then I have experienced the many stages of moving—the good, the bad, and the ugly. This past week escrow closed on our little house in Los Angeles—a few days early—and one day each week for the last two weeks we drove down to get the last of the things from the yard that had been left there to make an empty house look as though someone still cared for it. In other words, potted plants along with lawn furniture and ornaments that said, “No, this one isn’t abandoned, nor is is bank-owned.”
The people who bought our house are lovely, and I wish them many long years of love and happiness there. Still, my last hours walking around the yard—taking what was truly finally, One Last Look—the feelings of relief from shedding one mortgage from our monthly burden were mixed with sadness—the sadness of leaving an old friend. It was fitting that week before last I saw this crystal clear view of the mountains to the north. We didn’t see that view on a regular basis—it was often hazy. But, I remember well that when we first looked at the property (a little over twenty years ago, now) that view was what I first fell in love with. On a clear day in January, as I hobbled along the sidewalk to the front door—on crutches at that point, I turned to see this view and I was in love. I knew that unless the house was uninhabitable, I wanted to live there and heal while looking at those mountains.
It was a good house and a wonderful home. I won't forget it.