Our real estate agent called this morning to let us know our house is going on the market this afternoon.
I haven’t peeked at the real estate website to see whether the listing is really up yet. It’s going to feel strange to see our house arranged by a stager, shot by a real estate photographer, and described by our real estate agent to ignite the imaginations of potential buyers.
This isn’t quite our home anymore. Now it’s a cottage for sale.
But that’s okay.
You know the song “A Cottage for Sale,” with those lyrics of heartbreaking wistfulness and regret?
Months ago I listened to upwards of twenty renditions on YouTube, planning the post I knew I would write when we put our house on the market. Now I am writing that post and wanting badly to put Judy Garland’s amazing version in.
But readers, while I may feel some wistfulness–I will miss my hairdresser of twenty years desperately–regrets are nowhere to be found. Nope, just excitement and anticipation.
Thursday I fly to Columbus to start making our 1958 fixer-upper our new home. Meanwhile, Jack will stay in Minneapolis long enough to teach his summer classes–
And get this cottage sold.