Transitions He’s ready? Am I?

For as long as I’ve been part of Everybody Needs a little Romance, I think I’ve mentioned my husband says the “R” word often.  And unfortunately, folks, it’s not romance.  He says the word “Retirement.”  Two years ago, after 30 years on the job, he quit.  Just like that.  The good thing was his boss said, “Now, Les, you don’t want to do that.  Take some time off.  He did.  Five months.  Life was good.  He’d have a new word – rejuvenation — and go back to work.

A week ago he said, this is it, I’m done.  I think we should list the house.  Now, I’ve had this in the back of my mind for a while now, and in between writing I’ve been cleaning out closets, and if I’m completely honest, this house is getting away from me from a housekeeping standpoint.  I used to keep it immaculate, then I found this dreaded thing called writing, and in the unused rooms I have dust bunnies on dust bunnies.

In truth, I’m flexible.  I’m also on deadline with a book due in September.  So what does a writer do when a nonwriter doesn’t live inside his head like I do?

I scheduled an appraisal to see if it’s even worth listing the house.  After all, we’ve done a partial updating, but the bathrooms are 30-years old.  I told my Realtor that we could caption this place, “A house with a sense of humor.”  (She didn’t bite)  She also thinks it will sell.

In the meantime to get ready for what happens next, I’m having the bedrooms and baths painted and the linoleum replaced in the laundry room and the bath downstairs replaced with tile.  Things I wanted to do when we blew our budget on the first update.

Les assures me he’s not going “to give this house” away, so in the meantime with all these workers around, I’ll just bury myself in my office and keep writing.  And if it doesn’t appraise for what he wants, I’ll have new paint and new floors.  Genius!

However if the stars align, it does appraise for what he wants and it sells right away, my next blog might not be so calm and understanding.  As a matter of fact, my next blog might include a picture of me breathing into a paper bag and hyperventilating.   What kind of transitions, if anything, are you enduring.  Want to borrow my paper bag?