The procedure went into full drive on Tuesday afternoon. I was nervous. A traveling Notary Public was coming to our new home in Enumclaw to deliver what I expected to be 435 or so documents to be signed and witnessed thereto – as part of the closing of the sale of my house in Seattle.

I had good reason to be tense. For one thing, I’ve been waiting for the axe to fall before the new owner signs on the dotted line and the sale goes official – like an earthquake flattening the house, a lightning strike, another sewer eruption, or a plague of bedbugs or cockroaches raining down upon the property, just as a horde of evil tax assessors are frantically inspecting it to ascertain whether I have been mistakenly undercharged for this year’s property taxes, and if so, they’ll be sending the sheriff to either pick up the check, or shoot me. In other words, I’ll be expecting the worst till the “SOLD” sign goes up in the front yard.

At 2 PM – right on the scheduled dot – the Notary Public arrived, masked, armed with his trusty embossing stamp, his logbook, two blue ball point pens – one for him, one for me – and an unexpectedly rather modest-sized briefcase.

I had him sit at the kitchen table where he proceeded to lay out his stuff, while I kept flexing my right hand to limber it up for the blizzard of signatures I’d be signing. Whenever husband Gene and I took out a mortgage, we got writer’s cramp signing up for it, so I knew I better be prepared.

When the Notary Public slid each paper in front of me, he’d point to random entries explaining what they meant. I’d keep nodding my head studiously as though I, of course, understood perfectly – hoping to hurry him up till he could get to the item called “Proceeds of Sale”. (At which point, I heaved a sign of relief!)

Finally, after I signed and initialed about 6 or 7 papers, he had me sign my name in his logbook, and then proceeded to start packing up his stuff. I couldn’t believe it. He had been here for about 8 minutes total. He probably left his car running while he was in the kitchen stamping, and witnessing, and scribbling on the documents which constituted the official sale of all my worldly goods. It seemed like he could have at least marked the occasion by sprinkling some holy water on the papers or burned a little incense and sang a hymn or two in Latin.

That was Tuesday. On Thursday, the next event in the momentous “Closing Ceremony” took place. This photo marked the dreaded occasion.

What you’re looking at is my son-in-law Brad just completing the task of boarding up the gate that used to lead to our shared backyards! Gulp! If you’re one of the multitudes who so often traipsed back and forth through that gate, don’t be embarrassed if you get a bit choked-up! The doorway to Narnia is now closed!

On Friday – right on schedule – I was notified by the mysterious “Escrow” persons that the ownership of my house has been officially transferred to its new owner. Now I don’t know whether to feel relieved or “homesick”. I just hope she’ll take better care of it than I did! To help her out, I decided I’d better leave a final message to the house.

Dear House:

I want to apologize to you for any abuse you may have experienced while under my possibly neglectful stewardship. You didn’t deserve it. Well, maybe a little.

I’m sorry for all the times I yelled at you for letting the floors get filthy and then punished you for it by keeping them that way. Same with all those fingerprinted window panes. Still, you really do have to take a little more personal responsibility for your appearance, Dear. You don’t want to continue life as a slob. Try to shape up for the new owner. You can DO it! ……. Hopefully.

About the four toilets: you just have to try harder. Your dreams of the new owner converting them to outdoor privies is a fantasy. You’ve been reading too many “Better Homes and Outhouses”. Like I keep trying to tell you “Basic cleanliness counts!”

And I don’t want to hurt your feelings about the crusty cooktop and the insides of the oven, but I really have to point out that just because all that fungi looks amazingly healthy, doesn’t mean it’s supposed to be growing in the refrigerator.

As for your outside, House, I suppose you would rather not discuss the way the gutters get clogged, the paint chipped, how holes appear in the window screens, moss on the roof, but somebody has to talk about it – besides the neighbors. Of course, I know I could have contributed a little more elbow grease myself, but you have to realize that we can’t both look good at the same time! It’s either me or you. So I hope that in the future you will straighten up and bravely soldier on for your new owner.

So I guess that’s all the apologizing I can do for now, House. I hope you’ll let me visit you from time to time to see how you’re doing.

And thank you for taking such good care of us for the past 50 years.

Your friend-through-thick-or-thin,
Octo-woman

P.S. I guess I should leave a footnote for the Yard. Thanks to daughter Gretchen for keeping it watered for the past seven weeks of our Seattle summer drought, and grandchild Corr for their meticulous weeding, mulching, and “hair cutting” – here’s a glimpse of how it looks all dressed up for its new owner:

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

So Goodbye Gate. Goodbye Gardens. Goodbye House! I will always love and remember the time we lived with you!