This has probably been the dreariest Spring of my remembrance, which is hard to take when you feel like Rapunzel locked in the turret. As another day of rain was forecast, I again hinted to my husband what he already knows... my patience is wearing thin with this confinement in a house no longer suited to our needs... it's an albatross. And so with permission (of course) I emailed the realtor to lower the price... considerably. Of course, the dreamer part of me hopes that a bidding war will ensue and the asking price will be restored; the realist in me knows that is unlikely, but perhaps a whole new audience of buyers may be enticed. Needless to say, when I received the return email from the realtor, he wrote in the most excited of fonts and colors, saying that he was going to call us this very day and ask if we would consider lowering the price of the house... my email must have saved him the worry. It's not that I haven't enjoyed living here when kids and their friends were coming and going and there was always some kind of commotion... but now it is me and Otis for 9 hours a day and very little housework to do. Sure I have writing to do, and photos... but in the confines of solitary... even that is losing it's appeal. I'm hoping that the beautiful broom that is blooming over the gold gazing ball will hold out for the next open house... it is such a cascade of beauty... but I will not mention that it is indeed witch's broom.
