Through a stiff and painful night I tossed and turned, knowing that only half the job was finished after 8 hours. The new owner’s walkthrough was looming in 24 hours. I needed to unstiffened and get back to VC for one more more horrendous morning of cleaning. It couldn’t be as bad as the day before, right?
The drive to VC brought its usual flood of tears as I drove the 45+ miles. Through the flats, past the mountains, by the mustangs, turning on Six Mile Canyon Road. Up the twisty roads past the treated effluent that every newbie thinks is a wonderful mountain stream. Under the barren cottonwood trees, still my favorite. Up and up and up to 6200 ft and VC. In an hour, I was in the front driveway, Looking up at her. She, two stories high, scowling down at me.
Supplies and vacuum waiting from the day before, I got to work. My studio was bare, except for my large doll house. Another of my favorite hobbies. I wasn’t sure how to move it. I couldn’t lift it, let alone get it down the garage stairs and out to the Jeep. It remained. I cleaned.
My office with the post card view of VC through a wall of glass. The guest room. The closet.
When we bought the house, all the neighbors wanted to know what we were to do with two rooms that had no windows. Not one, but two. These rooms were part of Mt. Davidson, sunk deep into her side. Nine foot walls, holding Dunmovin steady and tight. The west walls of the basement were all without windows. One became my studio, while the other became a guest room, the perfect place when you needed absolute darkness on a sunny day. The remainder was a downstairs family room/kitchenette.
The problem with the guest room was that it had no closet. VST corrected this in January. I had noticed that this project was the one he had more trouble with than all the others combined. It was complicated and he was already sick. Angled and needing to look original, he spent hours making it perfect. Between his construction and my finish work, we succeeded, and another huge closet appeared. 9 ft. tall. Shelving on one side. Two rolling doors. Closet pole. Just like magic it appeared it had been there since 2004, like the rest of the house.
Two more downstairs bathrooms were scoured and shiny. The family room/kitchenette area was nearly complete. I was on the downside of done when I started on the kitchenette. This was another area of the house in which VST had installed beautiful dark cabinetry, as stately as the rest of the house. Granite countertops. Small Frig. Sink. Microwave. It was the perfect kitchen for guests. While the west side was nestled into the mountain, the East side of this room was all glass, overlooking yet another view of VC. The front door opened onto the lower deck, with stairs that led to A Street, neighbors, fun, and adventure.
So tired, and happy that I was almost done, I opened the first cabinet of 8, just to give it a quick once over. My eyes couldn’t believe what they were seeing. For in these 8 cabinets, overhead and under the counter, it was as if time had stopped. They weren’t packed. Nothing. Nada. All full of vases, dishes, Christmas stuff. Coffee cups. Party supplies. Extra silverware. ETC. ETC. ETC. I had missed the entire kitchenette when grieving, signing papers on two real estate transactions in two different towns, crying, mourning, watching Oliver, moving boxes, and all the rest. Basically, I had missed an entire room.
I was without moving boxes, as they were all at the new house. Tape, paper, and more energy to deal with this was not available. When the movers had finished the night before, the last items were pointed out one by one. After each, they were ready to leave, and we would find one more thing. I was determined NOTHING would be left to find in the morning. And, in the rest of the house, there wasn’t. It was just these cabinets that hadn’t been emptied and packed. There was no avoiding it. It needed to get done.
My tired brain remembered that there was still the garage to tackle. Just maybe there were some boxes there. Packing paper, no. But, boxes maybe. Five boxes remained, magically the number I needed. I carefully filled them and put them in the pickup. Non-breakables surrounded breakables, like an awkward jigsaw puzzle. After grumbling and mumbling, the basement was clean, with even the woodburning stove that had warmed us on so many winter nights glistening.
The garage was a beast of cobwebs, spiders, and the remains of a move. Two more hours on that, and after 6 hours, the house was cleaned. The lone item left was my dollhouse. The neighbor would meet me the next morning to place it in the Jeep. I had measured carefully. It would fit perfectly in the back. It would mean one more trip in the early morning to retrieve that last item.
Fourteen hours to say “Goodbye” to six years of our life together. The last six years created when we were sure we had 26 left. Would we have done it again? I can hear a resounding “Yes” from the heavens. VST and I were never happier than in the midst of a project. The bigger the better.
Could I have hired a maid? Of course. Would I have missed this Goodbye? Not on your life.
Just a note…….Today, at 10:30 am, not 11:15 am as his death certificate states, is the 7th Month since VST left. Seven balloons today, released into a winter wonderland, as it snowed last night. The first snow of the season. Everything looks new and magical under starlit skies. It seems it was seven decades ago one minute, and seven minutes ago the next. Smile on the snow, Dr. H, I have the shovel. I’ve got this.
