There are three things that I love about August.
#1 I love fresh blackberries. My sister makes a great blackberry pie with berries that grow wild at my parents. My husband learned how to make jam from his fantastic mother and we are currently working our way through a jar of fresh blackberry jam. We had it on pancakes yesterday. This is way better than syrup. Less sticky too.
#2 I love Walla Walla Onions. I enjoy them at the fair every year on Onionaire burgers. They are even better as onion rings at Burgerville. I’m actually thankful that these are only available in August. My jeans would not fit if they were available year round.
#3. I love Lynda’s Dahlias. Lynda is a woman who lives down river from us. Every year she plants a huge field of dahlias. She puts up a canopy and sells 13 cut stems for $5. If you want a vase $3. She has a little Tupperware box for the money. It has a rock in it so it doesn’t blow away.. Whole thing works on the honor system. She has a large sign that says “don’t cut the closed buds, they won’t blossom if you cut them too early.” There is a sermon in there somewhere but I’ll let you sort that one out yourself. I decided on the way home today that we could use a batch of Lynda’s Dahlias. They are brightly colored and they smell nice. You can’t spend five dollars better. I think fresh flowers bring a little joy inside.
Today I brought the flowers in and set them on the counter next to our other little growing bouquet…of realty cards. They are also brightly colored and speak of hope and promise. Flowers are a little sad when you have to take them out after they die. Realty cards are sad too when someone comes to see your house and then does not call. There was a new card on the batch today. It is sitting right next to my new dahlias. Driving home, I said aloud, “I am really tired of this whole selling the house thing. I want to sell it now”. My daughter said “Mom, It’s really up to God”. I really do love August.
It struck me tonight while I outside washing the one window my husband forgot to do that selling a house stinks. I was still wearing work clothes crouched down trying to get the window track clean. What is that nasty stuff that collects in the track? I heard that newspaper is great to keep streaks away. No one mentioned that the newspaper also gets very soggy and dyes your hands black.
We’ve had our house on the market for a week. One person looked at it. I can tell this is going to be a test in patience and endurance. I love our house. This sale is about the kind of life we want to live. I want to be close to work, church, family and friends. I don’t want to spend two hours a day in the car.
Having a house on the market is deeply personal. We’re hoping that random strangers will walk through our house. I’m hoping that someone will feel comfortable here and want to stay. I’m afraid they won’t.
It feels remarkably familiar.
Remember what it felt like when Prom was coming and you didn’t have a date? I remember trying on dresses on the off chance that I had a date when the big night came. I remember sitting in classes and wondering if anyone thought I was worth a dinner and a ticket. I remember the sinking feeling when everyone else had plans and I did not. A friend and I had a complicated and unrealistic plan to convince two boys who rode our bus that they really did want to go to a dance. It didn’t work. I remember my wise parents planning a trip for that same weekend so I’d be out of town. My mother told me not to worry, that I’m just a late bloomer. Who wants to be late at anything? Late is not good….right?
I heard about someone yesterday who sold their house in five days. Part of me strongly dislikes these people. Part of me wants to be them. Today my mother today told me not to worry. Anything worthwhile takes time. God knows the plans He has for us. I’m grateful for my mother.
I’m also grateful that I’m no longer an insecure teenager. I have a cousin who decided she didn’t want a date to Prom. She and a whole pile of her girlfriends went shopping, found the perfect dresses and went to Prom in a big limo. Just the girls. They had a ball. No worries. I wish I could go back to that teenager I was. I wish I could tell her that Prom is not a big deal. I wish I could tell her to relax and just enjoy her friends. I plan on telling my daughter this. I hope she listens. In the mean time I am going to keep washing my windows and calling my realtor. I am going to plan for a move and trust that it will happen. If it doesn’t, I’m going to trust the One who knew me in high school and knows me now. I am going to try and model for my daughter what trust looks like. Thanks Mom.