There are anchors to our old life and then their are the millstones...

There are some connections to our old life that we know will never end, friends and family endure regardless of proximity. On the other hand, there are a few things anchoring us to Nova Scotia that we are anxious to be shod of. Dad sold the van last week which was a great relief. My only regret was that I didn't get a chance to see it after my father detailed the heck out of it. I can only imagine how it must have shone. If anyone could have restored that new car smell to our 2005 Montana it would be my father.

The big weight is of course the house. The nice thing is that we don't have a mortgage payment here, but after nearly six months on the market I'm starting to play that second guessing game. Maybe we asked for too much, or maybe we should have painted the living room a deep fuchsia instead of the safe taupe we went with. Well the taupe is still covering the walls but the price is more than aggressive and we're still getting little movement on the property. What's difficult for me to understand is how other people can't immediately see the value and the beauty of our home. Perhaps my perception is too coloured by all of positive memories I have from living there. It was a great home for our family. The proximity to amenities, church, and family was a blessing. We couldn't have gotten better neighbours if we had picked them out of a catalog. And never would I have believed I'd ever live in a home with a view of a temple (or at least Moroni on the temple spire). I so want to drape a banner across the front proclaiming, "Trust me, this is an awesome place to live!" Maybe I should make the suggestion to my real estate agent. At this point it couldn't hurt. Would balloons and a big bouncy house in the front yard be too much?

Found the piece below as I was cleaning out my iPad. Obviously, it was meant to go up earlier than this, but it provides some nice insights into my state of mind in the run up to our departure.

The closer I get my house to where I want it to be, the more I loathe the place. My daily mutterings go something like this, "Wow, that new carpet really makes a difference downstairs. Why did we wait until we were moving out put that in? Man, I really hate this house."


I've recently learned that thing thing that procrastination robs you of is the ability to savour the satisfaction of completion. When you're constantly just finishing things before the deadline, you never really have the time to step back from your accomplishment and enjoy the fact that it's done. The work we've been doing on the house to get it ready to sell really drives this point home. Over the last six weeks we've repainted practically every room in the house, addressed all those nagging issues like trim and living room curtains, and, with the help of my father, transformed the desolate wasteland that was my front yard into a verdant field of lush greenness. Before my very eyes, my house is being transformed into the very place that I've always wanted to live--just in time for me to leave it all behind. You can understand how the whole process might engender certain feelings of resentment and frustration. In addition to the feelings of conflicted satisfaction, is the frustration of feeling like you're never finished. Every little improvement we seem to make only draws more attention to the other, less pristine areas of our abode. The work never seems to end. It's like my house is giving me a glimpse into eternity, but not in a good way.


It's not that we're approaching the end of our labours. Rather, we're approaching the end of my willingness to labour. The house looks better than it ever did. It's not perfect, but I have to say that perfection is rarely worth the cost. And I'm really at that point where I'd like to remind my children that they do indeed have a father. I think it we be better for all of us if we were to make our journey to the middle east as friends instead of strangers. Before the chaos of these last few weeks I remember liking my children and I remember that their feelings towards me were generally positive. Let's see if we can get that back.

I do think that I'm starting to get my family back. It's a big apartment we're living in, but not so big that we don't know exactly where everyone is at any given moment. You might even be tempted to call our new existence cozy were it not for all the marble and concrete.

P.S. The other day my son said to me after reading a couple of my entries, "Dad, you're doing a good job on the blog." It made me feel pretty good to get the feedback. So much of the time I feel like I'm writing for just myself, because I have no idea who's reading my musings and reflections. So don't be shy about leaving a comment to tell me what you think, and if you've got any questions about life on this side of the world, I'll do my best to respond with something witty, clever and mostly true.