I’m still trying to sell a house.  The process, for me, continues to be a mixture of action and letting go.  Even as I’ve resorted to burying a St. Joseph statue (allegedly good luck for house sales) and airing the rooms with a sage smudge (allegedly to clear out old energy), I know that I have to surrender to forces beyond my control.

This week, I realized that I had never simply said “good bye” to the house and to my life there of twelve years.  So, ceremoniously, room by room, I said “good bye.”  What a curious experience.  I could hear the ghosts of laughing children, remember the smells of steaming pots and see the images of family gatherings.

As if caught in a time machine, I fell backwards, detail by detail.  Somewhat misty eyed, I revisited each year in my mind’s eye, as if I was walking through a living photo album.  I expected to be flooded with sadness but, instead, felt overcome with gratitude.  The refrain of Bob Hope’s “Thanks for the Memories” came to mind.  As I sifted through the reveries, the sweet times rose like cream to the surface.

Sometimes saying goodbye is obscured by the drama of its finality.  For me, shifting attention to the blessings of the past, wondrous times that live within me, helps soften the sting of “so long.”  Will my goodbye ritual lead to a quicker sale?  My fingers are crossed.  If nothing else, I’m humming the tune, “Thanks for the Memories.”

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