I held off saying anything about our situation until we were sure it's what we had to do. That way you aren't forced to say things that end up not coming true.
Well, wouldn't you know that immediately after we decided to "go public" with the news that we would have to move from the House of Never-ending Construction, our brains kicked into gear and suddenly options appeared to us. Or, rather, it turned out that ideas I had conjured and thought utterly ridiculous and beyond the comfort zone of all involved, ended up being first a possibility and then, ultimately, the solution.
So, yeah, things around here will be a-changin' (well, not here specifically, but around Casa Linguini), we are here and, if all works out as planned, always will be.
I can't tell you how this has changed the atmosphere and I wish we'd have thought of all this before we spent an absolutely dismal Christmas saying heart-wrenching things like: "We'll never see the crabapple tree get big;" or "What do we do if the new people won't feed the birds?"
We had demonized the people we figured would buy this house (opportunists who would offer us way under appraisal because they could smell the stench of fear, panic and despair on us; greedy money-grubbers who took one of those get rich courses they advertise on paid programming at 3:30 in the morning that tells people to hunt down poor slobs drowning in debt and weed them out of the financial gene pool by offering a ridiculous amount for their property). We were quite sure they not only wouldn't feed our birds, they'd shoot the mourning doves, put a foozeball table in the library and not house a single gnome.
Yes, there is much rejoicing right now, but the real work lies ahead. The House of Squalor must still be rejuvenated, though the five-acre parcel it sits on is the real value of the property. And our extra lot next door will go up for sale.
But the Hill is still of the Gnome and so it shall remain. And the crawdads will still roam free.
Say Hallelujah; say Amen.