Sunday, July 31, 2016

home

FB notifications come by email, and one this morning, from a friend of a friend says, "Come to the City. Sweater weather." So I click on it. San Francisco. "Lead us not into temptation" fails me this morning, SFran is one of my three favorite cities, with Seattle and Sydney, none of which I have visited in over thirty years. San Francisco, this week high to mid 60s, low to mid 50s, 52° 95% at the moment probably that wonderfully mysterious fog, arguably my favorite of the three. There in my mid-twenties, later in my mid-thirties, then early and mid-forties, delectable times of life. What did I like about SF? Easier to list what I did not like: nothing. No, well on second thought, I'm going with the earthquakes. Still, I left my heart in three cities and if wishes were horses, I wish I had bought apartments there sixty years ago.

Life changes and moves on, and one can dwell in wishes and dreams, and knows what's behind but never knows what’s yet to come, but so far we love everything about life in 7H. Ships coming and going, of course, tugs pushing barges, osprey circling, pelicans eastward mornings and westward at nightfall, sailing regattas, boats zipping over to Shell Island and back. Also, 7H porch is a spot for watching weather, the weather, come and go, gather, boom, pour, and dissipate. Lightning strikes in the Bay, yesterday a huge streak four seconds away, then one so close there was no counting, no time to count seconds, flash/crash all in one. 4:49 am and raining at the StAndrews moment. Yesterday's storm having just swept in and eastward, then drenching Tyndall


We almost missed 7H. That 2014 day we made the offer on this condo, we waited and waited, seller holding us in suspense we reckon; nothing overnight, no response by early next morning either.

So that early, browsing online, I found a slightly smaller HV unit, no "powder room", on a lower floor but looking west instead of south, asking some $40,000 less. Immediately I emailed our realtor telling him if the 7H seller accepted our offer, fine; but if the seller came back with a counter-offer, our offer was cancelled, rescinded, so we could make an offer on the cheaper unit. Our realtor came back a few minutes later saying the seller had readied a counteroffer, but hearing that if that happened our offer was rescinded, decided to accept our offer instead. So here we are. Some might say an Act of God, IDK.

Living here over a year and a half, we are beyond delighted with our final retirement home. Do we, I, miss the house, The Old Place my grandparents built in 1912? The place where in December 1962 I saw my father choke up showing me where his brother's casket was that nightmare in 1918? The place Mom and Pop sold and left behind in 1923 mistakenly trying to escape grief that is in the soul not the location. The place that in 1963 Pop told me, during my last ever visit with him, that he would never again set foot in as he said, "I can't go there because of Alfred." When I received the buy offer, we were already living here in 7H. Linda was out taking an elderly friend to a doctor’s appointment. Offer in hand, I went down to my house, walked around, felt it coming on, went out on the front porch and, sobbing, accepted the offer to buy my house. Signed, sealed, sold and done. All but the heart.

Knowing the house, visiting the house, owning and living in the house, and then selling and leaving the house was like serving in the Navy and then retiring from the Navy: I’m glad we were there, cherish the memories, do not miss it in the least, have not had the first desire to return. This is home. 


There's Davis Point.

And here's Sunday morning ->



DThos+ in 7H and holding



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