Blog My Mind

  It seems fitting that I moved into a house I bought with my husband’s life insurance money just before Memorial Day weekend. John has been on my mind more than usual the past many days. John didn’t die in service to his country, but he spent all of his adult life in service to his country. He was always particularly thoughtful on each Memorial Day because he understood the sacrifice. He was present for a few final roll calls. It was one of the few things that could make my Green Beret cry.   I am especially grateful this weekend as I move into my home, sit on my deck, and sip a drink while I look out to my backyard. I have room to stretch. Neighbors yes, but nobody so close you can hear them fart at night. A buffer zone between me and other humans. The yard DD has to do her zoomies is bigger than she’s ever had. Once Dad and I put up the fence and install a doggy door, she’ll be free to zoom to her heart’s delight.   I know this is what John wanted for me, to be taken care of, sa

  “Hey, my wife needs a house. You have one to sell?”   “Yes, but it’s in Roseburg, Oregon. Nobody wants to live there.”   “Perfect! She doesn’t want to live there either, but she has to be close to her dad.”   This is the conversation I picture in my head of my husband, John, having with the owner of my new house in whatever realm they are both in now. The homeowner also passed away in November of last year and his heirs were in charge of selling it.   I was in town running errands and driving by properties when I first saw the listing on my phone. I saw the cross streets and thought it was in a completely different part of town. It was a part of town Dad told me to stay away from because there was a lot of drug activity there.   When I got home, I got another notification from Redfin about it, so I looked further at the listing and location. Not where I thought it was. It was at the high end of my price range, but given the square footage and lot size, it seemed underpriced