[The Irony of Life series began as an escape from the challenging situation I created when I listed my house to sell out of fear and then learned about the virus in China on February, 2020.]
On Sunday, April 5, 2020, the man downstairs, a certified contractor who lived in Alaska for twenty-two years, pounded on the outside east wall of my apartment. I grabbed my camera, stood on the stairs, and took photos of him. The owners had said they would work only on regular business hours: Monday through Friday, which, by the way, is the ordinance in this town.
He yelled at me. “You can’t take my photo without my permission!”
“I can if you’re breaking the agreement I have with the owners!”
I went upstairs to put my camera away. Blood boiling, I grabbed my jacket and baseball hat and headed out for a walk. Walking soothes me, gets me back in balance, and I do mantras along the way.
He yelled, “Don’t walk away from me!” But I kept going, doing Japa on my fingers as I walked. It took almost twenty-five minutes to feel like myself again.
I was angry because we had talked about me buying a house that could be turned into a duplex with his work. Now I see it as a prayer answered.
The impossible strain of looking for a place to live during the Pandemic of COVID-19 was a big part of it. Not being able to get rid of personal belongings because the “Stay Home Order” was still in effect didn’t help. Being harassed by the owners, despite the contracted agreements they signed, doesn’t help. And the property owners of the rentals I want are now waffling about renting. One told me outright that she was going to sell, instead. Good luck with that! The people at my closing on March 13 celebrated my selling my house when I did because friends in real estate in Durango believe prices will just go down, down, down.
So why aren’t I celebrating?
Because I need to get out of my apartment for thirty-nine years, as soon as possible, I am not safe here. I’ve looked online for a place to rent or even buy, but the ones who placed those ads either don’t reply or, after showing me the property, they suddenly disappear. They do not return my calls, texts, or emails. Or, they say something like “You’re on the short-list,” a meaningless statement which translates as “If I can sell this place, I will.”
What’s fascinating about all this is that my personalized transits from Chaos astrology predicted such emotions and difficulties from March 20 through April 20.
On April 6, 2020, the Governor extended the “Stay Home Order,” and this time, I’m doing it.
I’ve decided to do what I intended to do before I listed the house: reduce my belongings. The original goal was 50%. Now, it’s looking like “whatever doesn’t fit in a van.” This experience has reminded me that I am not free to do what I want to do, when, and where I want to do it. And if I cannot donate all that to thrift stores, I’ll consider putting my furniture and other belongings on the curb for Durango’s “Spring Clean-up.” It begins in this neighborhood next week. Memories of B.C. flooded my mind.
In 1989, I returned from British Columbia to sell a four-bedroom house and everything in it except what would fit on a pallet in a friend’s garage: kitchen stuff and linens. I had a moving sale in the house, and friends helped me so I could play my piano until it sold.
That can’t happen with the COVID-19 Pandemic, and older now. But I have two precious cats I promised to love and take care of as long as they lived. Our current situation isn’t allowing me to do that. But I can work in my apartment and the garage.
I started with clothes. I had filled one big trash bag with clothes, despite the drilling sound, which was somewhat mitigated by classical music, when the phone rang.
It was Clay, the young man who helped me shovel snow when I tripped on a tenant’s kayak in the garage and suffered multiple fractures in both lower arm bones. He’s home again; his college in Illinois closed re’ COVID-19. He wants to be a preacher. I know he’ll be a good one because I heard the taped talks he gave at the church his family attends.
We chatted, and then I told him, “I’m giving away all the yard and house maintenance stuff from my garage. Ask your dad if he wants any of it; I’ll send a list by email.”
Moments later, he called back and said, “We’re coming.”
They loaded the truck to overflowing and returned home to empty it for another trip. I went back upstairs to delete those items from my ads on Facebook Marketplace, and I saw that another one of my prayers was answered! Someone who had just moved into a house mere blocks from mine posted a stack of Home Depot packing boxes in their yard. Several people had claimed them. So, I replied, “If there are any leftovers, may I have them?”
Instant reply, “They’re yours. They’re still here.”
So I drove my Honda Civic eight blocks north, turned left, and Voila! I knocked on the door, backed up (re’ COVID-19), to let him know I was here.
I packed the boxes in the front and backsets and the trunk. I got all of them! In exchange, I left a new bag of ice melt (the good stuff) on his porch.
As soon as I was home again, Clay showed up with his dad. They filled the truck bed again.
Boom! All that stuff, two over-flowing truckloads, was gone in less than two hours. I feel lighter already.
It’s been a great day! And I have been reminded to “Let go, Let God” (however you understand that). The Universe, All That Is, knows what I want and need. And it’s all falling into place perfectly as I just go along, doing what I can with what I have.