Most of you know that in September of last year I wrote about moving from this here middle-earth land, Alabama. In fact, as soon as I heard the news from Rocket-man that his transfer to a new position had been approved I was on the computer ordering moving boxes. Within the week I had packed most of the books in the house and lots of my various tchotchkes—or rather, Objects d’Art. In a rush of excitement I even posted a photo of moving boxes I had packed. Mighty sure was I that I’d be moving out-of-state to a new place well before pumpkins decorated doorsteps in the neighborhood.
Hmm. Apparently I was wrong.
You guessed it. We are STILL here. My packed boxes still sit in a spare room awaiting a moving van. And, the way things are progressing (or, more appropriately not progressing) It looks like I’ll be seeing another Halloween in middle-earth land. Honestly folks, I cannot wrap my head around that!
Don’t get me wrong. There are some mighty nice folks here in middle-earth land. And, absolutely, I’m going to miss their certain southern charm. And my lovely house? Yes, I’m going to miss that too. But folks, I am ready to move. Let me be clear:
I thought of adding an expletive to that statement but I’m striving to be a better woman in the inappropriate language department.
I’ve never lived in a place where I have had this much trouble selling a house. What makes it even more mind-boggling is the fact that this is absolutely the loveliest house I have ever been lucky enough to live in. Our previous real estate agent wasn’t helping our cause (I say this as diplomatically as possible) and therefore, after the six-month listing agreement was up we signed with a new agent. Fingers crossed–and toes too–we are now twenty-five days into our new listing agreement. So far….
Nothing is happening.
So, To help things along I went into Plan B mode. I ordered another Saint Joseph statue on Amazon. Saint Joseph is the patron saint of a happy home. He was, of course, the foster-father of Jesus. His connection to THE ONE up above is thought to aide those who need to sell their homes.
The pamphlet that is included in the package states the following:
The tradition of burying a statue of Saint Joseph has its roots in the ancient Catholic custom of burying blessed medals in the ground and invoking God’s blessing on the area. Now, in modern times, homeowners of all denominations pray to Saint Joseph asking for assistance in buying and selling homes. Apparently, there are many documented cases of “his powerful intercession.”
Point in fact, brokerage firms often have Saint Joseph statues on hand. Who knew?
Naturally, Rocket-man chimed in on my purchase (which was a whopping $8.95). “As I recall, you did the same with your mother’s house,” he noted some days ago. “You ordered the little fellow on Amazon, planted it in your mother’s front yard and then SHA-ZAM! It took nearly a year for that house to sell! So, my sweet, what on earth makes you think Saint Joseph is going to help us here in Alabama? Did I not advise you to not pack anything until we had a contract in hand.”
Well…OKAY. Rocket-man indeed makes a valid point.
Pish-posh! It matters not. Still, I will not….I repeat, emphatically, I WILL NOT…unpack any of those boxes sitting in the spare room! I’m not giving up….even though I know the hat that I want to take on an upcoming trip is packed in one of those boxes…..
So, at this writing I am ready to try anything. In fact, acquiring eye-of-newt for a bewitching potion—which I’m sure to find through an internet search—may be my next step.
You can see that I’m reaching a level of desperation here.
“You’re right,” I reply. “However, ye of so little faith….with my mother’s house I planted Saint Joseph literally on the day we put it on the market, and it was in the front yard. This time, things are a wee-bit different (I stupidly reasoned): I’ve given things a good six months to work out. And besides, I’m planting him in the back yard this go round, directly in front of the Saint Francis statute. The two of them–together–should do the trick, don’t you think?”
Rocket-man rolled his eyes at my thinly veiled logic.
Rocket-man does have a Ph.D. Could he be right? Hmm. I’d never admit it! Could it be time for Plan C?
Excuse me now as I embark on my eye-of-newt search. Wish me luck.