When I came home from work today, the "for sale" sign was up in front of my house. Susan had called me at work tell me Jeff was coming by with it. It's a big, substantial thing on a great sign post. I guess it's to withstand the rigours of Main St. in case some kid would feel the need to wander off with it, it would be difficult to steal.

I knew it was going to be there. Still, my heart jumped and lurched when I saw it. For some reason, this is the only house I've ever really thought of as "my house", as not just temporary. It's the only house I've ever had that I've just enjoyed looking at from the driveway. I've had houses that I've liked. This is the house I loved. Such luck that this is the one that must be sold.

But the sale will do a great deal of good, maybe in ways that aren't yet my story to tell....

I came in and immediately got into the Great Debate with The Hub about the room the realtor told us to paint. He wants to do the trim too, because, in his mind when you paint a room you paint the trim. To not paint the trim would be "slip shod" work. And, like most humans, he feels more people are like him than who are not like him. He imagines some man coming through and thinking "hmmm. slip shod work. wonder what else is only half done around here?"

Of course, he himself bought the house with the room painted the terrible shade of green to which the realtor objected. And there was PLEANTY that yelled "slip shod work!" when we bought the house, not the least of which was the unsafe electrical work for the pond and in the wiring in the basement, all of which The Hub corrected.

It's possible that The Hub is right. My trouble is that I'm resentful that we have to paint the room at all. It seems like we have done nothing our whole lives but fix up places for other people to live. Because The Hub is such a perfectionist, when we are living in a place, it's hard for him to make any decision about doing work. He spends long periods of time debating the pros and cons of each solution while I live with the holes or the sub-standard flooring or lousey paint job or whatever it is. And I'm usually content to live with it because I'd rather it not be torn up. Once The Hub starts, his perfectionism kicks into overdrive, and he will do and undo, put up and tear down, whatever it takes to meet his craftsman standards. And he's furious when I finally lose my temper tripping over tools and paint buckets and demand that he finish, or just stop.

I love The Hub. I knew he was a perfectionist about these sorts of things when we got married. He doesn't believe this, but it's true: I have a much higher tolerance than most women for living in a construction project - it's usually something about my health that finally opens the door to frustration ( i.e. the paint fumes are bugging my asthma, or I've nearly fallen over something laying in the middle of the floor. Every fall I take is a huge risk, as I found out when I had the last serious fall in MA and wound up on the walker for three years) But I don't live in "the house in my head" the way he does, the vision of the beautiful future when everything is finished. In the past I haven't lived in my houses at all. I've been like a turtle, carrying my home with me in my memories. I've always said either "Home is in the heart" or, alternatively, "Heaven is my home".

My material home has been portable. It would fit in a shoe box or, at most, a suitcase. The truth of the matter is that everything that is in the house that I consider "mine" not "ours" - everything I would take with me if I ever had to leave by myself - would fit in my car and leave room in the back seat for the dog. Some photographs, 7 books and my Bible, a clock and a perfume bottle that belonged to my grandmother, the contents of my dresser, a nativity set, a candle holder, my camera and "art supplies" such as they are, a teapot, a vase, a refigerator magnet, a sea shell, a religious icon,a basket, and a chair if there was room for it. With those things I could start over, content, anywhere.

On one level, as write this, I think, "Wow. I have no life." But another part of my mind goes back to one of my vivid memories from the 5th grade.

In my memory, I'm sitting in the 2nd row from the right third from the back in our class room in "the white house". This was the annex of our school, a little white building that had once been the entire schoolhouse for Scarred Heart. I'm in the 5th grade, listening attentively to the social studies lesson, having read ahead through the whole thing, and anxious to hear what our teacher has to say about it. It's a comparative religions unit - which makes it practically herasey - but the school doesn't want to be seen as backwards in spite of our science books that tell us, in 1977, "man may some day even land on the moon!"

Our lay teacher, who is intellegent and lively and who has an unpronouncable Polish last name is giving us an overview of the main points of Buddhism. "...it is wanting things, desire, and attachment to things that causes suffering. Not wanting things like food and shelter - The Buddha doesn't say that people ought to starve or be cold - but the things people have that they don't really need but they get attached to. What especially causes suffering is desire ,the wanting of things that you can't have or are hard for you to get. This suffering leads to all kinds of evil. Stealing things, fighting for things. But even if you don't fight or steal you can't attain Nirvana, which is what -"

"Perfect peace." say those of us in unison who have read the lesson and memorized the vocabulary the way we were supposed to. But Mrs. S. is still struggling to explain the concepts of "desire" and "attachment". However, back in the back with the light hitting the polished wood floor, I've not only got the concepts, I feel like jumping out of my seat for joy. I feel like somebody just opened a door for me, an escape hatch in my thinking. Under my little plaid jumper my heart is beating fast. This is TRUE! I think. I remember over the summer how my friend L. was so careless of her doll collection, how it broke my heart to see her treat items I felt I would die to have as if they were nothing. The feeling got so strong it began to color my feelings about L. who was one of my most dear friends. But she was not attached to them. And I could teach myself to not want things. And what you don't want can't be taken away. This is a way to not be sad about what you haven't got. It's a real answer! And then, But, oh-oh, this isn't a Christian idea.

While Mrs. S. went on using different examples about desire and attachment, I used the Idea Evaluator my mother had given me. My mom didn't know she had given it to me, but she had, and it was a very fine one she'd given to me on my first day at Scarred Heart. "Just because a teacher says it, doesn't mean it's true. Just because it's written in a book doesn't mean it's true. Always remember this: THINK FOR YOURSELF. If something doesn't sound right to you, ask questions. Keep asking questions until you get answers. You know the difference between right and wrong. A good idea will always lead to good things, even if it's not a religious one. A bad idea will always lead to bad things, even if it is a religious one." and earlier that very day I had read in my "Good News for Modern Man" - the translation of the New Testament we were using in religion class "No good tree bears bad fruit, nor can a bad tree bear good fruit....and by their fruits you will know them" (Matthew 7:19-20)

While my brain was whirling away, Mrs. S. was desperate to reach the stragglers, "It's like Jesus saying, 'the love of money is the root of all evil'. Don't the sisters teach you that it's not just money, but can be any material thing?" I heard. That settled it. It was a Good Idea, and I was on board with it.

Evidently, I have been ever since. Or I was. If I still was, it wouldn't give me so much grief to sell the house, especially since it's such a little sorrow compared to all the good it will do.

Maybe it shouldn't be so hard on myself spiritually. After all, this is the first house I ever bought with the pure intention of it being my "forever and ever home" and vowing, "the only way I'm leaving it is feet first in a pine box." Hmm. I think that's part of the reason why Quakers avoid swearing and, indeed, such extravagent vows. And after all I AM selling the house - I'm just grieving for the loss a little. Maybe that's what I wonder. Is it okay to grieve for the loss of a material thing like a house? I tend to think not, yet be a little more indulgent on the question, of grieving over a dream. The dream that I had settled down. That the great stress and material upheaval that has charecterized my life for the last 10 years was coming to an end.

How much can I say, "Oh this is difficult!" without balencing it by saying "No one can take my happy memories of the place" ? Some people say, "Well your feelings are just your feelings", but I believe you DECIDE what to feel. I believe in this story that is said to be Cherokee wisdom. It goes like this:

A young brave came to his wise father one day. "Father" he said, "I am very troubled and I need your advice."

"Tell me your trouble, my son." his father said.

"It seems to me that there are two wolves living inside me. They are spirit wolves and they are part of my spirit. These wolves are always fighting, day and night. One is loving, compassionate, brave, and good, always urging my spirit in these directions. But the other is devious, decietful, selfish, and false, and he urges my spirit in this way. They are always with me, and they never stop fighting. They are tearing me up inside. They are equal in streangth and skill as fighters. Oh, Father! You must tell me which one will win."

The father looked at his son with great compassion and answered "The one you feed."

Sigh. Like most questions we ask ourselves, we always have the answers in our hearts anyway. I suppose, what with the sleeplessness, and feeling ill, I've had little food on hand for my good wolf. I have to say from personal experience that my bad wolf seems to get by on a very lean diet!

So I guess I'm on my way to the paint store to get the supplies for the painting project. On my way I can try to visulize a family or young couple who might buy the house, for whom this would be affordable housing. I can try, in my heart, to connect with them to reach out to them with good intentions and good will and think of the pleasure they will have sitting in the driveway when they have the house, and all the excitement and good days ahead they may have in it.

I wonder what shade of white they'd like?