Closing time

As sure as the cold bite of recent mornings and the turning of the maples in the sunlit afternoons, it is a shift of season.

In the Ottawa neighbourhood where my father has enjoyed his home of 50 years, there is sea-change of another kind happening. In many ways it’s a microcosm of a demographic shift of population everywhere. This part of Ottawa was developed into pleasant neighbourhoods in the 1950s and ’60s, and many living around here today are the original home owners. My folks were of that wave. Young families are the new buyers. After a period of Dad’s house being on the market, the sale of the family home has arrived; a sale that involves a quick closing.

For those who have been in the place where I currently find myself, there are no comments that can be added to lighten the experience. To my good fortune, my organized and devoted friend Anne has come from the County to help steer the process. To empty the contents, piano and all, of a home of 50 years is not for the faint-hearted.

It is now 6 a.m., two days away from the sale closing date and ahead of us lies a task list at least the length of the County phone book. I tend to be philosophical, not get too panicky, believing in the flow of things: everything will come together and every item of house contents will continue on their respective journeys. Some have gone to the folks who stopped by this past weekend’s two-day yard sale. I am sure you recognize them.

The over-abundance of material goods in our society is obvious at events like this. Many that stopped were strangers, collecting bounty from furniture to dishware to carpets. And many were neighbours wanting to take the time to inquire about the 101-year-old scientist—my father—who could always be spotted either snow shovelling walkways or tending in other ways to his property. Until this past winter, that is, when he fell ill.

The librarian lady and neighbour who bought Dad’s snow shovels and hedge clippers said it well when she spoke of Dad selling his place. We value our home in a way that reflects the emotional value connected to it and can often have difficulty seeing it only as a house on the real estate market being coldly compared to other houses by potential buyers.

At the yard sale, there was the man looking for a garden hoe who bought two rakes instead; an elderly lady in need of a lamp that went in the corner of her reading room also bought our kitchen table. There was Mike who, physically unable to leave his vehicle, drove up as close into the driveway as possible and requested objects be brought to him for examination. The gentleman who bought the large foam sofa cushion wanted it to protect the back wall of the family garage from his wife’s driving habits; she bought the magnifying glass.

The conversations at events like a family estate sale can become lengthy, as Anne reminded me, while understanding that clearing a lifetime of memories is not everyday. The yard sale gave me a chance to pass on Dad’s regards to his neighbours and advise of his plans for a Grey Cup party in the room he has booked at the Veterans’ centre, his new address. He has requested chili, his favourite party food, which will be made by Chris, his loyal groundskeeper of two decades. Mr. Chavez, the man who clears the winter driveway and also Theresa, Dad’s housecleaner of many years, will also be there. The point of view he shared with Yvonne—a personal care worker we have kept on—as she was on the ladder attaching autumn decorations to the ceiling of his new room, is that change, however dramatic and severe, does not spell the end. He is currently working on plans to build a scale model of his house. I am hoping the scaleddown version of the old upright piano will be able to come out of the basement like I’m hoping the real one will. I haven’t mentioned it to him yet, but it will be the closing chapter for me in my unplanned career as home disassembler. Quite honestly, at this moment we are exhausted.

The emotional rollercoaster and unsettling ride as we sort through possessions will soon come to an end. I am reminded of how we look at life and how we need to keep things in perspective when I became engaged in conversation with Violet, the nine-year-old daughter of the folks who this week will be the new owners of Dad’s house. She had one key question in mind when we were introduced. I responded: “Yes, my Dad always had a pumpkin out and the lights on and decorations on Halloween. There are lots of trick-or-treaters in the neighbourhood, don’t worry”. Violet was now satisfied; “Whew,” she added, “I have already picked out my new bedroom and my mom and dad were smart to buy your father’s house. Thank you,” she smiled.