The Long and Winding Road

Not only is the road up to the top of that mountain in Comfort a long one, but the path to buying that house seems to be growing longer as well.

I drove our young Miss C to school today, her schedule cut short because of final exams, and she asked me why it was taking so long to buy the "mountain house," as she's calling it. I told her that the seller is wanting much more than property values are worth up there, and my husband is trying to make a reasonable offer without going over the top.

Right now, we're waiting on a call from the realtor, before my husband puts in another offer on that house and property. I think this will be the last offer, however. If the seller can't meet us half-way on this house, then we'll be looking at other properties. Which will break my heart, but that's just the way it's going to be.

As much as I love that house, my head is telling me not to be paying too much for it. My heart, however, says just buy the house and enjoy it for the rest of our lives, and after that, let Miss C enjoy it for all of hers. There will, of course, be other properties, other homes, other views. Not that one, but others, so I'm just getting my mind set for that. And I told Miss C to get her mind set as well. Thankfully, she hasn't seen the house yet, other than in the photographs, so she really has no way of knowing how beautiful it truly is. She asked me if she could come mountain-house shopping with us the next time we go up into the Hill Country. I told her that I would keep that in mind, but I don't know that we'd do that. Miss C is worse than I am when it comes to getting emotionally attached to things.... I can just see her wrapping her arms around a fencepost and vowing not to move until we tell her which room will be hers.

My piano lesson was yesterday.... which turned into more of a talk-fest than a lesson. K and her husband own property in other states, their latest being a house in Tennessee, which they go to as often as they can. The Tennessee house isn't up on a mountain, but it sits on quite a few acres. They will most likely move there when her husband retires from his job here. On some days, he is closer to retirement than she thinks, so the move to Tennessee may come quicker than she planned. When that time comes, I'll be looking for another piano teacher, but I'm not even going to worry about that yet. There's enough on my mind with the Hill Country house that we're trying to buy.

I haven't looked at the pictures of the Comfort house since we got back from spending the weekend up there. I thought that would help, to not see it, to not look at the rooms and all the antiques it's filled with. I tried to tell myself that if I didn't see the stone gate, then I wouldn't miss it. If I didn't see the photos of the view, then I couldn't cry over it. So wrong. I can see every inch of that house, inside and outside. I can tell you what the wind sounds like, I can tell you what the long kitchen table feels like when you run your hand over it. I know what's right outside the bathroom window as you sit in a bubble-bath, and I can hear the little waterfall fountain outside the French doors of the master bedroom.

I dream about that house, I think of it constantly when I'm not even trying. Since we got back from Savannah, I've stopped turning on mom's teapot lamp in our kitchen. Seeing that hopeful little light just made me sad. If we do get that house, then I'll turn the lamp on in celebration, rather than keeping it lit in anticipation.

If it's meant to be, it will be. I am so tired of telling myself that. I truly, firmly believe that we were meant to be in that little cabin. Right there, right on top of that mountain, watching the sky at night and hearing nothing more than our own breath and the wind woooshing through the cypress.