The Slow-Cooked Sentence

A week in re(d)rospect

Rachael Conlin Levy
Courtesy of spettacolopuro.

Selling a house is tough on the nerves. I go though the day jittery, unable to relax in my home, feeling as if royalty will arrive any second.

The day the For Sale sign went up, a Realtor knocked on the door. I’d asked for an hour’s notice, but in this market any prospective buyer is welcome, even unannounced, so I let them in and left. An hour later, I returned and toured my home, trying to see it through the eyes of a stranger. I climbed the stairs, peeked into the bedrooms, smiled at my red kitchen, and squinted when I looked into the bathroom.

What was that on the floor near the toilet?

A raisin?

I bent over. Picked it up.

It was a tiny turd.

On average, it takes 123 days for a home to sell in the Reno area. I don’t know if I’m going to last.

Courtesy of davebluedevil.

In one day, Max and Sam yanked more than 100 dandelions out of the front yard, earning 25 cents for each plant pulled out of the soil with its root attached. They emptied their banks, bought cheap MP3 players and spent the rest of the day wandering around the house, plugged in, tunelessly humming along to Owl City’s “Hello Seattle.”

I had to yank out their ear buds in order to talk to them.


The poop pellet wasn’t the worst of the week, though.

Gray, wet weather reminiscent of Seattle drove a stray cat into our garage, where it sprayed.


Sniff. Sniff.


Sniff. Sniff.

No, here.

Sniff. Sniff.

I’m hyperventilating from all the sniffing, because the garage is stuffed to the gills and now must be emptied and sanitized, because my husband thinks it can be solved with a trip to the store to buy air freshener. We haul stuff out of the garage and into the rain.

By 10 p.m., my nerves are frayed and the lining of my nose is burned by bleach fumes.

I couldn’t smell the flowers he brought home the next day, but they were beautiful.

I couldn’t figure out how to load music onto my new, shiny red iPod nano, but he helped me.

I couldn’t imagine living without him, even for a month, so I’m not counting the days until May 8th.

3 responses to “A week in re(d)rospect”

  1. Linda says:

    I can't imagine a month without Marcel either. I will come by tomorrow after my doctor appointment and bring chocolate.

  2. Heather G says:

    Hey, when do we get to wake up and realize this is all just a nightmare – this thinking that you're leaving?

  3. Rachael Levy says:

    Heather, the other day I realized all of my information about The Move was via Marcel and could be a big ruse … that he leaves and never returns for the rest of us. When I shared that idea with him, he laughed (nervously).

    Ma, thanks for the chocolate and visit. Life savers, both.


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