March 9, 2009

The snow is falling this morning, small flakes, light and soft as feathers cover  trees and grass, streets and sidewalks, cars and, yes, roofs.  Which means that our roof will be leaking again soon.

And that’s okay.  N and I have made peace, talked it out, had a lovely and restful Sunday after our dismal Saturday, and are presenting a unified front.

I’ve written a letter to our landlords, coolheaded as I could make it, but strongly worded enough for N, explaining that we can’t continue to mop up the leaks indefinitely while paying full rent for the privilege, asking that repairs be made, and noting that we may have to explore alternative housing options. We’re going to be talking with the landlord-tenant advisory people at the University, too, to make sure we have legal legs to stand on.

As I’ve said before, I hate moving.  I would hate it even if Teddy had lived.  In fact, I’m sure I’d then be complaining about packing up all the baby things.  But coming on top of our loss, leaving this place that reminds me of Teddy, under these circumstances, seems deeply and personally wrong, when in fact it’s just one of those things that happens.

I still want my own house, some day, a place to fill with memories until the very rafters (if it has rafters) echo with love, laughter, and comfort.  But for now, it helps to know that when I move, I move with N, so I will always be home.


One comment

  1. Well you know what they say, home is where the heart is.

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