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The Goddess Speaks Charlotte Phillips |
Saying goodbye
to house and lot
isn’t easyIt's time to sell my house and move on. But as much as I yearn for the freedom from homeownership so I can travel to faraway places, I can't seem to let go of the house, or more precisely, I can't abandon the past that has become intertwined with the house.
I keep tripping over memories and getting bogged down in sorting through papers, clippings, pictures, letters, souvenirs and books. And I haven't even started thinking about furniture and furnishings.
And then there's the yard, which has meant many years of heartache interspersed with exhilaration: the sadness of seeing dozens of apple-banana trees flattened by storms, and the glee of watching the keikis push up, only to have those new trees eventually wiped out by the bunchy-top virus.
Gloom over plant damage from termite fumigations, hurricanes, diseases, roofers, painters and other workers would turn to smiles as the plants responded to efforts to restore them, only to have the cycle repeat itself and wipe away the smiles as soon as more repair work was needed.
I keep setting conditions for letting go. I said that as soon as the killer winds stopped and the wind-damaged fronds were removed from the coconut trees -- so I could see them healthy and swaying happily in the breeze one more time -- I would be ready to go. They're beautiful again but I'm still here.
I figured that once all the bromeliads and the heliconia bloomed -- so I could take photos of them -- then I could go. They're blooming and I'm still here.
My plumeria trees bloom heavily for a few months, then lose all their leaves, get new leaves and soon bloom again. So I told myself I had to see them one more time: the white/yellow blossoms at the front corner of the yard and the yellow/pink blossoms at the back corner, in a kind of feng shui arrangement. They're blooming, but I can't seem to go anywhere.
MANY YEARS AGO, I saw "Camelot" on Broadway and heard Robert Goulet sing "If Ever I Should Leave You." That haunting song resonated in my mind for a long time, but I haven't thought of it in years, until now, when it is playing constantly in my head.
If ever I could leave my home, it wouldn't be while beloved plants struggled to overcome setbacks or while baby birds born here learned to fly. It wouldn't be before the hibiscus blooms again after being cut back. Or the latest batch of avocados mature. Or the areca palms recover from the last fumigation. Or the baby palms sprouting from my coconuts get big enough to fend for themselves. But they're growing fast, and the bougainvillea has finally recovered from the storms and will soon be awash in purple, orange and pink blossoms. Once it's in full flower, I can finally leave.
Well, except that the huge bufo that stays under the spa during the day and comes out at night to eat bugs apparently has taken a mate. I saw them hopping out together last night. Umm. Baby bufos may be coming. I need to stick around to see them.
But after that, if ever I could leave, it would surely be then.
Charlotte Phillips is a former Star-Bulletin copy editor.
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