"Home, Smoky Home"
Most of what I loved about the house was the tree in the front yard. Next what I loved was the owner. Next what I loved, once inside, was the sweetness of the house within - the love that seemed to be imbued there. What I didn't notice as much was the smell of cigarette smoke and the stains from nicotine on every surface. That came later, once I'd bought the house and experienced it empty, without the heart and presence of the (former) owner.
It was tremendous, the task of de-smoking the house, from ceiling to floor; hours and hours of washing, scrubbing, painting, cleaning, pulling up, and throwing out. It was disheartening to have the first of my senses, upon entering the house, assaulted by the smell of smoke. With a sensitive olfactory and a strong dislike of cigarette smoke, it seemed I had really overlooked a huge obstacle. So I did what I could to mask or clear as much as possible, trusting that it would dissipate over time. And it had begun to, though nowhere near completely. It was still in the dishwasher, the hall linen closet, the bedroom carpet......It was frustrating and annoying. I wanted it GONE!
Or so I thought......
Out on the (enclosed) porch Saturday morning, I felt the chair arm was wet. Not just damp, but wet. Earlier, I'd picked up some paper from the table next to it, and it was moist. "Oh, well," I thought, "it's Florida. Everything's moist!" But the light bulb went off, and I looked up at the ceiling - ugh. There hung droplets of water from the heavy rain the night before. NOT what a new homeowner (not this one, anyway!) wants to see. "Hmmm...will have someone come and look at it in the week." Luckily, it's a flat roof and separate from the rest of the house, which has a relatively new shingled roof atop it. And then I was off, out of town for the day.
As I was driving, it struck me in the oddest way - the house was crying! It was missing its owner as much as she'd been sad to move out of it. Her husband had died less than a year earlier, her health was beginning to deteriorate, she missed her husband, and now, she was having to move to Tennessee to live with her daughter. She was sad. She loved the house, the memories it held, and all the years that it had belonged to her family. Her parents bought it brand new 57 years ago and lived it in until they passed. She had moved into it to help care for them, prior, and she and her husband took great pride in it and great care of it since they moved in some ten years ago. She had a lot of love and energy invested in her house/home! So she was sad to leave it, and now, I saw, her house was sad without her. And there I was, cleaning and clearing, washing and rushing, to get out all signs of her presence and to make it 'my own.' I felt so sad! And a bit ashamed and embarrassed, too. Since I loved the house so much, it was as though I could feel its pain. Her house was sweet and lovely because of her! How silly I was to have wanted it all out!
So I silently said a prayer of apology, asked the house for forgiveness, and decided to just chill out and enjoy what parts of her were still there in the house. Not only even the smoke, but now, especially the smoke, as that was really all that remained. All of her possessions and special touches were gone. Everything had been stripped bare, save a few curtains in the living room that she'd left behind (and that I'd since given away).
When I got home later that night, I walked around the house, just taking in all of its sweetness and tenderness, and giving back the same. The next day in the shower, I smelled smoke, and began to cry. In that moment, I missed and loved her tremendously. It felt good to smell it, to know that her presence was still there, and that not only could I tolerate the lingering smoke smell, but could now actually appreciate it!
That has been two weeks ago, and oddly, since then, I have not only not been bothered by the smoke smell, but really only remember smelling it a couple of times. And I quit trying so hard to make the house mine, make it me. I figure that will happen on its own, when the house accepts me, welcomes me, and adopts me as its new caretaker and tenant!
