How do you say good-bye to a house? How do you say good-bye to a place that is not only the home of a dear friend, but also the setting for so many memories that define life in a certain town at a certain stage of your life?
First of all, it’s far more than a house. It’s a landmark. From our valley there are very few spots from which it can’t be seen. It’s like true north on a compass—as true north as the Catalina foothills. And the woman who built it is as one-of-a-kind as the innovative design.
Sadly, today it must go on the market. I never thought I’d believe a house listed at $1.75 million was a bargain, but there are many things I find hard to stomach in today’s economy.
A genuine showcase with unrivaled views, I have faith that the right eye with the right checkbook will climb that hill, walk in and say “Wow,” just the way everyone who enters those doors has done for the past several years.
A group of women gathered today for what may be our last happy hour at this amazing house. Together we shared endless, unforgettable stories of the people we met there, the people with whom we laughed there, and the people who had close encounters with the cacti. We reminisced about white elephant gifts hurled down the driveway, high heels threatening to poke through leather cushions, hors d’oeurvres and fruit fights, boob flashes and a few rousing rounds of Chicken Shit Bingo (or was it bunko?)
Many of us watched this dwelling go from a plan in a challenging, raw desert setting to the work of art—the dream house—it became. We grew to count on it as the setting for our annual events, the house of all our best social memories. But alas, time passes, things change. Everything has a beginning, a middle and an end.
No one can say we didn’t appreciate it while it lasted. Now, however, it’s time to bury the saint, remove the black cock above the kitchen door and start a new chapter.
Today may have been the last happy hour, but we foresee a true last hurrah—perhaps a slumber party in the near future to celebrate the accepted offer. It will be one last chance to admire the view of our past. And our future.
