thoughts about where to grow old

Instant summer, my friends — from normal spring temperatures to 28 feeling like 35 in seconds. To teach Tuesday, I had to scrabble in my closet for respectable hot weather teaching clothes, hadn’t even brought out my summer gear. Can’t complain, though – the roses are budding like crazy and everything is growing.

It’s been a frantic few days and I’m feeling, as I often am, overwhelmed. My upstairs tenant, a young man who was 22 when he moved in, is now 27 and has just moved out to take a good job in Ottawa. So getting him out and then taking a look at the place and all that needs to be done … yikes. My lovely handyman Doug and I went to Home Depot to buy a new toilet, which luckily Sam was here to cart upstairs – incredibly heavy. Doug installed it today, plus we dealt with other issues, including the busy carpenter bees that had drilled at least nine holes in a wood overhang upstairs. (I splashed vinegar around to tell them they were not welcome and today Doug filled the holes. It reminded me of the time we found a huge nest of flying carpenter ants, horrible things, and then the termite debacle that cost $30,000 to fix. Oh yes, it’s fun, this home ownership business.)

So this morning Doug turned to me as he worked and said, kindly, that he thought the house was perhaps too much for me, this nearly 140-year-old four-story house with two tenants and a big garden. He suggested moving to a condo building on Gerrard he’s worked on, not far, but – I’ve seen those places, and they felt tiny, with a postage stamp garden. So here’s the issue: I complain endlessly about my responsibilities here, but can’t imagine how I’d live without the amenities — the garden, space, light, bird feeder, location, neighbours. I love my neighbours and this ‘hood. I love this house, troubles and all. A difficult issue, particularly for a single woman.

I’m giving myself five years to figure something out and fix it. Assuming, of course, that I remain healthy. One idea: subdivide the house, put in a proper kitchen upstairs, and rent or sell it. A lot of work and money, but – possible. I have a line of credit. Hmmm.

But then I lose my beloved bedroom and my south-facing office with its tons of files and boxes of paper.

That’s life.

In the meantime, mundane work continues. Thomas came over yesterday to spend two hours scrubbing down the deck, which was dark brown when he started and so white this morning, I thought it had snowed.

I’m still putting away woollens and getting out cottons. Tonight I’m riding to the Danforth for a Bach event, part of Bach week. I definitely need some Bach to stop the chatter in my head.

Where will I live as I grow old? Perhaps you are having the same thoughts. What is your solution?

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