A house. A life. A story.

Today I met a nice lady that lives up the street. She asked me if I knew the previous owners of her home. A young woman had come to a yard sale while visiting from California. Once a child here, parents now gone. Could she come in she wondered?  I smiled. I had known them well. She was looking for a house, a life, a story.

It is an interesting job that we have. Assisting others in the chasing of their dreams. We do that. Liquidating the assets, moving up and out and over. They find us and we find them. We knit our goals together and fill in blanks that put in motion the 'how' of last chapters and new beginnings alike, and at once. They have their reasons, families in flux over growing, or shrinking, over birth and death and the changing definitions and dimensions of their journeys. A house, a life, a story.

To buy or sell call Charles, or Bob, or Diane. To make sense of such coming and going, well that's another call and a story only time will tell.

                                            

Think. How do you feel about the first house you lived in? Mine was at 25 Knight St Westbrook, Maine. Last house on the left of dead end street woven into the beauty that is southern Maine unnoticed by most. Yet,I know now that for a young boy no street is a dead end and that a kid in a house is never just a kid in a house. My dreams were born in that house and the dreams of my siblings. My mother gave me my first burr haircut on the sun porch of the house. Is it the same for you? Do you laugh inside  at  the words ringing hollow? 'The kitchen is the heart of the home' and the like.  As if heart could be defined by physical measures. The heart of the home is something else all together..

We list, we sell, we close. Repeat. List, sell, close, all the while we help to write the story that only time will tell.