Moving in and working out (03-10-10)

The house is already full, but I'm moving more boxes over today.

Every time I walk by the fireplace in the living room, and see the hearth filled with a foot of the finest light powdery ashes, it makes me think of the box of ashes we found in the laundry room a few days ago. I now regret returning it; I think the yard would have been a great place to disperse them.

I decided to clean out the hearth. I swept the ashes up carefully and filled two paper grocery bags. I set aside a few small things that haven't burned all the way: part of the header to a legal document, a torn piece of photograph, a negative...

In the middle front of the fireplace, there is a spot of hardened glue. The previous owner ripped out a plaque that used to be glued there, one of her "Home Sweet Home" or "My Heart Belongs Here" like she had everywhere in the house.

Mysteries and unanswered questions abound. Why so many ashes? Why not dispose of one's private papers by shredding them the old-fashioned way? Why rip out a stupid plaque and leave the fireplace damaged? This is too weird.

"Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore"...Or Does She?.. (03-06-10)

Now that we're in our new home, Gary and I go about checking things out in the empty house, opening doors and drawers. The main part of the house is dusty, filthy even. The seller took the carpet runners off the stairs; something was ripped from the front of the fireplace mantel, leaving it damaged.

While I rummage around the part of the house (the family room) that had previously been used as a rental space, Gary calls me, his voice urgent. Her points to a shelf in the laundry room cupboard, where, next to a box of Miracle Grow, there is a white cardboard box. He tells me to read the printed label on top, bearing the name of a local crematorium. I open it to look inside. There is an open plastic bag filled with ashes. Looking at the label again, I realize that the seller has left her mother's ashes behind. In a cheap cardboard box. On a shelf. In the laundry room. Next to a box of fertilizer.

We call our agent, who laughs at the news of our discovery. The call he makes to the seller's agent gets an unusual response: put the ashes out in the yard and the handyman will pick them up tomorrow along with the garden stuff!

I am in shock. This is creeping me out. My heart sinks. Did we make a mistake? The accumulation of every aggravation we've experienced with the purchase of this house (which I haven't written about) is too much to bear. Gary says we'll make it work and stick it out for a couple of years and see how we feel about it then.