Real estate karma

I plucked St. Joseph out of the yard. Since he's holding baby Jesus, you could say I resurrected him. Not because the house sold. On the contrary. But St. Joseph belongs to my aunt. She got him at the Vatican --nice Jewish girls know where to shop-- and she wants him back.

I'm worried that if the house sells in winter I won't be able to unearth her statue from the frozen tundra. So I dug him up. Now I need a new one to plant.

Off I go to the Christian book store and, feeling a tad disrespectful, I ask if they have St. Joseph, because I don't see any. The clerk says they don't carry saints (who knew) and recommends a Catholic store. Yet I still feel like I'm desecrating another faith's icon. Then I type "St. Joseph statue" into Google and all of the results are for St. Joseph home selling kits. Guilt absolved.

Oscar night

For the first time in my life, I feel like people like me. Not that I have lived a friendless existence. I have some very close friends. But growing up some friendships ended with meanness and my feelings hurt and I’m wary to trust.

So I’m surprised when someone asks me for coffee, or to join their table at an event, or when a cake arrives on my doorstep on my birthday. Then I have my Sally Field monument, “You like me. You really like me.”

My mind is a sieve

While vacationing in Seattle, I reconnected with a dear friend from college. She’s newly single mom, a working professional woman. She’s on several boards, an activist crafting the future of her community. And I muse, what happened to my intellectual life? Wasn’t I supposed to have lofty goals?

Instead, my biggest concerns are: who buys Ugg boots for a two year old? Why do people create parking spaces for themselves in the school parking lot when there are plenty of spaces available? How come I can’t send p. b. and j. on a field trip, but can pack it on a regular school day?

Is it the kids? My lack of paid employment? Ohio? Something has atrophied my brain.

Movin' on up

Apparently we are just like the Jeffersons. Our new house is in the tonier community of Bath. And now I’m getting props from several moms at our children’s prep school, women who previously barely glanced in my direction. I seem to have arrived. But I have to wonder, do they really think that with the new address I’ll dress any better or act differently? Am I somehow now a more desirable lunch date? The only think that’s changed is our zip code.

What lies beneath?

We finally moved, and the adjustment was seamless for all of us. Except the dog. He’s a freak. Wouldn’t walk in the kitchen or foyer. Won’t run through his new, giant back yard. My spouse wonders what he senses…Radon seeping upstairs from the basement? Toxic waste in our groundwater from the gas station ¾ of a mile away? Me? I’m thinking ghosts.