You may think things are moving too fast.

Wasn’t I going to take a few Mental Health days?

Yes, but…

I can’t help thinking of Judy’s red convertible Mercedes sports car and about Gary’s silver late model sedan.

What have we done wrong?

My husband is a surgeon (retired). I am a university lecturer (retired).

Here we are in Upper Scragsville selling our most precious possession.

Well, today I bought Vanity Fair.

Headline:

It’s Still About Greed and…

MONEY

That’s right.

I’ve been approached by a headhunter for Graydon Carter.

It’s about doing a piece in a major USA publication about my real estate experience.

I’m absolutely over the moon.

I’ve moved on.

No longer am I obsessed about what this realtor or that realtor thought about my little dream house.

With a bit of soft spring rain, the lilacs will be ready to burst into bloom. Already, timid little green ears appear on scraggly branches, (yes, there’s that word again) and the tall skinny crabapple tree in the back yard is stirring with fresh greenery. The one in the front garden is waiting a bit; early May is its season of splendour.

Will I still be here to see this wonder?

I mean, I’m not going to die or anything, but will my dream house be sold by then?

Who knows.

Right now I focus on beauty. Soon there will be clusters of Siberian iris and Oriental poppies and lush peonies creating a Monet-like garden that any artist would love to paint — not to speak of the fragrant lily-of-the-valley, the violets, the primrose, and daffodils, tulips and various other little buds whose names escape me at the moment.

A bit later will come the clematis and the bushy roses. Then, of course, the fall flowers.

But that is such a long way away.

I bought this property seven years ago from Judy Faulkner because I loved the garden. Judy did make a brief visit on Saturday but has declined my invitation to say hi. She’s very successful and very attractive with her pale algemarine outfit and calling card matching her pretty blue eyes. Apparently she’s too big to acknowledge a Scragsville seller already (even though this is her area, by all accounts).

Thinking back: I did call Judy seven years ago to check on a moving-in date. No response. She had bagged her 5%.

 End of story.

I suppose I shouldn’t say much about this.

It’s still a STIGMA.

Tsk… What’s wrong with me? Well, nothing. So I’ll just go right ahead and say it: There comes a time when even the most well-adjusted, balanced and rational among us needs a…er…well… Well, a Mental Health Day – or three. Experts tell us that one in 5 Canadians will suffer a clinical depression in the next few years. Easy does it, right?

So, now I have time to enjoy the many friendly faces depicted on the calling cards left on my kitchen counter or my living room coffee table.

The men are absolutely divine. The smiles immaculate. The women too. To be honest I have to think these folk have regular modeling jobs during the week and do bits of real estate on weekends. Or maybe the other way around.

To some sellers it could be reassuring that gorgeous people undertake to negotiate the perils of buying and selling one’s most precious possession.  I myself am not so sure about that.

The Falconer’s (not real name) female agents are so stunning that I don’t know if I can trust them. Maybe cause I’m secretly jealous and intimidated by their fresh young beauty and stylish high boots.

My position has to be: Give me an ordinary matron any day.

But do they even exist?