Whenever a house near us goes on the market, of course, it prompts discussions about what this one might be worth, not that I'm thinking of selling. What with estate agents on the internet one can find out all sorts about the amenities various homes have on offer and at what price.
The house next door suddenly went up for sale last month. In spite of being a 'semi-detached' with mine, it isn't quite a mirror image of this house though perhaps it once was. It has 3 bedrooms like mine, 'another room' which may equate to my large upstairs landing, and picture rails. We have a garage and the original fireplaces, which they do not. They have a downstairs loo and the original 1920's stained glass door, which we do not. Updating inside and replacing the roof was costed at about £40,000 and they were asking £210,000. There was practically a queue of people to view it and the house was sold within a couple of weeks. We are waiting to see who are our new neighbours.
Bill talked with Marjory's grandson a couple of times and learned that she is now in a very nice residential home in another village. He didn't say, but we surmise that Dorothy passed away. She will have been in her 80s at least. Up until about 5-6 years ago, she walked daily into the next village to do her grocery shopping. She told me once that she had been walking along the riverside and heard the ferry tooting, as it does each afternoon when it leaves for Amsterdam. She was excited and ran to see the ship. This brought on a heart attack and she told me she was doing less and less ever since. She said she missed her freedom sorely. I try to remember that story for when I'm reluctant to go for my run. I've written about Dorothy before.
It's quiet now, but for the comings and goings of carpet fitters and the grandson and his wife who are moved in for the interim. I'm sad that Dorothy is gone, but happy that she had a long life and that she wasn't lonely in her old age. We were never in and out of one another's houses, only speaking when out in the gardens at the same time, so it's not as though we were particularly close. Still, she was a very nice lady.
About the time all this started happening, the local free paper had an article in it about the big fluffy black and white cat that used to wait with me for the train that would take me to work. It lived at the metro station and it wasn't until I was writing about the flea market there that I discovered the cat had a name. Iggy, too, has passed on.
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2 comments:
This made me think of my kids’ obsession with talking about death lately… I think I’ll write a post about it sometime.
Oh, sad for Dorothy and Iggy. But I do hope they're keeping each other company somewhere nice.
I can totally relate to keeping an eye on local real estate; it fascinates me, even though, knock on wood, we have no plans to sell.
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