We bought this house eight years ago and realised that the time might come when the upkeep of a house became too much for us.
That time has not yet come, even although DH died last autumn, years earlier than we eight years ago had any reason to think either of us would die.
Practically the first thing people said to me upon learning of DH's death was "Are you going to sell the house?" The polite answer was, "Not at the present". The less polite, but more frequent was "Will you for Heaven's sake let me get used to widowhood before you start planning my future?"
I am coping. Have painted the outer sides of seven windows completely and have undercoated three more, two of which are on the first storey, painted the cement faced founds of the entire house , have 3 windows still to do, and have repainted and decorated all the rooms of the entire first storey .
All this ,over and above dealing with probate, trying to find a gardener, mowing grass myself, shopping, cooking and cleaning - the three last were formerly shared tasks, whilst DH did household repairs and I washing, ironing and the basic minimum of gardening.
Strange as people find it, we bought the house because we liked it and could imagine being happy living in it, (which we were, and I still am) not because we cared two hoots about the garden, which only interests me because it has currant bushes, is a place to hang out the washing, and a marvellous playground for two cats.
What said garden looks like is not anything I can work myself up about - it is home to two hedgehogs, and uncounted number of toads, various birdst, butterflies, dragon flies and a fairly large assortment of field mice, voles and shrews. The queenie cat makes me regular presents of the above mouse populations (including a mouse, proudly brought into the kitchen ten minutes before the undertaker was due to come on the morning following DH' s death. I decided that an undertaker was unlikely to be disturbed by the sight of a dead mouse, that I had not time to weep at the cat's attempt to condole with me, and dealt with her gift in the time honoured fashion, which includes the use of a dustpan and brush and a small plastic bag.)
Her brother devours more or less of his mice, depending on the size of his appetite that day and leaves me to dispose of the rest of his meal.
So cross the bridge when you come to it - you will know when the time is right, or if, like my father, you don't, someone else will dispose of your property once it no longer is your concern. Live life while you have it.
