And Then? And Then?

Yesterday, the Man and I traveled up to the northern counties to look at a piece of real estate I found on Craig's list. Our realtor friend had alerted us to the pest report ($20,000 in dry rot, beetles and termites and that was only one of the several buildings) and it was raining in the morning, which makes California people drive like rank beginners, but off we went.

I actually loved the property. I loved the irregularly shaped swimming pool, the frigidly cold pool house with labyrinthine paths to the shower and toilet and roof beams to support a spired cathedral, the lipstick pink rhododendrons, growing high and profuse in front of the living room windows, the flourishing blackberries, the creek we crossed to get on to the property, the needlepoint pictures framed on the walls...

Probably the most amazing aspects are those that will disappear with the current owner, who has lived there, child and woman, for 56 years. In a separate structure, listing a little, settling as rotting wood will, in the back portion, the owner has her cottage industry: dollhouses and dollhouse miniatures. Furnished rooms, full of doll antiques: rockers, corner cupboards, deal tables, gate leg tables, dining room tables with additional leaves, armchairs, settees, canopy beds. And all the accessories for every room, including carpets and tiny cushions. Dustless and gleaming in their glass cased displays. She does 9 fairs each year, so she is intimately familiar with what it takes to pack and transfer these tiny items to another locale.

In the 3 car garage, built by her now deceased husband, is a train world. Not the small trains - O gauge? - the bigger variety, ready to send into their travel patterns, through tunnels, up, around and under hills, bridges, and through incredible landscapes, including one where a gagged woman is tied to the tracks. This display has never yet been packed and moved. Will she be taking it along?

She says she has just decided she needs a change of scene. I think she's been shoved into that position by her children, who think it's too much house and grounds for her to keep tending. Her own feelings are clearly mixed, since her whole life has been lived in that area. Will decorating a new place in a new town give her joy? Will - or would - it me?