What I Learned From Being Robbed

I had a cast iron sink from the 1940’s.

My Honey got it from a house he had purchased and renovated.

The sink was a “cast off” and I loved it.  It was solid, and had an artful beauty in its utilitarianism.  My beloved grandmother had had a sink just like it.  I would wash in mine, like she had washed in hers.

It was going to be the cornerstone of a quirky, non-matching kitchen for the historic house we were looking to purchase.

My sink was stolen yesterday.

It had been at the top of our driveway. The thing was heavy as hell.

I was crushed when I saw it was no longer there.

It was like someone took my dream.  No, they stole my dream for theirs.

I have decided that it was a “sign” not to purchase the historic house.

I have been mentally laboring over that house…5,000 square feet of history, and a boat load of work to restore it. We could afford to buy it, but would I want to spend every waking hour when I wasn’t at work: cleaning it, maintaining the grounds, searching for pieces to complete it etc…?

I have been looking for some clear signal, some clear path to help me reach a decision on whether to submit our follow-up offer.

The house is bank owned and the bank had rejected two of our offers previously. But they (the bank) called our realtor the other day, and said that if we resubmitted, they would likely accept that offer.

I have been tortured ever since then.  It is a beyond beautiful house and we would be such worthy caretakers, but there would be no time for anything but “the house”.  There would be no money to travel, no time to write, no money to buy pretty clothes…

I have my sign.

I have no cast iron sink/no cornerstone and have decided not to buy the historic house.  I suppose I now have room for a new dream.

I’m still sad about my sink.

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