The idea to move into this house, says Ed, was hatched in the middle of the night the weekend Wally was getting ready to die. My son and I were having a quiet couple of hours together yesterday, Easter afternoon, as the lamb roasted in the oven, and his boisterous family was on their way back from a visit with their other Grammy and Grandpa.

We haven’t had as many conversations like this as you’d think these past few months. Between children and carpenters, paint and sawdust, endless piles of books and papers, taking time to sit quietly and talk hasn’t been a priority.

Ed’s the one who had always told us he’d never move away. As a young boy he imagined a cabin for himself on the edge of the pasture. (If his father was reading this, he’d remind us, as he unfailingly did, of the summer his grown middle son lived in the sauna out back.)

But it was his wife who got the idea first, dozing on the couch, listening for sounds that Wally was stirring in the next room during those long January nights a year and more ago. I was pretty useless as a caretaker at the end, turning over nursing duties to my sons and their sweet wives.

As I lay next to my fading husband in the front room, traveling with him as he prepared to leave us, Tracee kept the fires going in the dimly-lit living room, recorded the medications she was administering, and apparently began seeing herself in this place forever.

 That ‘s Ed’s story of “whose idea was this anyway?”

 Mine started a few months later, when, after a long day working in the garden, Tracee said, “I just want to stay here.”

 After she left a light bulb went off. I raced upstairs, through the two bedrooms over the ell, and out the door that led into the barn loft. Vast, cluttered and dusty, it was home to swallows and cats, mice and those enormous spiders of which Charlotte is the most famous. Hoards of kittens had been born there. Wisps of hay between the floorboards lingered from its days as a hayloft.

 I paced it off as best I could, stepping over and onto the various trunks, toys, old magazines, cat poo, ski boots, the canoe we hadn’t used in 40 years, did some quick square footage calculations in my head, and saw possibility. Add in the two-ell bedrooms, as well as the two rooms and bath in the second floor of the main house, and there seemed to be room for a family. Tracee and Ed’s family.

 When these ideas, these light bulbs go off, I’ve learned to give it a day or two. Think on it.

 Besides, I was well aware that when you lose your spouse you’re more than a bit wacky. My short-term memory was shot, and is only now slowly getting back to normal, as the brain is so busy processing the loss there’s no room for much else. Never make a major decision in the first year, they say.

But I did anyway and called Tracee. “Come over. I’ve got an idea.”

We explored the space together that day. Take down a wall here, another there, put up some insulation, a skylight or two, some sheetrock. It’ll be cool. She was in, happily drinking the Kool-Aid with me.

 But would Ed be? As he says today, what 43-year-old man wants to move in with his mother?

 Turns out the hours he’d spent under this roof that January week had affected him as profoundly as his wife.

 Yes, he said, yes. Let’s do it.

 So here we are, nearly 10 months later, with a beautiful, almost-finished upstairs house: living room, study, kitchen, three bedrooms, a bath and a half, its own entrance, sky-lit, brightly painted and smelling of clean, new wood.

 Only Sam Cantlin’s Consider It Carpentry and Viking knows how many linear feet of 2 x 10s are holding it all together. Only Dennis Sidik understands the maze of wires he had to untangle to turn a single 146-year-old house into two, each with its own electric panel. Only Norm Walters and George Baggett know where the pipes go that carry both water and heat, again, untangled from the tangle they found there.

 Of course, as everyone warned us before we started, we’ve gone over-budget. A few rolls of insulation and some sheetrock, indeed.

 And I’m living downstairs, nearly every last possession of mine either moved downstairs, to the dump, to Goodwill, or the free pile.

 We’re almost done. It’s time for me to step aside for a bit so this next generation can move in unimpeded by the former sole owner of the place. I’m taking a trip this week out west with my sister, a road trip that will take us from her home in Louisiana, across Texas to Arizona, New Mexico, and back, with me ending up in Florida to drive home with my snowbird friend.

 I’ll be sending in a bare bones version of this column containing upcoming events in town; please continue emailing me, Diane O’Brien with the items you want to publicize for the next few weeks.

 When I return in late April this should be a rocking place with the addition of three kids, their parents and three cats. Watch out Fritz and Smitten; life is about to get real interesting.

 And yes, it’ll be cool.

Town

Note that the second half of property taxes are due Wednesday, April 4, by closing time at the Town Office.

There’s an opening at the school for a Garden Coordinator to work with students, teachers and the food service director to plan and carry out planting and tending the school garden, spring, summer, and fall. The position comes with a stipend. Email Principal Paul Russo paul.russo@fivetowns.net  or call, 763-3366.

It’s time for kindergarten pre-registration for next year. If you have a child turning five on or before October 15, 2018 he/she is eligible to start kindergarten. Call the school office, 763-3366, to start the process.

This Tuesday, March 2  from 4 -6 p.m. some experienced (and patient)) knitters will be on hand to teach beginners how to knit, a great chance to learn and if you’re already a knitter, how to do it better. Get some expert input for an ongoing project or help in mastering a new stitch or technique.  This knitting workshop is held every first Tuesday at the Library.

Friday, April 6 at 11 a.m. Jessica Day will be leading Midcoast Music Together.  It’s free and the library hosts it every first Friday.  All children and their families are welcome to join in for singing, dancing and playing simple instruments.

In spite of the very reluctant spring we seem to be experiencing, most of us find ways to have fun. Once again parents and children, as well as several adults without kids, stopped by the Community Building last Saturday to decorate an Easter egg with the wax-resist method of dyeing – Ukranian Pysanky. Fire, melted wax, permanent dyes. Nobody’s hair caught fire, only a couple of eggs got dropped, and everyone went home with stained fingers, all the elements of a kid-friendly endeavor.

Some forty people gathered at Ducktrap Saturday night to celebrate a friend’s 70th birthday. She wanted her party to coincide with the second full moon of the month, a Blue Moon. No, it’s not blue, but brilliant orange as it literally seemed to pop up over the horizon behind Knight’s Point to music and firelight and good food on the rocky Ducktrap shore.

Finally, a night spent at a friend’s Coleman Pond cottage, is always a bit magical, especially when the loons are calling. There were no loons this time, just five flying squirrels gliding out from under the eaves in the dusk, disappearing onto the trunks of nearby trees where they clung as if they had suction cups on their feet.