Walking away

After three weeks of waiting for word on what I'd called "a promising attempt to secure a place of our own," late yesterday my wife and I chose to walk away from the deal. Since we'd heard virtually nothing from the other parties, we decided that it was time to move on.

We also dismissed our realtor who, to our amazement, responded with a childishly unprofessional outburst. I'll chalk that up to youth, inexperience and the fertility drugs she says she's taking.

Seriously.

So at 11am today, Mrs. KintlaLake will meet up with an old friend, a woman who also happens to be a realtor, to resume the hunt.

"From now on I have only one job," she said to my wife on the phone last night. "It's my life's mission to find your family a home."

Because those words came from a friend and not some hucksterish stranger, we take a measure of encouragement. That feeling joins mixed emotions percolating here this morning -- disappointment and optimism, weariness and confidence.

We're fine and we will be fine. Finding a place of our own simply is going to take a little longer, that's all.