Mary Novaria

Instead of going to the gym, I got my cardio when a hummingbird flew into the house. These birds are so dumb, I thought. But then I remembered, I’m the dummy who routinely leaves the sliding doors open so the dog, a yellow Lab mix, can come in and out as she pleases. In other words, I’m lazy and I don’t want to get up to let Bella in and out every time she has a whim… which is about every ten minutes.  Leaving the doors open is one of the perks of living in a place without tons of insects. It’s a habit that never would have flown when we lived in Kansas. There, June bugs are bigger than hummingbirds. Like moths, they crash against the coach lights on the porch and invite themselves in if you so much as crack open the door to let the cat out. When the kids were young, we had what John called The Nightly Bug Watch. “Daddy! There’s a spider on the ceiling.” “Something’s buzzing in my room!” As if my night owls needed any more excuses not to go to sleep. ...

This piece first appeared in the Huffington Post. They say moving is one of life's greatest stressors -- right up there with death and divorce. I'd like to see the stats on moving as a cause of death and divorce because if anything will make you feel murderous and conflicted, it's moving. After living in the same home for 18 years and in the same community for nearly 30, my husband and I relocated halfway across the country and have now moved three times in less than three years. So, you'd think I'd have moving down to a science by now. I don't. Unless it's a Psych 101 experiment designed to discover how many ways a move can make you completely insane. After a charming apartment that was close to the beach but way too small, and a house whose breathtaking view did not outweigh its considerable deficiencies and not-so-charming landlord, we found The One. Or so we thought. My husband and I are realistic enough to know that nothing's perfect, but ...

When our Kansas home went on the market two years ago, we thoughtfully staged the house with the help of a professional. We didn’t necessarily agree with everything she asked us to do—taking out all our books and bookshelves, for instance—but we complied, putting excess furniture, family photos and excess décor into a rented storage unit. Then our realtor suggested we fly an American flag every day. “Buyers love that,” she said. We took her word for it, dusted off the flag we normally flew only on national holidays, and slipped it into the rusty bracket by the garage door. A week later we had a full-price offer on the house. In addition to the side-by-side refrigerator, our buyer asked for the American flag. It seemed a small price to pay. “Sure, she can have it,” we said. Now, two years later, we’re flagless and all of a sudden I’m feeling it. Until today, I hadn't once thought about replacing that flag. I didn’t even realize I missed Old Glory until John ...

The “For Sale” sign is up. So is my anxiety level as we have now entered real estate limbo. We’re moving… but not yet. We’re living here… but only a while longer. Last time we sold a house, it was on the market for six hellish months. Two things I remember most about that time eighteen years ago: The phone would ring requesting a showing just as I’d strapped our one-year-old into her high chair for dinner … And, I hid baskets of laundry on the far side of our bed, hoping lookers would merely glance into the room and not walk in far enough to see the mounds that accumulated daily with a pre-schooler and a baby. When we finally had an offer, it came from a couple who had come to the Open House the very first week our home was on the market. They’d loved it and spent those months saving for a down payment. Serendipity. The home didn’t sell because it was waiting just for them. As for us, we looked and looked, made a few offers, and had a couple of deals fall through. Then, t...