The Paseo House

An Open Letter to Any Prospective Buyer,

Welcome to The Paseo House.  Look around.  Make yourself comfortable.  We certainly did for the last thirteen and a half years.

Enjoy the view out of the south-facing window, the one that looks over the Patty Jewett golf course (country club living on a teacher salary), while I tell you a little about our history with the house.


I bought the house in May of 2004 just as my daughter was heading out of 5th Grade from Stratton Elementary and into the 6th Grade at Mann Middle School the following fall.  Part of the motivation for buying the home was to enable my daughter to continue on with her friends into middle school (it’s a long story – about single parenting, her mother’s move to Florida to pursue her master’s degree, etc.). The motivation was to be in a cool neighborhood near her childhood friends as we began a single-dad household.


Hopefully  you can envision the fullness of the life lived here.  A pre-adolescent girl growing into a confident and outspoken young woman.  A middle-aged dad trying to guide her through that growth.  At one point, when she was around 16, I was washing dishes, she was standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room.  Our conversation (was it about driving? about boys?) was tiptoeing up on becoming an argument.  I looked at her with my hands dripping soapy water, and said “Jess, I am learning how to be a parent to a 16-year old.”  She looked across the expanse of the kitchen and said “And I’m learning how to be 16.”  That’s what happened here:  we learned to live a rich life.

We had movie marathons downstairs in the big room in the basement.  What a great home theater that was – it’s even shaped like a theater!  From The Lord of the Rings trilogy, The Minority Report, Jeremiah Johnson, to Juno  and X – we watched our favorites, argued over the quality of each other’s choices, cheered on Seabiscuit, cringed at shared bad choices like Stepbrothers.  Wrapped in blankets, we ate popcorn in the glow of a good movie from our big screen.

And that basement, partially finished but totally funky, became the home of a third bedroom, became the site of a pottery studio, became the venue for a Super Bowl party and a Halloween gathering.  My daughter’s friends bobbed for apples in a plastic tub in the utility room. The bathroom glowed red from the decorative bulb. The basement may look a little tired — thirteen years can take its toll.


While the basement was sort of the raucous part of the house, upstairs was quieter.  Winters called for a fire in the fireplace, chili cooking on the stove, potitza rolled out on the table at Christmas, and snow-filled views out the window.  We’d watch foxes against the white snow on winter mornings.  Occasionally a deer or two would leap the fence separating the tee box on Hole #5 from our yard. From the same window and the back deck, we’d watch the golfers, wince at their missed putts, rejoice at their solid drives. cringe at their colorful language.


We had pets here, too.  Two dogs, two cats.  They slid across the wood floors.  They sat in the sun streaming through the windows.



Family members — sisters and brothers and nephews — stayed here.  They stayed on vacations and on relocations.  They recovered here and regained their footing.  There was no place to comment on the realtor’s listing documents as we put the house on the  market, but this house has healing powers.


The other day as my daughter and I were reminiscing about The Paseo House, she mentioned that she lived here for over half her life.  In all my busy-ness to get the house ready to sell, the move had not fully hit until then.  She had lived in other homes over her 24 years, but this was the longest she had lived in one residence.  That night, I made a little timeline of the houses I have lived in.  The Paseo House is #24 (this includes the various dorms and college apartments I called home for 6- or 10-month periods).  By the time I graduated from high school, I had lived in five houses, three of them with solely with my single mother.  My daughter was right in slowing us down to reminisce about this transition from one home, one life, to another.  It’s not a small thing, this.

You may be wondering why sell the house now?  Well, that pottery studio housed in the basement was the home of JK’s Creative Disasters Pottery.  And JK moved from being my friend, to my best friend, and now to my fiancée.  I found love at the Paseo House (and wooed her with Durango Chicken and Green Chile Rice cooked in a funky 60’s-style turquoise oven along the way).


My daughter and I lived a great life here, and we shared that life with family and friends for over thirteen years.  Paseo means “a slow walk” or “leisurely stroll.”  While it wasn’t always leisurely, we walked together as father and daughter, each growing in our own individual ways, our lives unfolding in wonderful ways.

As Tom Stoppard writes in his play Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, “Look on every exit as being an entrance somewhere else.”  So while we are exiting The Paseo House, it is to enter a new life, new experiences, and share our lives with loves that were born here. I’d like to think that our life here set the foundation for life’s next offerings.


We hope, as you enter, that you have love and health, and enjoy a joyful walk of your own, here in The Paseo House, with the warm morning light from the southern sun streaming in.



One Response to “The Paseo House”

  1. Sue Havenor Says:

    Moving, no pun intended.

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