Hello. My Name is Tom Kapanka

For six years, I've been writing here at Patterns of Ink anonymously. I've had many reasons for thinking that was best, but in the previous post, I said "consider this my Facebook for now," and I can't really do that without a name.

I have another reason for disclosing my full name after all these years. This morning my younger brother Jim sent me a Youtube link from my cousin Jack who is a country singer. Back in Chapter Six of the "Unsettled" story, I told of the time my father was confronted about building the barn without a building permit. That story ended with the inspector declaring the barn a work of art. Years later, around 1993, when my cousin Jack [AKA "One-eyed Jack"] was visiting my parents, sitting there in the house we had built in those settling years, Dad told him the story, and like a true lyricist, when Jack heard the inspector's line "This isn't a barn it's a work of art," he said, "Now there's a song!" He took some liberties and made the statement apply to the house we had built at the end of that winding driveway. It was recorded for his second CD many years later. [Other songs can be heard on his Youtube channel.]

The house and land sold last week. The sign was up for just four days. Lots of interest. On the second day, the buyers went through the house and barn twice. They rightly discerned that this was a rare find, a one-of-a-kind place in the area that defied "comps" and the trends in the market, and they wisely made an offer above the list price to send a strong message to the other interested parties from the four-day traffic at the home they knew they wanted. They are a nice family. We are honored that they saw the value of this very special place and that they have invited us to walk its familiar paths whenever we wish. We will not abuse their courtesy, but the invitation brings a sort of peace to this sale. I live on the other side of the state, but someday I will meet them.

They don't know this yet, but as promised, a draft of my "Unsettled" story [which I may re-title as either "The Settling Years" or "Settling Home" or who knows what?] will be on one of the library shelves of Mom's phone nook when they move in. If I don't get it there in time, I'll deliver it in person to the front porch door someday. Perhaps they may also enjoy listening to this song that was written about the house they will now be calling home.


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