Shortly after Jim and I closed on our new house together, we met with a realtor to put our own houses on the market. Jim had been working on repairs and cleaning and I had been working on moving and cleaning. Lots of cleaning.
We signed the paperwork, gots signs in our yards, and had photos of the houses taken for the website. And while we waited for a bite, we kept working on the houses – and kept working our regular jobs and working on the new house.
It was exhausting, even without the added stress of the pandemic.
Jim had a lot of showings early on and I had a few, then they drizzled out. We dropped the prices and got a flurry of new showings – and I got an offer. It was a little lower than my asking price, but still close and we moved forward.
The buyer had an inspection done, found a ton of “issues” (a few real and many more that were kinda bogus), and came back with some unreasonable demands. I countered with something a bit more reasonable and agreed to do some of the repairs they wanted.
- Tape over the presumed asbestos tape on the ductwork in the basement
- Have the basement walls scraped, dryloked, and painted. (I hired a guy)
- Install 3 railings
- Take the doorknob off the second story door and nail it shut. (terrible idea, but whatever)
The FHA appraiser was particularly torqued about the basement walls and wouldn’t sign off until those were done. And even with my scraping the walls during his off hours, the painter took longer than expected. I was starting to sweat that things wouldn’t get done in time, but the repairs wrapped up yesterday and I stopped by the house to pay the painter. That was all I could do then – the paint was still wet.
So, today. Today I went back over and did the rest of the clean-up, moved things back against the walls in the basement and swept the floors. I left the keys along with some notes, cleared out all my tools and supplies, and locked the door behind me.
I checked the mail one last time to pick up the junk with my name on it, and then borrowed a rake from the neighbor to give the yard one last go. Seemed like the thing to do.
As I finished up in the yard and looked back at the house, I had a wave of memories hit me.
The night when I first moved in and my family came up to help in the light December snow. Getting the keys, setting up my bed, and spending that first night alone – wondering/certain that I had made a huge mistake.
And a couple months later, after Jeff had passed, feeling a passing presence and something like a goodbye.
A first date with Jim and the revelation that he lived only a few blocks away.
Adopting a cat and bringing a little Thunder into my home.
Lots of yardwork and craft projects over the years.
That hidden spot in my backyard where I could lay out in the sun naked.
The little repairs and homeowner triumphs.
Sitting on my porch on a Ssunday morning with a book and some tea.
Fun conversations with my neighbors.
Lonely times working from home during the early days of the pandemic.
Stress of de-accumulating as I moved and making hard decisions about what to keep.
And the long hours where it seemed like I would never be done.
And then… somewhere in there the house stopped feeling like mine. Like it was just a place and full of tasks instead of… me. It was still weird leaving the first house that I had owned, but I didn’t look back. And when I got home, I deleted the entry – symbolically – from my GPS.
I’m scheduled to close on Monday, though it may be delayed a bit based on the title company.
But, at least for me, this part of my life is done. Jim and I have moved into a castle and are making new memories here.
So, goodbye to 435 Cypress Ave. May your new owner enjoy you as much as I did – please keep them safe and warm as you did for me and help them make memories there too.