Gray sky leaks overhead. Windshield wipers slosh away the evidence with soothing regularity. A lovely day to look at property.
I know better than to hope when I get a call in the morning asking to show my house later. Out of four such calls, only one couple has actually walked through our home.
Today’s caller, a realtor, drove the wrong way down our one way street. Sitting at my computer typing out a blog post, I watched them slow down.
“It wasn’t them?” My husband wants to know from the next room. I can hear the idiotic remarks of the sportscasters announcing the golf tournament he’s watching.
“They didn’t stop, so I guess not. Still too early.” It was five minutes before the time the realtor mentioned stopping by.
A few minutes later the phone rings. Yes, they drove by. The location wasn’t what they’re looking for so they didn’t bother to stop.
I understand their pain.
We drove up two steep hills to check out some property while the sky wept and the wipers whisked.
The first lot was a hillside. No wonder it was being offered for half as much as most of the lots we’ve seen.
Next up, a hill but with enough of a flat area it might work for the house of our dreams. The road to it, on the other hand, needs repaving in a bad way. For once, I was glad to be riding in the truck. My car might not have survived the meteorite-sized potholes.
Winding through some green pastures, we drove to the next location. The hill got steeper. Canyons dropped on first one side and then the other side of the roadway.
The lots were at the top of a hill nestled in an area of old timber. Two of them seemed to offer a decent layout. With so few homes in the area, I have a hard time imagining if it will feel claustrophobic once there are a dozen houses up there.
In any case, I can’t imagine driving up that road on a regular basis. Does my husband really think it wouldn’t make his commute more stressful?
So, I’m sitting in the house where I raised my children. I’m wishing it didn’t have two levels. I’m hoping and praying someone will want to buy it.
When they do, where will I go? It seems that everything we like is exorbitant and I am willing to trudge stairs in my old age so we don’t have to have a mortgage twice the size of the one we have now.
Meanwhile, other changes might be brewing. Perhaps there will be a transfer to a locale with more blue sky and less precipitation.
The stupid Buzz Feed quiz says my ideal home is a chalet in Switzerland. I think not. I’m happy for a one-level with some elbow room within a fifteen minute drive of hubby’s job.
What’s your ideal home? Where would you want to live if economics had no say in the matter?