Posts Tagged 'HGTV'

Memories for Sale

I’m selling my house.

After eighteen years and precious memories, things have changed and I feel compelled to try something else. My sweet wife, Ila, passed away nine months ago. The house is quiet. Too quiet. Too much time to think. Too much time.

It’s a big house, more than I need. How many bathrooms can I use simultaneously? How many acres can I traverse in a day. And how big a bed do I need when all I want to do is lie closer to the woman I love?

And I want to be nearer town. Closer to people. Closer to the noise of everyday living.

Yesterday I went to Java and Joes, the little coffee shop in the middle of town that has great coffee and the occasional stale muffin. It’s a slow-moving place with the usual assortment of regulars. I sat outside and watched the cars go by. Dogs on leash. People carrying stuff from Rains and Rainbow Bridge. I don’t know who they are, but I welcome their company. It’s like a battery recharge. Something that makes me part of the scene, rather than being alone.

Anticipating a positive outcome to my own sales effort and the need to find another home, it seemed appropriate to find out what was available on the market. Led by an intrepid real estate broker, Jackie and I looked at some candidates. Comparing my home to the ones we visited was disappointing at best. A feeling of why am I doing this dogged me both during and after the visitations. Our broker’s admonition of it’s a tight market, not much inventory, failed to make me appreciate my situation.

As a further step in preparing for a new home, I have taken to watching HGTV while I treadmill at the gym. I am mesmerized watching homes being renovated quicker than possible, even under the best conditions. I snicker as the disasters involving wood rot, crumbling structural beams and faulty plumbing are discovered and corrected in record time, and at a cost that is well under Southern California prices. Homeowners bounce between major depression and glee as each episode invariably ends with a happy outcome.

Couples seeking a new home are doggedly focused on the number and size of the bathrooms. Young couples with small children seem particularly possessed with the need for a bathroom for each of their kids. Four bedrooms, four baths, for four people is the ubiquitous mantra. God forbid that little Susie might become socially maladjusted if forced to wait in the hallway while little Jimmy diddles on the toilet.

I grew up in a three-bedroom apartment that was shared by my parents, my older brother, my aunt and uncle, and my grandmother. Other relatives, usually homeless, often appeared without notice and stayed for weeks. On the floor if necessary. I slept peacefully on a couch in the dining room, while my elders played poker and smoked cigarettes not two feet from my head. And we had one bathroom with one sink, a toilet and a shower.

It all seemed normal to me. If someone was in the bathroom, I retreated to wait my turn. If it was urgent, I would ask through the door “will you be long?” I learned to pace myself and always take advantage of vacancies. Maybe that’s why, even today, I hardly ever pass up the opportunity when a public toilet is within easy reach.

Friends have mixed feelings when I tell them that I’ve listed the house and its three bathrooms. Some don’t know what to say, but others are very supportive. Some, who think they can see into the future, promise me a positive outcome.

As I look out at the Topa Topa mountains that have become familiar faces over the last eighteen years, I find myself see-sawing between euphoria and depression. I alternate between welcoming potential buyers and hoping that they lose their way as they climb Sulphur Mountain Road.

I had my seventy-ninth birthday on Saturday. Sweet Jackie did herself proud by organizing a first-class party. She showered me with gifts and whispered words of love. Attuned to my mixed emotions about the house, she repeatedly checked my mood by asking, “Do you feel like it’s your birthday?” I’d think about her question and hesitate. It was as though the party was marking the end of an era. One that was filled with good times and sorrow. Something I couldn’t and wouldn’t forget.

The next day I got a note from my Chicago cousin Judie who had seen the over-the-top photos taken by my real estate broker…Just as I remember it. Nostalgic for me. But I understand why in your heart you hope no one wants to buy it. Even though that’s what should happen. It will be easier on you.

Maybe it will, after a while.


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