The Goddess Speaks
The Goddess Speaks
‘The move’ is never easy
It's time to move. Interest rates are at the lowest level in 40 years, and the housing market is hot nationwide. So get up and switch houses!
In doing our part to improve consumer confidence and keep the economy rolling, we sold our lovely home, looking to buy a smaller one. In the interim, we rented for what we considered a manageable period. By manageable, I mean my husband and I are again on civil speaking terms. It might be late 2004 before the sharp edges dull on our tone of voice whenever we recount "The Move."
We made it through Phase I of downsizing with too much instead of way too much. At least we no longer have to clean like fools and leave home every time a Realtor wants to show the house. It's no fun getting up each morning and doing an hour's worth of housework before the coffee even gets into circulation.
Not content hanging damp towels and shooting dirty socks into the hamper, we rinsed our cereal bowls, then wiped the kitchen sink clean. I became adept at getting a drink without splashing. Fresh flowers filled the entry, knickknacks were squirreled away in drawers, bookshelves were aligned and junk mail was junked. We were reduced to a polished veneer of our real selves.
DURING PHASE II, the rent-and-search phase, everything but bare essentials went into storage, waiting for walls and an address. Phase III wasn't the slam-dunk we'd anticipated. We became Sunday open house tour regulars, our optimism diminishing every passing week. As our Realtor so blithely put it, "There's not much inventory out there." We heard of sellers actually getting above their asking price with more than one backup offer on the table. Comparisons to "the bubble" of a dozen years ago keep surfacing, and so far the current bubble hasn't popped.
We looked at expensive fixer-uppers that made us slightly ill. Projects that went beyond mere personalizing. We saw second-story doors that opened to an iron grate instead of a lanai, stairways that ended before they hit the ground, 800 square feet of "storage" (read "taxed") space without access, and enough termite damage to make us wonder what any home is worth. Move-in condition involves high density and a commute, a tradeoff we weighed along with half Oahu's population.
Then, voilà! We found something we not only could learn to live with, but learn to love. We signed, paid up, moved in and got reacquainted with boxes we'd loaded months ago -- too many boxes, marked "ofc misc," "lv rm figs" and books, books, books. We downsized the house but didn't downsize the contents enough. The garage is full, and not with cars. The closets are stuffed. We even have two big cardboard boxes in the family room camouflaged under a tropical tablecloth. The Salvation Army dispatcher recognizes my voice.
A year from now it may make sense. A year from now the new place will feel like home, and the home we loved for 10 years will be a pleasant memory. But for now, I'm filling out change-of-address cards and trying not to remember that MOVE is the dirtiest four-letter word in the English language.
Sally Sorenson is a member of the Romance Writers of America Hawaii chapter.
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