Uh, yeah, about that move thing.....

The real estate agent told us over the phone last Friday.

"He lost his job." Our Navy vet, he never saw it coming. Neither did us, the real estate agent, the lawyer, the furniture dealer who is holding a whole new living room set.

That will look real nice in our garage, won't it?

You could hear the dream machine toilet flushing immediately. Money. Time. Packing. Putting things places and then forgetting where that place is,  but going into every room in the house to see if the thing is actually hiding there, but then we forget why we went into the room in the first place and stomp out annoyed at the thing and ourselves.

So we have a house where it is the same inside and out but the inside is also a puzzle now. It weighs the same, but you can't see it anymore.

So now we sit.

And we hope there is someone out there who wants 1/2 of a townhouse located in a pine forest just south of Saratoga and will pay anything close to our asking price, please let me know.  We have to move to the condo.

And I can't find the cereal. Or my bowl for the cereal. Or a spoon.

Good luck movin' up 'cause I'm Moving Out....

The house sold in three days.  We got what we asked for it (price wise) but we got 5 offers in three days after nine parties when through the house.  Our real estate agent, Aubrey ("And Aubrey was her name" [David Gates and Bread]) handled the juggling match, and ended up selling the home to a single vet, recently separated from the service.   His original mark was a few thousand  below what we were asking, and he was just another offer on the table.

But a few days after the man and his agent had toured our home, the man came back to our house, solo.  I was home and just out of the shower half dressed when I heard the doorbell ring and then the front door getting a pounding like it was an army.  Turned out, once I got to the front door, I tried my best to look as dignified as possible, half jammies and half towel. Outside the door, a tall and handsome man of about 30 years, looking like a lumberjack from a chili ad.

"Hi," he said, "Is this a bad time?"  No doubt my towel/jammie outfit gave him some clue  that it might be. 

Then he said "I'm Doug, I was here looking at your home yesterday? Can I talk to you about it?"

Now this is the first time, at age 59, or any other age, that I'd ever tried to sell my home to anyone, so I wasn't quite sure how this worked.  But...

"Okay," I said.  "Come on in.  What can I do for you?" As I said that, I dropped on to the couch as MS only allows me so much energy, and now I was done a little after 9:00 AM.

"Well, I'd really liked to buy your house." he said, some thing I'm some of my readers would have loved to hear one time or another.  My external reaction was totally poised as Doug explained what he liked about the house.  My internal reaction was:

Then he said the magic word: Veteran.

Yeah, I know, different duck.  Still great animation.  

Anyhoo, on the wall are pictures of my father and Jackie's dad in their sailor suits ready to win World War II for us BY THEMSELVES!  And the guy standing before me is a Navy vet.  

Game over.  So now we are packing boxes to give the sailor a great home. And the stone faced sailors on our wall have slight smiles today not only because they are staying on another wall in our new home, but our home is Navy.

Let The Journey Begin