Monday, February 23, 2009
The house is sold!
I am happy to report that one week after our new realtor took on our case, and just after Thanksgiving, great buyers walked in our door and fell in love.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Hot Weather, Cool Market
Time for confession: it has been more than a week since our last house showing. Two of the three houses our realtor framed as "competitors" are pending. Since bad things often happen in threes, I guess it's only fair to mention that our realtor left our front door unlocked after the open house last week and then accused us of attacking him when my husband voiced rather pointed displeasure.
If that counts for our three bad things, it must mean that three good things are on the way. With those other pesky houses out of the way, our house looks even more attractive. That's number one. (OK, I'm spinning, but allow me some latitude here!) Number two: Day after tomorrow is the Fourth of July, which means hundreds of potential buyers will be descending on the 'hood for the world's most eclectic Fourth of July Parade and carnival. There will be lots of tatoos, men in skirts, transgender hairdressers and me, a Lawnchair Lady, decked out in full Superwoman attire. Every member of the family has an important part to play in this creative display of patriotism.
Our realtor promises to have posters in full view along the parade route. Let's hope that makes a difference and he can redeem himself from the whole unnecessary chimney work debacle that served as a real trust-breaker for us.
Stay tuned for stars-and-stripes details. And good news, part three. There just has to be three, yes?
If that counts for our three bad things, it must mean that three good things are on the way. With those other pesky houses out of the way, our house looks even more attractive. That's number one. (OK, I'm spinning, but allow me some latitude here!) Number two: Day after tomorrow is the Fourth of July, which means hundreds of potential buyers will be descending on the 'hood for the world's most eclectic Fourth of July Parade and carnival. There will be lots of tatoos, men in skirts, transgender hairdressers and me, a Lawnchair Lady, decked out in full Superwoman attire. Every member of the family has an important part to play in this creative display of patriotism.
Our realtor promises to have posters in full view along the parade route. Let's hope that makes a difference and he can redeem himself from the whole unnecessary chimney work debacle that served as a real trust-breaker for us.
Stay tuned for stars-and-stripes details. And good news, part three. There just has to be three, yes?
Monday, June 30, 2008
Holidaze
The sun has set on June. Bring on July and new hope. Independence from a second mortgage. It has to be a day closer every day. Independence from the worries of creative home marketing techniques.
Here's a thought: the neighborhood fills with folks from all over for its eclectic Fourth of July Parade, which happens, ideally enough, on the Fourth of July. Heck, it even has its own website!
Why not tap into those distinctive resources to spread the word about the best house for sale in the 'hood?
Let's see if flyers on telephone poles lining the parade route help. . . they can't hurt!
Here's a thought: the neighborhood fills with folks from all over for its eclectic Fourth of July Parade, which happens, ideally enough, on the Fourth of July. Heck, it even has its own website!
Why not tap into those distinctive resources to spread the word about the best house for sale in the 'hood?
Let's see if flyers on telephone poles lining the parade route help. . . they can't hurt!
Sunday, June 29, 2008
A Matter of Trust
As the sun rises on yet another week on the market, I sense cloudy skies ahead. Literally. The storms have been sudden and furious, mimicking the frustration that I started feeling when our realtor recommended a specific chimney mason to check out what he said was the horrible condition of our outer wall.
At first, I thought it was just convenient that this chimney mason just happened to be working on our realtor's home as well. I started to feel a bit queasy when our communications with said chimney mason came directed through our realtor's email account. Then my husband had a phone conversation with the chimney guy and was won over. But I felt even more sick when I added up the cost estimates, which again came through the realtor's email--more than $12K didn't even completely cover the cost. And this "expert" refused to guarantee the work less than his total. He swore our two chimneys needed to be completely torn down and rebuilt and that the entire side wall needed to be rebuilt.
I stalled. I denied. I did everything possible to try to avoid the fact that our only financial option seemed to be raiding our 401K plans. A few days passed and a few more opinions trickled in. Not only did they cast a shadow over the original chimney guy's honesty, it was like they cast a rain cloud. Not only were the chimneys perfectly straight, the wall was in decent shape, too. Tuckpointing, yes. Major surgery, no.
Sometimes stalling is good. Like yesterday. I was out with my friend who was running errands before leaving the country for six weeks. We stalled outside the dry cleaners as a torrential downpour, hail and all, slowed our day's progress. Sometimes moving fast is good, too. Like when we beat the aforementioned storm by dashing to the car just seconds before the downpour.
Beating the downpour may have been dumb luck. Getting a second and third opinion, on the other hand, is anything but luck. It may have stemmed from desperation, from wanting to hear better news, and from some inner instinct that chimney guy number one was a little too anxious to tear down our walls.
So we're weathering the storms of real estate, holding tight to what little money we have left, and, for the moment, keeping that 401K in check. Whatever the future holds, we'll be sure to keep our eyes to the skies and look for a break in the weather.
At first, I thought it was just convenient that this chimney mason just happened to be working on our realtor's home as well. I started to feel a bit queasy when our communications with said chimney mason came directed through our realtor's email account. Then my husband had a phone conversation with the chimney guy and was won over. But I felt even more sick when I added up the cost estimates, which again came through the realtor's email--more than $12K didn't even completely cover the cost. And this "expert" refused to guarantee the work less than his total. He swore our two chimneys needed to be completely torn down and rebuilt and that the entire side wall needed to be rebuilt.
I stalled. I denied. I did everything possible to try to avoid the fact that our only financial option seemed to be raiding our 401K plans. A few days passed and a few more opinions trickled in. Not only did they cast a shadow over the original chimney guy's honesty, it was like they cast a rain cloud. Not only were the chimneys perfectly straight, the wall was in decent shape, too. Tuckpointing, yes. Major surgery, no.
Sometimes stalling is good. Like yesterday. I was out with my friend who was running errands before leaving the country for six weeks. We stalled outside the dry cleaners as a torrential downpour, hail and all, slowed our day's progress. Sometimes moving fast is good, too. Like when we beat the aforementioned storm by dashing to the car just seconds before the downpour.
Beating the downpour may have been dumb luck. Getting a second and third opinion, on the other hand, is anything but luck. It may have stemmed from desperation, from wanting to hear better news, and from some inner instinct that chimney guy number one was a little too anxious to tear down our walls.
So we're weathering the storms of real estate, holding tight to what little money we have left, and, for the moment, keeping that 401K in check. Whatever the future holds, we'll be sure to keep our eyes to the skies and look for a break in the weather.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Day by Day
Today marks the start of week number three. Time flies when your house is on the market!
Good news--lots of people want to see our house. Bad news--no one loves it yet. In fact, after a flurry of activity and a decent open house, barely a nibble of sustained interest. Doesn't anyone know old house charm anymore?
Maybe another sunny day of cool breezes and optimism will bring new reason to hope before slashing the price. . . maybe.
Good news--lots of people want to see our house. Bad news--no one loves it yet. In fact, after a flurry of activity and a decent open house, barely a nibble of sustained interest. Doesn't anyone know old house charm anymore?
Maybe another sunny day of cool breezes and optimism will bring new reason to hope before slashing the price. . . maybe.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Atrocious manners
There are lots of adjectives people could use to describe any given situation. A shared romance could be haunted or idyllic. A new pet could be adorable or dangerous. And a new house on the market could be spectacular or "atrocious," depending on your taste and your manners.
It was the first Open House day today, so from 2-4 pm all I wanted to do was spy. I wanted someone, anyone to feed me reactions instantly. I wanted to know the who, what, when, where and way.
And it didn't matter that several couples saw and liked the house. There was the "atrocious" woman who stormed around our stairs. Her dismissive words linger in our heads like a not-so-gentle breeze. Her dismissive words may as well have been every other person who saw the home--but they weren't.
Her dismissive words made me indignant. They made me self-righteous and worse, just plain angry.
Not the way you want to walk away from an open house, but at least we were nowhere in sight!
It was the first Open House day today, so from 2-4 pm all I wanted to do was spy. I wanted someone, anyone to feed me reactions instantly. I wanted to know the who, what, when, where and way.
And it didn't matter that several couples saw and liked the house. There was the "atrocious" woman who stormed around our stairs. Her dismissive words linger in our heads like a not-so-gentle breeze. Her dismissive words may as well have been every other person who saw the home--but they weren't.
Her dismissive words made me indignant. They made me self-righteous and worse, just plain angry.
Not the way you want to walk away from an open house, but at least we were nowhere in sight!
Saturday, June 21, 2008
No News is No News
After Thursday, I was hopeful. Two showing should have elicited some sort of clue to the house-selling mystery. With knowledge, comes power. (Insert other appropriate cliches here.)
Then Friday passed and no word from the realtor, who I learned last night was out of town on a camping trip with his daughters. He had no email access, so had no new info about feedback or interest.
So, instead of dwelling on non-news, let me tell you about lawn-whacking. It's a neighborhood tradition I just learned about this week--all part of a big run-up to the Fourth of July madness in Northside. Wednesday morning as I rush out the door, I'm greeted by a broken down plastic rocking horse (charming, but the stuffing leaking from his head was a definite turn off), two American flags surrounded by stems of plastic flowers and red-white-and-blue pinwheels. Oh, and a plastic hedgehog. My front yard looked decidedly patriotic, in a plastic-rocking-horse-with-leaking-head sort of way.
There was a sign, thankfully, noting that we had been lawn-whacked. Add a piece of kitsch to the collection and pass it off to another neighbor sucker within 48 hours, or, I suppose, that rocking horse head might end up inside my bed! Whoever ends up with this collection of patriotism on July 3 has to take it to the neighborhood Fourth festival, the likes of which you have to see to believe.
With the handy instruction sheet in hand, I allowed myself to enjoy the front-yard display for a day as I plotted about what to add to the pile. In the end, two small firetrucks made the cut, turning the lawn monstrosity into a mini-equivalent of a Fourth of July parade with two main floats--a nearly headless horse and a hedgehog. I traveled to the old house neighborhood to lawn-whack an old friend in the wee hours of the morning yesterday, leaving a note at their door explaining the rules and their new obligations to the future of our republic.
See why I love my neighborhood?
Then Friday passed and no word from the realtor, who I learned last night was out of town on a camping trip with his daughters. He had no email access, so had no new info about feedback or interest.
So, instead of dwelling on non-news, let me tell you about lawn-whacking. It's a neighborhood tradition I just learned about this week--all part of a big run-up to the Fourth of July madness in Northside. Wednesday morning as I rush out the door, I'm greeted by a broken down plastic rocking horse (charming, but the stuffing leaking from his head was a definite turn off), two American flags surrounded by stems of plastic flowers and red-white-and-blue pinwheels. Oh, and a plastic hedgehog. My front yard looked decidedly patriotic, in a plastic-rocking-horse-with-leaking-head sort of way.
There was a sign, thankfully, noting that we had been lawn-whacked. Add a piece of kitsch to the collection and pass it off to another neighbor sucker within 48 hours, or, I suppose, that rocking horse head might end up inside my bed! Whoever ends up with this collection of patriotism on July 3 has to take it to the neighborhood Fourth festival, the likes of which you have to see to believe.
With the handy instruction sheet in hand, I allowed myself to enjoy the front-yard display for a day as I plotted about what to add to the pile. In the end, two small firetrucks made the cut, turning the lawn monstrosity into a mini-equivalent of a Fourth of July parade with two main floats--a nearly headless horse and a hedgehog. I traveled to the old house neighborhood to lawn-whack an old friend in the wee hours of the morning yesterday, leaving a note at their door explaining the rules and their new obligations to the future of our republic.
See why I love my neighborhood?
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