Sometime next week, I'm flying to Texarkana to look for a home. This is a true labor of love at this point because there is very little inventory available in December anyway. But on top of that, living in a city of 60,000 in the budget I want to spend means there is about three houses to chose from.
Additionally, though I am trying, I'm not a fan of my agent. The agent was a gift and a close personal friend of the president of Marty's new company. She also is the broker for one of the two real estate companies in town. This agent is sweet and all Southern Hostess but she can't stop talking for three seconds to let me get a word in edgewise. Plus she isn't much of a listener.
I told her my budget. She tells me my budget only allows for homes that need updating. "What is updating in your book?" I asked her. "Not updated homes don't have granite counters," was her reply. That's perfect because I am one of the only people I know who doesn't like granite. I said so, but she didn't hear. She was busy leading me to homes $150,000 more than my budget.
She also was shoving 3,000 square foot homes in front of me. "I'd like something between 1,600 and 2,000 square feet."
"Really? That's pretty small." Says who? That "small" home doesn't have to have the maintenance price tag of a home 1,000 square feet bigger. I'm not cooling, heating or paying taxes or insurance on a house that will probably be too big to fit our needs.
Finally, she though she understood my thoughts and directed me to a dump she thought I could get it for $15,000 less than advertised. Now, truly, the price isn't my issue. I can qualify for whatever I want to qualify for. My budget is set by Marty and me.
In the case of this dump, she was worried I wouldn't like the workshop in the back. That might make the house, "too big." As it turns out, I like to refinish furniture (something I'd tell her if she'd SHUT UP for three seconds). But that house was truly a dump. There was no mistaking this place as anything other than a redneck zone on a good day and a ghetto on a bad day. She thought it would be "great" for me because it wasn't 3,000 square feet and didn't have granite counters.
In an effort to save my sanity, my dear friend Bliz is meeting me in Texarkana to come house hunting with me. She will be my voice of reason. And perhaps she may be my alibi if all does not go well.
In the last 11 days, I have been asked many of the same questions. It is interesting to me to see what people are curious about. Nobody has outright asked me how I feel about this (I'm ok). Most of my answers are standard. My last answer fluctuates, but the long version is below.
Q: Texarkana, where's that?
A: On the Texas and Arkansas state line. Its is half way between Dallas and Little Rock.
Q: Why Texarkana?
A: That's where Marty got a job.
Q: Have you been to Texarkana before?
A: Yes, but not as a tourist.
Q: Are the kids (who are young adults) coming?
A: For now. One has announced plans of flying the nest sooner than I expected.
Q: How did the kids take the news?
A: One was thrilled. One is struggling a bit more but has also expressed excitement at a new adventure. The struggling one has said there is a move to Dallas in that one's near future.
Q: Will you sell real estate over there?
A: I don't know.
Q: What will you do over there? (generally referring to selling real estate or other forms of employment).
A: I don't know. I will figure it out later.
Q: What about your father?
A: I plan to come back regularly to see my dad and help out my brother.
Q: What is the hardest part of leaving?
A: I can honestly say there is no single "hardest part." Leaving my roots, the people I love, guiding my family through them leaving their roots and people they love tend to be my rotating answers.
Q: Do you have a place to live?
A: No.
Q: What is your biggest fear right now?
A: Being homeless when we arrive in late December. In a close second place for biggest fear, Marty or the kids just outright rejecting this move.
Q: Do you have a lot to do?
A: YES!!!!!
Q: What about your real estate brokerage here?
A: I am closing it on or around November 30, provided my last home in escrow closes on the 29th.
Q: Are you excited?
A: I am sure I will be. Right now there's a lot of anxiety and overwhelm. Once that is settled, I will focus on this new adventure. Texarkana wasn't a place I would have purposely picked so there is a lot of unknowns. But as a friend once said, I'm a, "bloom where you're planted," kind of person. I can see me being ok. Besides, if it doesn't work out, we go on to another adventure. There's some freedom in knowing that.
Yesterday Marty and I cleaned out the garage in anticipation of eventually using that area to stage whatever it is we've packed. We took two loads to Goodwill. We filled up our trash can and the neighbor's can as well. I put our wooden filing cabinet up on on social media, just in case someone wants it. And then I packed two boxes.
Maybe today I will pack two more.
Looking at homes this morning. I found a super-cute one in my price range that covered all the bases: it had bedrooms, bathrooms, a fenced yard for Luna, off the main road and a commute that wouldn't set Marty up for failure. It even had a bit of land for Buckaroo to raise chickens and me to have a garden.
When I went to Google Maps though, I found a different story.
Bonus Mom collected boxes. That's actually an understatement. Bonus Mom had a 10x10 shed in the back yard loaded, top to bottom, side to side, with cardboard boxes. When Bonus Dad retired, he actually organized the shed so that more can effectively fit in.
Yesterday, I popped over to clean out a good portion of the box supply. They are now haphazardly stacked on my back porch, including a box I know I gave Bonus Mom in 1988. Bonus Dad did keep some boxes back for himself--I promise, there was plenty.
As he was cleaning out the shed, handing me empty, dusty boxes, all I could think about was this might very well be one of the last times I am at his house. One of the last times we are joking about boxes... One of the last times about a lot of things. There are a lot of, "This may be the last time..." moments right now.
I can't say I handled that, "last time moment," with Bonus Dad well. But I blamed my watery eyes on the dusty boxes.
Someone recently told me that what we worry about for another person is usually not what they worry about for themselves. Oh, how true. Especially in Dad's case.
I told Dad about our move. He took it really well. And, I dare say, he will probably remember I told him (no snark there, that's a real issue sometimes with Dad). He asked where Texarkana was located. "Halfway between Dallas and Little Rock," I replied.
"Yes, but what's it near?"
"Not a darn thing, from what I can tell," was my answer.
He said he was happy for me and then asked if the town had a First Watch. First Watch just happens to be his favorite breakfast place (that the rest of his family really doesn't like). Unfortunately, there isn't one close by. But I promised to come back to visit in February and go to breakfast with him.
It is a bittersweet time in the Sunshine home. Marty and I are basically Arizona natives, with his family moving from Pennsylvania two years before my family moved from Vermont. Arizona was a different place then. Our kids, of course, know no other home than the one they have now. And yet, in the next few weeks, we are promising to pack up our lives and relocate to somewhere else.
In the past two months, the three big stressors in my life have been my father's health, the mass in my arm (benign!!!) and Marty's job. Two of the three have been resolved. As I write this, I haven't shared the news with Dad. I should. I will. In all fairness, I told my father multiple times I was having surgery to remove a benign tumor in my arm and he swears I never said a word. Dad is today's problem.
Dad's decline has been exponential. He went from being tired, to hospitalized, to hospitalized again--this time with a two week stint in a rehab center--to more complications and finally he has decided (against doctor's wishes) to not see any more doctors. Of course, seeing a doctor or two might improve his quality of life. I've passionately argued this point, as have my brothers.
Telling Dad comes with baggage that is wrapped up in family history, differing values and strong personalities. I love him so much and yet he is my hardest hurdle. At this time it is my intention to visit him every month or so, while there is time for him to do that. But right now, today I need to make sure he just knows I am moving.
There is a bit of irony that I hate looking at houses, which is all I've been doing for the past few days. In a few weeks, I will even be doing it in person.
We are in a unique situation. We have equity and can put a substantial amount down on a property. I'm truly ok with that. Except, I don't know how much I want to spend. Nor do I know what I want for a house. Nor do I know where I want to live. I mean, Texarkana isn't that big, but what's better? Living near Texas A&M? In one of the suburbs like New Boston or Atlanta? Downtown Texarkana? Near Spring Lake Park? Close to Marty's new office? If we live in New Boston--which is not near Marty's new office--the poor man will have to commute 15 minutes!
Using my super fine-tuned real estate skills, I know that location is the key to everything. So, even though I loved the house on 7th--which has a gas stove!--it is right next to a shooting range and on a main road. That will be a lot of noise and Luna would forever be on doggy-downers if she had to listen to gunshots all day. Also, the one acre gem--gem I tell you!!!--with oak trees and a wrap-around front porch is a no-go because it is less than a half-mile from Texas A&M and on the one and only main artery to the campus.
I thought the one on Sparrow Lane was adorable. But do I need 2,900 square feet? I liked the one on Hickory Drive, but I think we need more than 1,200 square feet. The one on Ponce de Leon was an adorable mid-century that rivals any found on Northern and Central Avenues (my favorite neighborhood in the Valley), but do I need to be concerned about the next door neighbor's copious car collection scattered in his back yard? Thank you Google Maps! Then there's the one two blocks from the Interstate, the one that backs up to the Pentecostal church and the list goes on. Then, of course, there are the bland ones that just don't speak to us.
We also go back and forth with: this move might not be for us. Do we want to be stuck with a big house that might be harder to sell if we decide to look for another adventure? Or do we want something smallish to live in for the next year, that we could turn around and make a rental if the real estate market makes it harder to sell?
It appears that all of my life-experience for the past 50+ years has led up to the task at hand: which currently is finding a house for my family in Texarkana. For those of you who aren't aware, I'm fluent in Southern--which is coming in handy. I'm also a licensed real estate agent--which is coming in kinda handy. But trust me when I tell you, being able to speak Southern is much, much more important.
It isn't just translating "all'y'all" and "I'm fixing to..." and the like. It is understanding that when my Texas agent says she is, "fixing to..." what she really means is sometime in the next four days I will get an e-mail answering the banal question that I ended up figuring out myself.
Speaking Southern means translating my loan officer's kind and cryptic message when he said, "Well, people do live on the Arkansas side of Texarkana, but you may want to think deeply about that before you take the plunge over there..."
I haven't gotten a, "bless your heart," yet. But I've come super close to firing off the one I keep chambered. It happened right after my agent said she was excited that I would be joining her real estate brokerage. Nowhere in my chatting with her about the fact I am weeks away from being homeless did I say I wanted to jump in, become licensed in Texas and Arkansas and sell homes. Instead, I gave her my big city, "I am not sure what I'm going to do when I get settled." She countered back with, "Oh... we'll be talking," which is Southern for, "We will be discussing your career for the next six years or until you agree to come join my brokerage."
Did you know if you clench your back molars together you automatically smile? It also keeps you from being able to talk when you want to say something you may regret. That's something else I learned in my former Southern experience.
It is no secret Marty Sunshine has been interviewing. What is a surprise is he said yes to one job offer. There are reasons this is good--mainly he wasn't promised a job past December 8th of this year and even if he was, New Boss would still be in charge. So, Marty had been looking with great fervor, knowing the alternative was unemployment. Also good about this job is that it is a place he wants to live (I'm of the mind I can live anywhere for five years).
Anyway, Marty has found a new job. It happens to be in a smallish Texas town, where the pace of life seems to be quieter. There's a Hobby Lobby and a Sam's Club. The Trader Joe's is right next to Costco--145 miles away. Housing prices are awful, but they are awful everywhere.
Marty is to report to his new position January 3. There's a lot to do between now and January 2. I'm a bit overwhelmed. Until my arm heals, all I can do is make lists and make phone calls.
Sometime between now and immediately, I need to tell my father. I suppose I need to tell everyone else too, but Dad is my tough one. By the way, if I haven't told you personally yet, I'm sorry. And you know who you are. Please forgive me.
More later.
We had several cases this month. Two specific cases included agents listing properties for sale that they had no authorization to list. One agent printed color flyers--but had no contract to sell the house. In fact, in one case the person who filed the complaint had no intention of listing her home for sale. But that didn't stop the enterprising agent. In another case, an agent listed a house--even though the sellers had court-ordered real estate agent. I know inventory is low, but agents cannot just randomly go around selling houses for folks without any reason to do so.
The other case of note was against a home inspector. The buyers wanted their money back for a service they paid for and a report they used to make a decision of whether or not to buy the house. Yea I totally get it... I want my money back for that tank of gas I bought last week.
Ok, so the truth is, life is complicated right now.
I have a lemon-sized, benign (honest--there were two biopsies, no cancer) on my arm that has almost single-handedly (see what I did there!) quashed my right arm's fine motor skills. Typing isn't what it used to be. For that matter, using a mouse isn't that much better, so I have stayed away from most activities that require me to write, type, sew, cook, stir, text, swirl, fold, sweep, click, swish, weed and smack idiots upside the head. For now. Tomorrow I get this damn thing removed and here's hoping I can actually write my name legibly again.
Dad is very ill. His best days are behind him. I'm sad. He could live a week, a month or a year. His true suffering isn't physical, but instead it is that he isn't able to take care of himself to the standard he wants. My heart hurts for him and the loss of power he must feel. It puts this silly arm tumor in perspective.
I've given myself until November 15 not to think much about real estate. Yes, I have a buyer right now and another potential prospective buyer in the pipeline. If neither need me until then, I'm ok. If they do, I'm ok too. The week of the 15th I meet with my marketing rep. I will also make some decisions about if I keep my brokerage open or move on to another brokerage. There are reasons for both, but I don't want to go into them right now. A future-me issue.
