Moving Cross Country Day 2,908,671

I'm sitting in an Air B&B in Debary Florida. Or, DeBary. Not sure which spelling yet. After two days of driving, we arrived last night. I'm tired and not ready to process much else. However, I have to read 6 tons of papers that need to be signed for the closing of our new home. That's about all I have right now. 

A Surprise Send-Off

I'm a bit floored by the phone call I received today. It was the pastor of the Church of Christ. I knew he has my number (and e-mail). He knows my name. He knows Marty Sunshine. We've texted before about random things. I think the world of his wife too. But I've always just assumed I'm just someone in the congregation. 

Anyway, the pastor called because he wanted to know if lunch was an option tomorrow. Not just the Sunshines and him, but his wife and a few others who know us. Yes. Lunch sounds great--and not only because every pan here on Arizona Avenue is packed. The gang getting together makes me laugh. 

Then he asked if the Sunshines would like to come up to the front, during Chruch have the elders surround us and pray over Marty and I. His other option was to mention we were leaving from the pulpit, and and wish us well. I went with option two, lest we scare off Marty and Buck, who both plan on coming. And honestly, I am not someone who wants to stand in front of a bunch of folks and be surrounded by elders praying over me anyway. 

Not gonna lie, I broke down during our phone call, overwhelmed by the extension of friendship. This is how amazing this church is. Friendly. Positive. It speaks volumes that three Catholics from the same family attend voluntarily--though only one of the three goes regularly. This isn't a small church. On any given Sunday, there's about 400 people in the pews. I'm not friendly, but I'm not standoffish either. But I honestly never expected anything like this. And I assure you, nothing like this happens in a Catholic church.  

All Grown Up

 

2006

2010

Pollywog is 26 today. Hard to believe this sweet thing is so grown up. At one time she'd discuss the finer points of chocolate candy. Now, she's talking about a restaurant in Florida she heard of where she and I can order chocolate martinis. 

It is also my youngest brother's birthday. He's 53 today. 

Moving Cross Country Day 19,111

You get the idea. 

Yesterday I realized I forgot to tell folks we were moving. I mean, I strategically mentioned the whole Florida-thing at church a few Sundays ago, knowing the word would get around. I thought that would be enough. 

But it wasn't. There are folks in Texarkana who don't go to this church--or any other church who hadn't heard. So, I posted on the ole' Facebook. Word got out. I'm overwhelmed by the kindness of others. 

***

We have a few logistics issues that, had I not been a former real estate agent, we would have been blindsided by. The biggie being how sellers sign over the deed for their home. 

I thought sellers just came in and signed when it suited them. Not in Texas. Here, it's a big party the day of closing, where the buyer and seller get together and sign all together. And according to the small minded, inflexible  escrow officer there's no other way to do this--even if the seller will be in, say...Florida? the day of closing. This has caused a huge cluster of crazy. Fortunately, the escrow officer in Florida stepped up (also agreeing that that has to be the stupidest thing either of us has heard of) and is willing to help get us signed so we can close on our new house and not be in breach of contract. 

What gets me is that nobody bothered to mention this until I reached out to escrow and tried to make an appointment to sign. I was told no. I explained the situation and was still told no. I offered to find a power of attorney who'd sign on my behalf. That was a "hell no." (because title officers are lazy and just don't want to deal with the paperwork) I have to sign--no matter what--on the day of closing. 

The unfortunate result of this is we are leaving another day early to meet with the Florida escrow officer, around her schedule. 

***

In other news, I have two good-bye food dates today (soup!) and two good-bye food dates tomorrow. I'm tired of eating. And I'm really tired of saying good-bye. It is emotionally draining and I'm overwhelmed by the kindness of others. 

Moving Cross Country Day 9,871:

Today we made significant progress packing and loading the Uboxes. Though we aren't leaving for another week and half, no matter! The beds and lamps are already snuggly stowed away. I'm sitting on my mattress, which is on the floor, writing this in the dark. Marty and I are taking bets on how many animals will decide they need to sleep with us tonight. I'm voting for zero, but my educated guess is at least two. 

Polly is house-sitting on a farm outside of New Boston Texas for the next week. She's come back to help when summoned, but overall would prefer to stick to her edge of the world. Buck has a week left at work. 

Yesterday, Polly came into town to help me schlep the Overlords to the vet so they would be current on their shots before we left. We also bought three months' worth of medicine for Luna so I wouldn't have to speed date vets the day I arrived. By the way, I am doubling down on my number of pets in the bed. Roosevelt will definitely be here, smothering me in my sleep for taking him to see Doc P. yesterday.

Speaking of Doc P., he is looking for a vet for us who can handle Luna's delicate immune system. I'm gonna miss Doc. 

Tomorrow we are hoping to make it through a bit more packing and loading--barring the weather. Thunderstorms stymied our progress today. 

Oh yes, still thinking about David, his wonderful wife and poor daughters. Probably will for a long while. I did talk with Bonus Dad. He's going to risk flying to Chicago for the funeral. Because I'm in the middle of this crazy, I won't be going, but I'd like to. 

It's All I've Got

Around 3 a.m., I wrote a mental essay about grief that I thought I'd get around to posting later in the day. I had comments about grieving leaving East Texas and the lovely people I've met. Grieving the so-called friends who've taken the time to eloquently tell me everything wrong about me, my life choices and my children. Grieving the wonderful real friends I've made. And Grieving David, who's passing is so raw to his family and me, I can't shut off the tears long enough to call Bonus Dad. 

Instead, all I've got is this: grief sucks.  

Today's News

 

David is now hanging out with his mother and little sister

Bonus Mom and Dad's son, David, suffered a massive heart attack yesterday. He didn't wake up. As for me, I'm walking around like a zombie, mired in grief. 

David is the reason I know Bonus Mom and Dad. And for that alone, I'm thoroughly grateful to him. 

For forty years, he'd been a great friend in many happy and dark moments. He'd been encouraging me for years to buy a place on the Lake so our families could spend our summers together.  David leaves behind a wonderful (WONDERFUL!) wife and two equally terrific teenaged daughters. Though my heart is hurting, I can't imagine what kind of hell they are going through right now. 

Public Service Announcement

Pro Tip: If you ever feel the need to give me your two cents about my life and what you think of the choices I've made, please feel free to keep it to yourself. I didn't ask. I'm not twelve. I'm a grown woman who can think for herself. I'm willing to part ways with "friends" who feel called upon to share their unsolicited opinions about my life, my marriage and my adult children. 

It's Official

 

Marty and I have spent a week looking for a new place to live. Well, we've actually spent months in analysis, conversation and discernment figuring out where we wanted to live. I wanted a small town vibe. He wanted a place where there's more chance for employment. When we came to Florida in May, we found a few areas. When we came this week, we (finally) found a house. 

We are moving to DeBary, Florida. The place is part of the greater "Deltona, Daytona Beach, Deland, Debary Metro" area (yes, really). DeBary is half way between Orlando and Daytona Beach. The population is 22,000--but the entire metro area population is closer to the size of Mesa or Tucson. Because of the bottleneck into the Orlando area caused by waterways, DeBary feels like it's on the outskirts of town instead of Orlando/Sanford adjacent. I'm totally okay with that. So far, the people are friendly. The area is clean. Oh yes! They have a dinosaur named Clayton. 

What I've Learned This Week

1. I'm not a patient person. 

2. I'm not at my best when I'm on the verge of homelessness. 

3. Marty is a patient husband and a better person than me. 

4. I've seen every floorplan imaginable since 2003. I can walk into a home and instantly know if it will work. I shop for houses the way I shop for toasters. 

5. I decided on Monday which house I wanted. Marty decided Tuesday. The offer was written. It's Friday morning and I'm told the sellers "will sign it soon." 

6. I have no desire to live in this hotel any longer. And, if they don't "sign soon." I'm probably going to be in this hotel for another four days. 

7. See bullet item 2. 

Our Random Wednesday

While waiting for the sellers to get back to us on our offer (still waiting as I write this), we did a bit of Goodwill hunting. You see, I have a pyrex mixing bowl set. The 9" bowl went to its Great Reward after a row with gravity. I've been trying to replace it for the past year. Though I could buy a brand new one online, I haven't because I don't trust the delivery folks in Texarkana to safely deliver a glass bowl. 

Anyway, Marty and I have been scouring thrift stores in multiple states on the Great Bowl Hunt. I've found 12" bowls and 4" bowls, but never my treasured 9" bowl. And to be fair, I didn't realize how much I used that particular bowl until I didn't have it. 

While killing time yesterday, Marty and I wandered into a Goodwill. He said to me, "If there's a bowl here, it must be a sign you are destined to move here." 

A bowl for me and a spare for Gravity. 

My mother sent me another snake text. She sends them often. I feel confident she won't be coming for Thanksgiving this year. 

I'll Mention This to Mom Later

An example of the random snake texts Mom sends me.

I don't like snakes. I get this from my mother who continues to send me wild text messages, chronicling every snake adventure she's ever had or thought about having. None of them, mind you, has ever resulted in anything other than seeing a snake. As I pointed out to her, she's made it 80 years and never been bitten. She's winning. 

Anyway, Mom wants to move to Florida (I'm lobbying for her to live near my brother in Boca Raton) but the thought of a snake is enough that she's hesitating. Okay, who am I kidding, there are a lot of reasons for her hesitation, but she only talks about snakes being around every corner as her latest reason. 

Yesterday, I felt compelled to send her an unsolicited text: "I've been here three days and haven't seen one snake. I think you'll be safe." 

And then, as if I jinxed it, twenty minutes later, I was inspecting the back yard of one home we were looking at, and out slithers the longest black snake I've ever seen. To its credit, it slithered under the fence and away from the property. However, as a public service, my scream warned everyone in a 500 mile radius the damn thing existed while Marty said to our agent, "Well, we won't be putting an offer on this house." 

Actually, we are putting an offer on this house. But I'm reserving the snake story to share with my mother at a later time. 

It Can Only Go Up From Here

Marty and I arrived to our final destination today and began stalking the homes we've picked out. My absolute favorite that I'd fallen in love with, is a complete dud. And let me just say, the realtor's photographer did an outstanding job of hiding the gross neighborhood. 

Tomorrow we head out with our agent to look for our next home. Marty is asking me to be optimistic. I'm ready to pivot. In the interest of marital harmony, I'm optimistically ready to pivot. Marty is optimistically ready to leave me in a swamp. I can't say I blame him. I'm tired of me too. 

I did find this sign as we were driving around through one neighborhood. 

 

A Week in the Sunshine Life

Roosevelt, having opinions.
This suitcase is on top of our unacceptable bedspread, Tessa covered up with her "acceptable" one.  

This past week: 

Sunday: we had a good-bye party for Sherman, who is starting law school in Washington DC.

Monday: we had an accepted offer on hour house and planned on leaving for Florida on Wednesday. Polly helped Sherman pack his apartment and take care of this and that. 

Tuesday: we no longer had an accepted offer on our house and I raced over to Buckaroo's job to tell him not to quit just yet. He said, "Does that mean you will be home Thursday? I'm only asking, because I planned a party because I didn't think you'd be home." I helped Valerie in her sewing class.  

Wednesday: we accepted another offer. Marty and I spent the day staring at homes and trying to figure out where in Florida we wanted to live. Polly helped Sherman get his belongings together. 

Thursday: In order not to infringe on Buck's party, and the fact Sherman and Polly would soon be parting, we took off for Natchitoches Louisiana. It's two hours away and we needed to reset from the crazy week.  It was a French fort back in the day, before the Louisiana purchase and the area is chock-full of interesting history. Polly helped Sherman finalize his move. 

Friday: We came home to the aftermath of Buck's party--a few pizza boxes, a bag of stale chips, and a very full trash can. We also heard from Polly, who was doing a quick turnaround trip with Sherman to Atlanta to visit his folks before turning North towards Washington DC. I went to Corona night, ate way too much sugar and laughed like I'd never laughed before. I got home at 11:30, after coming in third in Mexican Train. Oh yes! I finalized my book. The Redeemed comes out September 22, because why not launch a book in the middle of another major life event? 

Saturday--today: I got up around 5 a.m. Marty and I drove to Quincy Florida, where I'm writing at this moment. Marty is watching some Spiderman movie. Polly is back from her turnaround trip, as she flew into Shreveport today, and a friend picked her up and took her back home. Buck assures me the Overlords are fine and he isn't planning on having a party tonight. I've talked to my Florida real estate agent and we have a game plan for Monday.

I'm tired. 

A few Natchitoches pictures. The last two are Fort Jean Baptiste. A very interesting place, which was settled in the 1700s. 

My Coronas

I sent a note out on Tuesday, saying I wouldn't be at Corona Night. We had a contract on the house and Marty and I were leaving Wednesday to Florida to buy a home. 

Messages poured in. Love notes about how much they would miss me. And how could this really be happening? The text messages were the kind of friendship a girl could ever ask for. Their notes made me feel happy, loved and wanted. 

Then Tessa called and said something along the lines of "Remember that offer? Well, it is no more." 

About that time, Corona Krissy chimed in with a private message about how much I mean to her and how she'd miss me, not only at Corona Night but in general. So I told her we no longer have a deal, I just didn't feel like updating about how life had changed. Krissy asked me if she could do it for me. So, she did. It just said, I'd be at Corona night because I'd just gotten word the deal fell through. 

Tuesday afternoon, just about every Corona reached out to me, offering me love and support. Some notes were private. Some were public on the group thread. All messages were kind and made me feel happy, loved and wanted. It was all the friendship a girl could ever ask for. 

Valerie's Beginning Sewing Class

So my friend Valerie is teaching a sewing class. She is on week two and has 10 students. Normally she has six. In an effort to get out of my home, I offered to come hang out in her class and answer a question or two. That was the theory. The reality was she had 10 Gen Z students, who were expecting Instagram-worthy outcomes on their second day of class. 

Cami latched on to me and was afraid to make a move unless I hovered nearby. Though she is very sweet, it wasn't realistic because there was only one of Valerie and nine others who were having troubles of their own. 

But Cami was nothing compared to the 20-something girl who walked in with a crappy attitude, which screamed, "I am in hell and don't want to be here!" My first thought was, "You are here. You paid for this class? Why?" The girl asked, "What do I do?" I prompted her to thread her machine. "I don't know how." She replied and folded her arms. "Get out your thread..." I started, pointing at the spindle where the thread goes. With all the attitude of a preteen girl who'd spent the night at a friend's house, she complied and rolled her eyes. She asked, "Now what?" And yes, it went like this, step by step, with this grown-ass uncooperative woman rolling her eyes at every instruction. 

Anyway, this chick started out as a nightmare, full of vinegar. At one point she said, "I'm having a bad day." And oh boy! Was that not the moment to say that to me*. I gave her a rundown on MY day and all of the sudden this brat softened her stance. By the time I got back to her after dashing over to Cami who needed a pat on the back, the girl had managed to figure out how to sew the first part of her pillow case. And when I told her she did a great job, she turned into a whole different person. It is interesting that both of these young women were so anxious about sewing and handled it so differently. 

There were eight others in various levels of learning who had questions and needed assistance. We covered them all in two and a half hours and congratulated every one when they completed the project. Everyone other than Cami finished their pillow case before class ended--but Cami has promised to send me a photo when her pillow case is done.   

*I had a really, really BAD day. 

Looks Liike I'm Gonna Miss Next Week's Corona Night

72 hours into this tedious task.

We got an offer on our home. That was the plan, right? We are told we are getting a second offer. Of course an "offer" doesn't mean we are accepting what the buyer is asking for and hopefully the second offer will be a bit more attractive. But, oh my! After three showings, this is certainly news. 

I'm trying to be excited. Instead, I'm sitting in Polly's room--she has the only desk in the house that isn't in storage--working on a few formatting edits (hyphenations mostly), ignoring the world around me. I need to get these edits done because Marty and I, once we accept an offer, need to high-tail ourselves to Florida to go house-shopping. In truth, I doubt even if I wasn't working on these edits that I'd be excited. 

The rest of the family can be excited for me.  

Small Town Facebook

This is so sweet. What's even cooler is the number of responses this person got. All positive. All helpful. I hope the person posting finds her delivery driver. 

Our Home on Arizona Avenue

The house is on the market. As of the time I'm writing this, we've had one showing. Welcome to a soft housing market in a small city. 

To commemorate the tidiness of our home, here are a few pictures. Mind you, I doubt we can keep up this level of declutter (we do keep the place clean). But I thought I'd let you see what the magic of camera filters can do. 

Our grass really is this green, thankyouverymuch.

This originally was earmarked as my sitting room. However, Buck used it as his man-cave up until last week. I'm sitting in that chair right now typing this up because my desk is packed.

Oh, and that green table? Buck refinished it last winter. He's very proud of it and we like it.
I fought Tessa to keep it in the house. That's also my Dad's stained glass lamp on top of it. The table on the other side of the chair was also one of my refinishing projects. 

For the record, that fire is photoshopped. The table in the forefront is solid walnut, and yep, refinished.

I hate that backsplash.

Polly is housesitting for Tessa this week. She brought back the bedspread. 

The greenhouse looks so small. The yard is pretty large. And the grass really is that green thankyouverymuch. 

The Coffee Shop Crawl

Deb had never been to the Stained Page. How this happened, I have zero idea. So, I met her Friday morning at the best coffee shop/book shop in town. Don, the owner, greeted me (adding to Deb's theory that I know everyone in town). He also told me I'd sold another book (squee!). 

I'm here a lot.

Anyway, Deb and I sat and visited. For me, I hadn't been out of the house much for anything memorable in weeks. The packing the house had been priority. But spending time with Deb is always special. I know it's coming to an end soon, but I'm trying not to think about that. 

After enjoying my tea and she enjoying her coffee, we made our way a quarter mile to Good Luxe, another local coffee shop. We just breezed in, decided their selection and prices weren't for us and breezed out just as quickly. 

We didn't feel the vibe.

From there we went to the newest coffee joint in town. I don't know the name (it used to be called Alley Cats). This old time train car serves coffee and "food." However, they were out of coffee. We ordered a breakfast burrito plate to split. I asked for water and was told they don't "serve" water. So, I asked for a cup of ice. They do serve that. Deb looked at the beverage selections and opted for beer to go with her Mexican breakfast. She was disappointed on both fronts. First, she ended up with a non-alcoholic beer. And second "breakfast burrito" was a generous phrase for this lump of unacceptable grossness. I believe it is covered with soy cheese filled with mock-sausage. We ate about two bites and high-tailed it out, with my cup of ice in tow. 

Inside an old time train car

Toxic waste

After that atrocity, Deb and I walked around downtown. She showed me where the Woolworths used to be. And the JC Penny. And the first Dillard's Department Store* had been located. She told me of coming to downtown Texarkana as a teenager and a young adult, giving me town history and sharing her lore.  At some point, we meandered into a cute little gift shop. If I wasn't in the process of packing up my worldly belongings and if Marty wasn't out of work, I might have dropped a few bucks on another garden gadget. Probably. I mean, can one really have enough garden whirligigs?  

Downtown Texarkana (Arkansas)

As we made our way back to the car we made one final stop at Kilwins. They'd just opened up as well and were nowhere near as icky as the train car place. Kilwins is an ice cream and candy chain, with locations all over the South. I'd never heard of them before last Friday, but I had plenty of time to check them out while Deb shopped for gifts for a few Coronas who have birthdays coming up. 

There happens to be two locations in the Orlando area. So I've heard.

I've decided, when I grow up, I want to be just like Deb. 

*A word about Dillard's Department Store. The FIRST location was a small five and dime in Nashville Arkansas--about 50ish miles from here. Mr. Dillard wanted to expand, so he closed his Nashville location and opened a bonified department store in Texarkana. That was the flagship for his empire, which happens to have its corporate headquarters in Little Rock. 

Just a Day in the Life

What a day! After a master gardener event this morning, I met the Thursday lunch bunch at Jason's Deli. The ladies suggested many ways to make my house not sell, including they'd drive by and throw trash in my front yard. What a way to tell someone they'll be missed. 

When I got home, I stared at my ultra-clean house and sighed. Today is the last day before our home goes on the market. It's clean and all but Roosevelt cares about this. Roosey would rather eat the silk flowers Tessa brought over and knock the vases to the floor in protest. Not that I blame him. 

Anyway, after about thirty minutes of wandering around aimlessly, I convinced Marty to go on a road trip. We ended up in Idabel Oklahoma, which is about an hour away. I'd tell you it was a cultural excursion, but we'd both know I was lying. Idabel is a dump.

For those of you who love-love-love Oklahoma!
This is the "Welcome to Oklahoma" sign taken in Arkansas while driving 70 miles an hour.

Marty and I did find one thrift store, which did not have my 9" mixing bowl I'm trying to replace. I was told by the shop owner, what I'm looking for is "valuable" because it's pyrex (lower case). It isn't. I can replace the entire set of mixing bowls for less than $20 mail order. I only need one bowl. So, the the hunt continues.

We also wandered into a weird convenience store/fast food restaurant called, "Braums." I've heard folks in Texarkana rave about the place, waiting for one to magically appear in our town. However, I didn't understand the appeal with the overpriced groceries and a questionable-looking kitchen to cook a burger.  

I did find a place called "Mia's." Though we didn't stop, I did take a picture of the front and side and sent it to my pal, Mia*, telling her if the whole physician thing doesn't work out, it looks like she has a backup plan and it consists of Jesus and diabetes. 

Mia replied, "I like you, even if you are crazy and watch baseball." 

The side of Mia's Sweet Tooth 

After all our travels, Marty and I stopped by Big Jakes BBQ and bought an order of ribs. We made it home by 5 p.m., made a salad and ate dinner. 

 

*One of these days, I simply should write about my pal Mia, who I spend almost every Wednesday with. But not today. 

Staging

The house is more or less ready to be listed. I guess. Or I thought it was when I told Tessa to order the photographer. 

When I sold houses in Arizona, the rule was less is more. Declutter. Depersonalize. If you have pictures on the wall, it distracts buyers from looking at the features of the house. But, what do I know? 

Our décor style is minimal-eclectic. Most of this has been boxed and stuck in Uboxes. We bought new stuff 28 years ago. Since then we had gifted artist children, whose pictures (and photos) graced our walls. I've refinished several pieces of furniture, which we use. My children have quilts which were hand-made and live on their beds. Plus, my father was an accomplished stained-glass artist, and I have several of his lamps and this beauty that I love, and I would have done a lot of low and dirty things if my brothers even thought about claiming this for themselves when my father died. 

My Daddy made this.

Anyway, Tessa came over yesterday and decided our décor was too white trashy "abrupt" for buyers. "Abrupt" she explained would turn buyers off. For example, the table cloth on our kitchen table "makes the house look like old people live here." Or--hear me out--the table cloth hides the stained and scratched kitchen table. She brought over a table runner and jug to decorate our kitchen table. That table runner will not be on the table before we wake in the morning, because the Overlords LOVE playing under tablecloths when nobody is looking. I'm moving the jug to the counter. Oh yes! She also put an area rug under the kitchen table. Why? I don't know. Something else to vacuum.

Additionally, Tessa told me to buy more fruit for my fruit bowl, because it looks "too empty." I can't eat more fruit! I eat an apple a day, buying enough apples to fill the bowl would be another 10 day's worth of apples. Nope. 

She felt our bedspread needed to be changed out to bring "color" to our bedroom. Because, white and purple aren't colors, I guess. So, she brought us new bedding. Because colorful bedding sells houses. 

This hideous bedspread is being removed exactly
1.3 nanoseconds after the photographer leaves. 

She also insisted that Polly's quilt should be covered up, calling Polly's quilt "old lady" which totally pissed off my daughter. To Tessa's credit, she didn't have any comments about the lamp in her bedroom. 

Colorful but not as unsightly as my bed. But Polly wants her quilt.

To be fair, Tessa is a great agent. She sells more than anyone else in the area. She has great instincts. But I honestly don't think that adding throw pillows to my couch or grouping my lighthouse pictures on my wall and adding a nautical shrine to a corner of my house that never had, needed or wanted a nautical shrine really matters in a starter home in Wake Village. This isn't a Paradise Valley mega mansion. 

I'm not making this up. 
(excuse the paper towel roll)

The housing market is soft. I don't expect this house to sell very quickly. So, maybe adding fake flowers and white rolled up wash cloths in my bathroom (you know, for "color") will be what it takes to bring in a buyer.  

Getting the House Ready

Oh the act of moving is so delightful. We've been packing, cleaning and getting on each other's nerves for the last two weeks. Our steam mop finally decided it had enough and gave out today.

Thank you for your service

Don't Mess with This One

Found this photo when I was cleaning out something this past week. Polly from our trip to Galveston a couple of years ago. 

Packing Update

Not to brag or anything, but today the Sunshines ate take-out chicken wings at the kitchen table. All four of us. On one mostly-cleaned off table. And--get this!--we moved enough boxes out of the way so that Luna could get to her water bowl. Because that's the crazy way we roll. 

In other news, we have three Uboxes completely packed and the master bathroom has been deep cleaned--except the floor, which I'm too tired to do anything about right now. 

In other-other news, with random doors open as we hauled stuff outside, Leon only escaped twice today. The second time I found him by looking into the sky and seeing where the hawk circled. $*%&! cat. 

Oh yes. I want to commemorate our clean garage in posterity. We earned it. 

Aspirations

The best fiction I've written in years came via a text to Tessa: The house will be ready to put on the market next week. 

It looks much better now. Sorta. 

After a full day of sorting, tossing, and packing the mess above doesn't exist any more. Kinda. It is now shoved into boxes, trash bags and donation bins. 

When we left Mesa, 4 and a half years ago, we had five weeks to make the move. The house never hit the real estate market. We were all working. Plus, I was driving about 90 miles round trip about five days a week to take care of my father. And yet, we managed to sort, toss and pack. But I don't remember how. 

We have less stuff now. But we have less storage and so it's all over the place. 

As of today, the majority of the master bedroom is cleared out. There's still a bit in my closet to go. My big dresser can be taken to our Ubox on Buck's next day off. My desk is already there. Polly cleaned out her room as well. We have major furniture to move and the kitchen to sort through. That's most of what's left. However, it feels daunting.  

Today I also sent a group text to the Coronas, telling them the house is going on the market next week and the intention is to move to Florida. I got the sweetest messages in return. And maybe if I wasn't crying through all that, I'd have the energy to finish packing my closet. Tomorrow I'm just turning off my phone. 

The Tale of Two Burned Out Real Estate Professionals

Home, sweet home. (April, 2003) 

Tessa and I have had drive-by texts and chats this week, and it finally reached a point where we just needed to catch up. I understand what's going on with her--and it isn't a desire to not list my house. Probably. She has several horrible clients (she's told me war stories) and they all acted the fool at once. 

Plus, she's ready for vacation. As her friend, I'm ready for her to be on vacation. She needs it. Badly.

Anyway, Tessa generally holds open houses on Sunday afternoons. I cyber-stalked her on Facebook and found out where she was. It was the most amount of uninterrupted time I'd had with her. It was great to catch up with my friend. I'm worried about what I'm getting myself into with my Realtor.  

Let me back up a teensy bit. Saturday night Tessa texted me and said she'd swing by Sunday to "stage" my home. Mind you, it isn't listed yet. No papers have been signed. I sent her a picture of the toxic dump in our living room and told her it was a bit early for such endeavors. 

But can we talk about "staging" please? I live in a 2004 builder spec home. It is 1,800ish* square feet of nofrills. It is a starter home in a starter home neighborhood. When we bought, there was nothing for sale. Nothing! During my chat Sunday with Tessa, she asked I needed area rugs? Lamps? Pictures for the walls? Or--and I'm not making this up--a "vase or two" to brighten the rooms. I live with the Overlords. A "vase or two" sounds like future pottery shards. 

I'm not sure what staging in this case is supposed to look like. The Sunshines are in the process of emptying the house of all extraneous items. We will then move couches and a few other things around so the place looks presentable. I may not be a real estate professional in a metro area of 65,000 ** but I'm thinking "staging" is overkill. 

Which brings me to this conversation. While chatting, I told her I have Alvin the felon handyman coming over this week to do a few things, including removing the non-functioning ceiling fan from the back porch. "You need to replace the ceiling fan." she said. I countered with, "No. We don't. No buyer is going to hang their head and declare, 'That's it! I was so interested in this house but now I just can't buy it because there's no ceiling fan outside'!" To her credit, I could see Tessa itched to reply, but opted not to.

Sunday we talked about showings and open houses. I have two indoor cats and an antisocial dog. I can't do anything about the cats. I will take the dog out for showings. But let's not bother with open houses. Open houses don't sell houses. I know this. She knows this. Open houses are for real estate agents to capture leads and to appease nervous sellers. They are definitely not for houses with cat boxes.  

One area where Marty is on board with Tessa is price. I'm not fighting this because I really hope I'm wrong. Tessa wants to price this place $15,000 more than I think it's worth. There is a house two doors down that's been for sale since February and has an additional bedroom and is much bigger. Our pricing would be $5,000 apart. And honestly, I'd bet once our house goes on the market, their price will come down again--my neighbor is desperate. We aren't. 

That said, the real estate market is very soft. I'm not sure pricing it at Tessa's price or mine will make any difference. Right now we have time and no money, so it doesn't hurt anything. If Marty gets a job and we need to move quickly, I'll push back. Besides, I wouldn't mind getting Tessa's price for my house--but I'm betting it's as unrealistic as adding a couple of vases to make the house more attractive to a potential buyer.  

Update: After talking to our financial advisor, he articulated to Marty what I have been too exhausted to put into words. We gain nothing but time on the market by keeping our price higher than necessary. So, the price is going back to what I originally thought the house was worth. Honestly, it still will probably sit on the market. 

*The county says the home is 1,800 square feet. It feels like 1,500 and either the county is wrong or it is the absolute worst layout ever. Or both. 

**Approximate population of both Texarkanas combined. 

Because, Of Course There Were

Driving down highway 82 today, about 5 miles from my home in a country town of Leary, TX, I ran across this. 

 

A Saturday in Texarkana

Our house looks like this: 

We really don't live this way. Ever. 

Today Marty and Buck worked on the garage--which is a nightmare. We never fully moved into this house and though there's the adage of if one hasn't used it in a year, it needs to go. I don't necessarily agree. My antique books never had a book shelf. My nice dishes never had a cabinet. I don't have an office to put my office goodies in. So, those already packed items where put into different boxes (the old boxes were falling apart) and repacked. 

In addition to all of the above, Marty and I drove 25 miles to almost Louisiana (on the Arkansas side) to meet up with Corona Leah who took three little storage cabinets we had and loaned me her pressure washer. 

Oh! Leah's house isn't on any mapping program. Directions to Leah's house--I'm not making this up--take a right at the Baptist church, follow that road for a quarter mile, keep an eye out for the first barn on the left and turn at the next road and follow it to the end. 

When we returned to Texarkana, Marty and I stopped by the best coffee shop/book store in town where my friend Cal was having a book signing. I also ran into two other people I knew at the coffee shop, causing Marty to ask if there was anyone in town I did not know. Plus--PLUS!!! I found out two of my books placed at the coffee shop/book store had sold in the past week. Yay!!! 

Afterwards, Marty and I ran errands and did life together before Deb, the Queen of the Coronas called and asked me for help. She's had her home painted and needed few pieces of furniture put back. I was happy to help, not only to get me out of my disaster of a home but mainly because Deb is all kinds of awesome. What was not awesome was catching Deb, who is six weeks away from a hip replacement, on a ladder without a spotter. 

When I'd spent a few hours at Deb's I headed home and helped Marty pack a few more boxes. The house is going to stay a disaster a bit longer. Our goal is to have a good chunk packed by Wednesday and have the garage cleaned out by Wednesday. You saw those pictures. That's realistic? Right? 

A Sign, Perhaps?

I've dusted off the Big Girl Broker voice (tm). It goes with the resting bitch face, but everyone I'm talking to can't see me. Tessa still hasn't called me back. I have issues with this, but I also don't. My realtor in Florida seems to think "I'll call you tomorrow," has no expiration date. Still waiting to hear from him, but he might get canned anyway if he can't act like he's in sales. 

The the poor loan officer I've been in contact with, got a phone call from me where I asked why my request is now a week old--especially because I need this information to move forward. To the loan officer's credit, he must have recognized the timbre of my voice as more than strained because he stammered, apologized and promised I'd hear from him. Eventually. 

Former real estate agent me would never let this level of bafoonery happen. Also former real estate agent me would have been using multi-syllable words if in this situation. 

Retired real estate agent me is thinking, maybe we shouldn't move and this is just the universe's way of making this happen.  

Life in Texarkana

 From the ole Facebook

I have questions: 

1. "Dangerous" alligator? Are there any other kinds? 

2. Spring Lake Park is an urban park, surrounded by neighborhoods. It isn't like the lakes and rivers surrounding Texarkana, which would be a more natural habitat for such critters. It would be like finding a javelina at Encanto Park in Phoenix. Or maybe like finding a polar bear hanging out in Central Park, NYC.  

3. And this is my biggest concern: That's a small dangerous gator. A baby. Where is mama?? 

In other news, I'm meeting my pal, Joy, for a walk around Spring Lake park in an hour.  

A Random Texarkana Wednesday

Today I met Master Gardener and amazing pal, Joy, for my first Master Gardener event in 2026. Every Wednesday she and a few others meet at a group home for the developmentally disabled and work with the residents in their greenhouse.  

I told Joy my news: the house is going on the market (if Tessa ever calls me back). "What?! This seems sudden!" Joy isn't one for sarcasm. So, I did point out this has been in the works since December and she's known this was a distinct possibility. Though she agreed with my statement, she's still perplexed. 

By the way, this greenhouse is awesome. The fire ant colony I encountered in the planter in front of the greenhouse, not so much. 

 

***

After I finished, I called Corona Gail so that I could return a book she'd lent me for next week's book club. Fortunately, I'd only had this book for a week. Given this is the South, I knew what I'd be in for. It is almost impossible to just "drop off a book." But I adore--ADORE--Corona Gail so I didn't mind that I ended up visiting with her for a couple of hours.

Corona Gail has been the new kid to a new town. She knows I'm struggling with the idea of starting over. We sat on her back porch, while she offered sisterly advice and made me remember how much I love her. I told her about my experience at my first Corona night four years ago and how terrified I'd been just showing up in the throes of grief (my father and my aunt had just died). Looking back, I know I laughed more that first night than I ever had. I left with a sense of gratitude for being included and not anticipating there'd be more Corona nights. I told Corona Gail I want to know I can find friends like that again. She assures me I'll be fine. 

***

When I returned home, I got a text saying our Uboxes were on their way from Shreveport. They arrived a couple of hours later. So far, they are empty and I have no energy to fill them. The weather is promising a reprieve for a few days and we are motivated to get them loaded before the next thunderstorm. I think we've got a week. 

 

The Spirit is Thinking About Being Willing

Yesterday, I cleaned out the bathroom cabinets and took a box of hotel toiletries and free samples I'd accumulated in the last 4.5 years to the domestic violence shelter. Additionally, I managed to pack three totes with blankets and sheets and send others (along with a bag of Marty's t-shirts) thrift stores in town. And given this is East Texas, I've already forged into the packed totes to grab additional blankets--in JUNE. Because the weather here is nuts. 

Speaking of nutty weather... Marty and I made a pinky promise to start working on the garage today. Except it is raining like crazy and when it rains, our garage floor is wet. So, that's on hold. 

And the crazy weather is also making the interior of the house VERY dark. For whatever reason, Marty has gotten to an age where he can't stand overhead lights so I'm tripping over the frightened dog because of the lightening and the fact I can't see where I'm going.  I need to live where there is sunlight. There. I said it. 

Also last night, Tessa replied to my 14 hour-old text, telling me she wasn't ignoring me. She'd had a crazy day and would call me in an hour. I told her we could talk today. What I didn't tell her is tomorrow or Thursday is good too.

 Today I'm going to putter around and do other tasks until the rain stops and we can air out the garage. And then I will go back to my babystep to-do list.  

Update: Nah... it didn't happen. I have zero motivation to pack and move. And when Tessa texted me today, I put that off too. This isn't passive aggressiveness. I swear. It's a lack of interest.  

The Spirit is Willing

This past weekend, we decided to put our house on the market. Our "go" date is July 10, where it will probably sit on the market for months anyway.  

Between now and then, I need to let my realtor know she's listing it. 

Also between now and then I need to get the house ready to sell. 

So far all I've done is buy a few plastic totes from Dollar General and thought about decluttering. Oh yes! I wrote a bit of my newest story and played Words with Friends. So, there's that. 

 

Former Vocation PTSD

I've had to turn to the layman standard for looking at homes--Zillow. Many listings have superimposed furniture in them for buyers who can't figure out where the couch should go in an empty room. And to be honest, there are a few homes where I understand the virtual staging. I've seen where I can't figure out where the couch would go either. But I'm sure if the previous homeowner figured it out, so would I. 

Though I can see past the virtual staging, I'm having a tough time with stretched pictures. Is that a space for a refrigerator or a king sized bed? I've started counting floor tiles to determine how wide a room might be instead of marveling at the massive bathroom (which, according to the floor tiles is probably less than 5 feet wide). 

But the worst for me is that I apparently can't get the realtor out of my veins. I am barking at the real estate folks who posted the pictures, saying things like, "Could you have put the toilet seat down before you snapped the picture?" and "Nobody cares that your seller keeps a philodendron on the kitchen counter!" 

Or, this view of garage wall. Why? And is that floor tiles?  

Or this? I'm not shaming the sellers here. Perhaps they are stressed and overwhelmed--Heaven knows I am, and my home isn't even on the market! But the agent didn't have to put this picture on the MLS (which directly feeds to all the Zillow-type web sites). I mean? What do you do with this bedroom/dining nook/closet? Alas, if it were only virtually staged. 

Marty commented after my head exploded with my 235th tirade, lovingly suggesting maybe it's time to bring back my Bad MLS photos posts again. Perhaps it is. 

Unemployment Update

It's been nine months since Marty's departure from Dante's fourth ring of eternal damnation. And nobody around here is sad he isn't there any more. We haven't starved. Our bills are mostly paid. Mostly meaning, it wasn't the trip to Florida that sucker punched our credit card--Marty and I are efficient travelers. It was car repairs and a few other unexpected hits which followed. 

Marty has come to the realization there's no work in Texarkana. He can't do what he's done for years and while he's here, Marty doesn't want to do anything else. And unfortunately, I mean that literally, not figuratively. Therefore, a potential move to Florida is back on the table. 

Yesterday, I met with Tessa and drilled her about the state of the real estate market. It's soft. I knew this because I can see what's going on around me. I've also talked with the loan officer in Florida, about options if it takes a few months to sell. The wheels are starting to spin. I even broke down and opened up Zillow to see what's for sale over there.  

At this point it is safe to say we are in the "early stages" of another move. The house is a cluttered disaster. Four adults, one dog and two cats under one roof does not make for good showability. So, that's the next step: declutter, degrease and deep clean. 

When, "Here's Your Book. Thanks." Would be Considered Tacky

I realized I held on to Ms. Cindy's book too long. I found it on my book shelf and remembered I read it about two years ago. And Oh $@*&! I hadn't returned it. 

I live in Texarkana Texas. Residents have a Texan attitude and Southern manners, which meant there was no easy way to return a wayward item--even one that isn't missed--without a long, drawn out apology, which I provided and Ms. Cindy graciously cast aside with the manners of a Bible Belt belle. 

The book in question was returned to her front porch this past week, along with a humble handwritten note and tomatoes from my garden as loan interest. Additionally, I sent a text, telling her where she'd find the book and commenting on her adorable (she is adorable) dog who peeked at me through the window. 

Ms. Cindy responded in kind, thanking me for doing this right. 

Luna Brought a Bit of the Desert With Her

An Exhausted Luna After Being Probed By Doc P.

Luna has been sick since we moved here. Very sick. 

Last winter Doc P figured out what was going on with our poor puppy. She had this disease he'd heard of in Vet school, but never saw in real life: Valley Fever. 

On the remote chance you might read this and not be from Arizona, Valley Fever is a disease anyone who has lived in the Phoenix area for more than a year has contacted. It is caused by spores in the air. Generally there's an initial "outbreak," like a cough, or a strange illness which takes the person down for two weeks, or maybe the outbreak is nothing at all. Sometimes there might be another flair-up if the patient has a crummy immune system. But, for the most part, it just remains dormant in the system and becomes something we live with. However, if you have lived there, you've been exposed. 

And yes, pets can get it too. However, animals in East Texas don't normally have this. So, when Doc P deep dived into Luna's wild health issue, this was the last diagnosis he ever intended to make. 

And I'm glad he did because Luna's health is so much better than a year ago. With her thyroid under control and her fungal infection gone, she's running and even can jump onto the bed. She has more energy than I've seen in a long time. Yes, she's aged terribly (a gray muzzle now), but she's defiantly got some spark left in her. And she's even gained back the majority of the weight she's lost in the past year. 

How does Luna feel about this? Well, as far as she'd concerned. Doc P is the devil. He sticks needles in her. He violates her boundaries without even offering her a treat. He's made her sleep in a cage overnight, away from her kittens and the rest of us. He's a big stinky meany. 

We, however, are grateful Doc P didn't give up on her.