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. 

Red, White, and Clues

Texas Rangers wear cowboy hats.

Yesterday, I made it to the North East Texas Writer Organization's conference: Red, White, and Clues. Held in Mount Pleasant, my Golden Quill writer pal, Karen, and I jaunted the 70 miles to a crowded room full of mystery writers. And wow! You'd think for podunk nowhere, this conference might have been akin to a kiddie carnival. But nope. This was Disneyland. 

The speaker lineup included several prolific, best-selling authors discussing the finer points of mystery and suspense story telling. Lest you think that is wildly dull, you might be right if story crafting and mystery/suspense stories aren't your thing. But let me just say this: mystery/suspense is the hardest of all the genres to write. The writer needs clues and misdirection. The audience needs a satisfying ending. The writer needs compelling characters who have childhood trauma. Okay, that last part is optional (but I used it in The Redeemed--coming soon, I swear), but a backstory on paper or in the writer's head is necessary for a flawed character. As any reader can tell you, a perfect character is a boring character. Okay, my tangent is over. 

In addition to the speakers who managed to find their way to this little part of East Texas, we had someone come from a search and rescue school who answered all sorts of detailed minutia questions about finding bodies, weapons and even shared a story about he and his other search and rescue colleagues were called out around 3 a.m. this past Thursday morning to rescue a group of boaters who were stranded in the Sabine River and surrounded by gators. Best line of the conference: "They were the type of folks you'd expect to be stranded in the Sabine River in the middle of the night surrounded by gators." 

We also had a Texas Ranger* speak to us about cold case investigations and how forensic operations are conducted. He talked about blood splatters, advances in DNA technology, and stupid criminals. He even disused where he puts his hat when he has to take it off at a restaurant (on his knee). Notes were taken and I'd be willing to bet some of this information will be used in some attendee's future story. Third best line at the conference needs a small set-up. A woman asked our Texas Ranger some sort of semi-personal question. An audience member yelled out, "He's married Jennifer. Give it a rest." 

The second best line of the conference came from our last speaker who had sat through the entire conference. She has 30+ books out and writes under a couple of pen names.** She looked at the crowd and said, "Thank you fellow introverts for not leaving thus far. Y'all are great but just like you, I'm ready to be alone."

*Okay, this deserves a comment: there are only 166 Texas Rangers in the entire state. 166!!!!! Talk about an elite team.  

**I must find this woman and thank her for reassuring me that writing under a pen name is worthy. Why does she have different pen names? One of the genres she writes in is erotica and she doesn't want the folks at her Southern church finding out. 

The Piano Men

 

It's time we discussed the 1923 Banana Club. 

The 1923 Banana Club, or "Banana Club," as the locals call it, is a lounge/bar/music venue in downtown Texarkana Arkansas. The place got its name because it was in the basement of the Central Market back in the day. Produce from the trains (across the street) would come in and be stored down there. There are still the hooks where the bananas hung, lodged into the ceiling. 

Down those steps. If you know the code
(and have reservations) the entertainment is yours. 

The place is fashioned as a speakeasy, with the front entrance down a staircase and a secret code to enter. Allegedly this code is on their Facebook page, but I have yet to find it. Once inside, there's a small lobby--think the size of a modest walk-in closet--with a sliding door, letting patrons into a venue which probably seats 75. 

The vibe is secret hideaway meets frat party. The place is decorated with paraphernalia that might have been found in a speakeasy from 100 years ago, along with a ton of historic explanations. Most nights there's music--and there's a lot of great musical talent in the Ark-La-Tex area, which makes up for the terrible service (it's always terrible). The place is owned by a man I've never seen sober. I've often wondered if this is part of the act or he just has a bionic liver. But like most places around town, terrible service and inebriated owners don't define the experience. Nor does it lessen the fun. 

I took this picture Saturday night. Though you can barely make out anything with the lighting the way it is, there are instruments hanging off the wall. The lighting always looks like this.  

Saturday night a few of us went to see the Two Pianos guys who played for three hours (minus a 15 minute break). The audience sang along while they performed everything from Baby Got Back to the requisite Sweet Caroline. They took requests and nothing stumped them. 

One of the musicians happens to be married to our newest Corona. We sat in the front, which might have been a mistake for poor Debbie*, who was picked on all night by the two. Given this is the Bible Belt and they are part of the Church of Christ music leadership, the pianists were much more lude than I expected. 

Fortunately for them, the audience laughed--even Deb who was a great sport about everything. However at the end of the night, they did offer a public apology, pointing out they would be seeing those of us who sat at our table in church in a few hours. Another private apology followed before we left--this dude was sweating bullets!--along with a third apology the next morning before church. 

I'm still laughing. And honestly, so is everyone else. In fact, Deb was so popular, two guys who were about the age of Buckaroo came up to our table and invited Debbie to Wataburger on Stateline because she seemed like such a good hang. 

"You could be my great grandsons!" she exclaimed. 

"So are you coming?" they asked. 

She didn't. 

*To give you a snippet about what 70+ year old Church lady Debbie the Queen of Everything endured for hours Saturday night, after church yesterday I ran into Deb who wanted me to go to a bible class with her. I never go. She pushed. And then I said, "That song we sang a minute ago, wasn't it in the key of D? As in D for Debbie does Dallas?" 

She gave me a playful swat and said, "Bye. Have a good Sunday."