Moving- More Fun Than a Broken Collarbone
"Dad, why is there a tire pump in the bathroom cabinet?"
I looked at it. The hose was missing, adding to the mystery. Why in the world would someone put the tool down there, and especially if it's worth nothing more than a paperweight? Why?
Fourteen years, that's why.
Stuff just piles up. Six pitchers. No, seven. Make that eight. Four hundred pens and pencils, give or take. Five packs of crayons. Yeah, the twenty- and thirty something kids can use them when they visit!
And electronics! TV remotes have been breeding profusely in a drawer. Snakes of wires coil around one another and multiply. Chargers, cell phones, plastic doodads, unidentifiable, lurk in crevices.
So we make decisions; keep, toss, and thrift. Even the keeps need sub-choices; keep for the temporary rental house, keep in storage for the eventual house, or keep out until moving day. And the guys at the thrift shop are getting friendly. They should be, I see them more than the Little Woman. I figure one or two more trips and they'll throw me a party. "Hey, the guy is here who keeps us employed! Woo hoo!"
I suppose moving is the last turn down a long and winding road of selling the house. After all, we started ten months ago. And a lot more money ago, too. Right from the start, the concessions began. List the house. Clean and de-cluterr it. Drop the price. Get a lower offer. Take it. The appraisal comes in low. Take it. The deal falls through. List at a lower price. Get a lower offer. Take it. The appraisal comes in low. Sheesh!
And of course, the paperwork. How many trees lost their lives so we wouldn't sue each other? And people still do.
Lots of whining! What's the good news? Well, if the purchase of a smaller house comes to fruition, we will have NO mortgage. What a deal. I haven't had that happen since I started the debt path, at the age of twenty. i think that will make it all worthwhile, in this new, exciting economy. Thrilling economy, really.