Sold, We'll Take It

I have been accused of being an analytical. Granted I do make three dimensional drawings and workflow charts before I start any “honey do” project. And I do like building Excel spreadsheets and PowerPoint presentations in my spare time. But does any of this make me an analytical? C’mon, really? Yeah, OK, maybe it does. Guilty as charged. I am an analytical. There I said it! Yes, I am an organizer, yes, I am a planner. I have even been the victim of analysis paralysis on an occasion or two or three. All of which makes this story even more unbelievable.

First, a little background information. Judy and I were both born and raised in the country in Ohio. And when we got married, in the late sixties, our first house was a single wide in a trailer park. Fast forward about twenty years and three houses and three moves later and we finally found ourselves moving back into the country.

And wow, were we in heaven. Ten plus acres back a quarter mile lane. There was plenty of room and plenty of privacy. We both agreed this is exactly where we were meant to be and this is exactly where we would be until they moved us into a home or planted us in the ground – whichever came first.

Over the next twenty-five years, however, tiny little reality checks slowly started taking center stage. There was lots of cleaning in the springtime, lots of yard work in the summertime, lots and lots of leaves to rake in the fall, and a whole lot of snow to shovel in the wintertime. Our perfect country home was feeling less and less like perfect.

And suddenly, almost without warning the proverbial ball, probably a snowball, started to roll downhill. In mid-July of 2014 we were in the process of getting a HELOC (Home Equity Line Of Credit). And there I was, standing in the kitchen one afternoon, when the mailman made a delivery I wasn’t expecting. It was a copy of the appraisal which was just conducted by the credit agency.

After reading through a dozen or so pages, I reread the appraised value of our property. Not just once or twice, but several times. The first few times under my breath and the next few times aloud. Even though I was the only one in the house. Needless to say, a seed was planted. And when Judy got home that evening I started watering that tiny little seed.

The first watering was a half-joking “Gee, if this place is worth that much, maybe we ought to sell it.” Judy didn’t take me seriously. After all I am an analytical and this was much too spontaneous. Over the next few days, the waterings became more frequent and the half-joking became full on serious.

About a week later I called the realtor from whom we had bought the house and asked him to stop over for a chat. As we sat in the yard, reminiscing about old times and catching up on current stuff, I expressed my curiosity about the housing market. Was now a good time to sell? How long did he think it might take to sell a place like this?

And just as you probably expected by now, a week later our dream home in the county was on the market. And, just as we had not expected, a week later we had an offer, a backup offer and two contingent offers. That tiny little seed was clearly on steroids and we went from mildly curious to well on our way to being homeless in a matter of weeks.

And suddenly there were ten plus acres and twenty-five plus years (actually a lot more than that) of stuff to sort through. Lots and lots and lots of stuff. What goes in a dumpster, what do we give away? What goes in a moving box, what goes in the auction? Oh and where are we going to live next and when will we have time to start looking for our next home? So little time, so much to do.

With our only child living in New Mexico, the southern New Mexico area seemed like the obvious choice for the where we were going to live next. Thankfully, when we shared our thoughts about moving with our son and daughter-in-law, their enthusiasm was overwhelming. But there was still the ever pressing question of when will we have time to start looking? By some odd twist of fate, at this time, Judy, the non-analytical, was freaking out far more than was I, who for whatever reason was unusually calm. Especially given the lack of three dimensional drawings, workflow charts, Excel spreadsheets, and PowerPoint presentations.

Over the next few weeks we continued to work on the piles. One pile for Goodwill, one pile for the recycle center, one pile for the shredder, and one pile for the curb. And then there were the boxes. Some boxes were full of stuff that would be making the move to New Mexico, some boxes were full of stuff that would be sold during the auction.

We signed the papers and officially we were now living in a house belonging to someone else. And before the ink had dried the new owners were ready to start moving in. With far more piles and way more boxes than time, an auction just days away, and a “vacate the premises” date looming larger and larger, a house hunting trip to New Mexico, no matter how brief, was out of the question.

And that’s when the Internet and our son and daughter-in-law came to the rescue. With a simple assignment: find us a place to live, and find it quickly, son and daughter-in-law sprang into action. After considering all the obvious places – in town, out of town, houses, apartments, and condos – they found the perfect spot.

After a few nights of perusing the world wide web and reviewing the current listing of homes for sale, especially those with immediate occupancy, a call was made. “Hi, I am calling you from Ohio and my wife and I would like to buy a house in New Mexico,” I said. “And by the way, our son and daughter-in-law will be making the walk-thrus on our behalf.”

After a little more online searching and a few more phone calls, surrogate walk-thrus were conducted, offers were made over the phone, papers were overnighted back and forth, and within days we were homeless no more. We were now the proud, yet tad bit anxious, owners of a property 1600 miles away that we had only seen online.

The auction came and went on a frosty, rainy, sleety, snowy, occasionally sunny day. The moving van was packed, front to back and bottom to top. And with car hauler in tow, we native Ohioans were southwestward bound.

Four days later we stopped at the front office, signed a couple more papers, and picked up the keys to our new home. The moment of truth was at hand – too late to turn back now. Thankfully, in person, our new home looked just like it looked on the Internet. Thankfully, our son and daughter-in-law came through in the clutches.

So, in conclusion, for those analyticals reading this story, just remember. Being an analytical is a gift – one for which those that aren’t likewise blessed, are probably just a little jealous. And, few people are well suited for such an esteemed responsibility which in its self makes you and I very special – and of course, very humble. And for those non-analyticals reading this story, just remember this. Every once in a while, us thinkers, when you least expect it, will cast all thinking aside (more or less) and just race headlong towards the (more or less) unknown. After all, we wouldn’t want you to think you knew all there was to know about us thinkers.