My parents were extremely supportive of my sister and I, and
I suppose they appreciated my mostly positive attitude to the whole
endeavor. I certainly could have made
things much worse, as some of my friends did with their folks. I developed a very outgoing personality early
on and moving simply reinforced it. I
know my sister didn’t quite develop my outlook or facility, but she lived
through as I suppose the majority have.
As a homeowner, I found the process of buying a house somewhat
archaic and hidden behind a veil or ritual; the real estate agents are the key
masters and the gatekeepers. On the
seller’s side this time around, it was a wholly different and sometimes wildly
frustrating experience. With their
commission, they hold you beholden to their experience and tradecraft, if you
could call it that; mystics in the art of selling a house. I like a dose of fantasy in my reading and
certainly in my writing. Not when it
comes to buying my house, thank you very much!
I did the research in home pricing, and we visited numerous
potential homes. Time and again, we
found something rather significant that struck it from the list or made it
distant thirds to whatever houses we still may have had on our list to visit. When it came to selling mine, I didn’t skimp on
the research either. The market was
working against us, and our style of house.
I didn’t expect our real estate agent to be causing additional friction
to the sale, yet she did. Nothing earth
shattering, but an annoyance none-the-less.
After it all, we sold our home, an experience that left my wife
infinitely more drained than I.
All this to say, it is finally off the market, a four-letter
placard proudly standing on top of the real estate sign in our front yard. One of the best and most sought after
four-letter words any home owner in our circumstance could hope for: SOLD.
And with a bit of mysticism, things seem right again in the
world; my wife is certainly the better for it.
