It’s official. My house is for sale. There’s a sign out in front to entice casual passersby and to confirm the location for those who are searching. So, it’s definitely happening. All we need now is a buyer.
A buyer and…oh just a few…tiny details to be addressed before one arrives.
The woodchuck. They are normally shy little vegetarians. Not at all as pushy and greedy as the squirrels that attacked my bird feeder last winter. This one, however, decided to take up residence in the corner between the house and garage. Not a wise choice on her part. I’d rap on the window and shout from the porch…and just like Elizabeth Warren..”Nevertheless, she persisted.”
I hired a professional trapper at the suggestion of the Vermont DNR. He was a very quiet, gentle man who was very non-intrusive. He promised that I’d hardly even know he was there. The first day he arrived with two have-a-heart traps and by the next morning one of the traps was occupied by a raccoon. I never saw the trapper come to empty the trap and I didn’t ask what happened to the raccoon, but I’m pretty sure he was sent to a farm in upstate New York. After a couple weeks the groundhog, too, had been removed and his burrow filled with cement. When it came time to pay the trapper in a very Vermont-like manner he explained the bill and said, “I only charged you for trapping the woodchuck. You didn’t hire me to trap a raccoon. The raccoon was free.”
As part of this house-selling adventure I’ve met some really wonderful people. Shortly after the ground hog challenge. I met Ryan, septic tank man…the first septic tank man. When Ryan arrived I pointed out where I thought the tank was located. He said by the contours of the lawn I was probably correct, but if he had a problem he’d let me know. When he knocked on the door, I knew it couldn’t be good. Without going into too much detail or getting too graphic, let’s just say…there was a problem. “Come see this,” said Ryan. I really didn’t want to see anything that Ryan wanted to show me, but, I can now say that I have…looked…into…the…abyss. I will NOT be looking again, but…get this…Ryan suggested I take photos in case I needed documentation! Ewww! Gross!
The short version of this tale is that I decided the next owners deserve a new septic tank, so next Thursday, Jordan, the second septic tank man, will be delivering a brand spankin’ new septic tank. Who needs diamonds or jewels when you can spend your money on a state of the art septic tank.
The very next day, I discovered a tree out in the back had come down while I was out of town. Only $400 and the tree was cut up and hauled away. Sadly, it was one of the few remaining Ash trees not infected by the Emerald Ash Bore. It just blew over in the wind after losing its grip on the huge rock around which it had chosen to put down roots.
Well…if things come in threes as they say…I’ve met my quota. I’ve even got one in the bank, if we count the slight mishap with a malfunctioning dehumidifier.
Now that I’ve made the decision to sell, I want someone to come to my door tomorrow morning and say, “Please let me buy this house. I promise to love it as much as you have, but I think you’ve priced it too low. Allow me to give you more money. I insist.” Of course, it doesn’t happen that way.
You go through the preliminary steps of which there are many…photos, disclosure statements, de-cluttering, documents to sign, and finally the post on the internet and a sign in your yard…only to reach the most difficult phase…the waiting. All you can do is wait….and wait…and wait…and wait.
So tiredThe Kinks Tired of Waiting for You
Tired of waiting
Tired of waiting for you
My house is over two hundred years old and it has been inhabited for nearly every one of those years, so I know that soon someone’s path will lead them here, but in the meantime, I’m going slightly crazy. I hate to admit it, but if you haven’t figured it out by now, I’ll confess. I’m a worrier, a what-if-er, a person easily stressed. Apparently, I also have very little patience and I hate the suspense of not-knowing.
During the waiting phase there is very little you can do, but I thought I should try everything possible. I remember hearing my Catholic cousins talk about burying a statue of St. Anthony in their yard when they were selling their house. I’m not sure what he’s suppose to do, especially from that location, but what could it hurt? Of course…I remembered…I don’t have a statue of St. Anthony. Anthony…hmmm…Tony… I’d print a picture of Tony Danza and plant him in the yard somewhere. Shoot! The printer is on the fritz. Maybe it would be just as good if I just sang that Elton John song…you know the one. So…I spent the afternoon singing.
Then the friendly folks at Google informed me that it was St. Joseph… not St. Anthony and he was supposed to go into the yard head first. I do have a statue of St Joseph. I made him in high school as part of a Nativity set, but a couple years ago his head snapped off and I have yet to repair him. So…does he go in headless or do I tuck the head in with him in the approximate position? There’s so much to know.
It’s a good thing from time to time to be reminded that there are some things in life we simply can’t control. We just have to have faith, trust the Universe, and accept the help of friends. As a Unitarian Universalist I have friends from many faith traditions. My Christian friends are praying; the Buddhists are meditating; the Hindus are slipping beads through their fingers; the Pastafarians are heating up the sauce; the Humanists are studying statistics of past sales in the area; someone’s burning incense; and the Pagans are snaking off their clothes and dancing naked around the fire. I don’t actually know if they are Pagans, but a couple of my friends were up for the naked dancing, so what the heck. I want to cover all the bases. I’m breathing in and breathing out and learning to be patient. After all it has been ten days!