As the name of this column suggests, I have a habit of taking an ordinary life event and complicating it.
But I had no idea back in February, on the eve of a pandemic, that I was about to take my specialty to the next level. Long wanting to trim my square footage, I made an offer on a charming vintage Cape Cod.
Looking back, I suppose there were a few reports of a virus swirling around China, but at the time, I was thinking more about the fireplace and how much it would cost to convert it from wood-burning to gas.
It did occur to me that if the offer was accepted, I’d need to sell my current home ASAP. But was a hot seller’s market, right? And I was in house love.
Four months later, I am staring moving day in the face. But first, a peek at my life behind the for sale sign– the alternate reality that has distracted me from cable news.
Round One: house-showing dilemma. How to word the “welcoming sign” cautioning tourists to wear masks and visit the “hand sanitizing station” at the kitchen sink? How long to stay out of the house when the showing ended? And how dangerous to use a public restroom while waiting three hours for any virus particles to clear from the air before my return?
Weighing the risks, I once sneaked back in to use my own guest bathroom while potential buyers were poking around upstairs. (Lysol might have done the trick, but it was selling online for more than $100 a can.)
As a result, each showing involved the usual “house beautiful” preparation time plus showing time plus three-hour exit time plus re-entry with hard surface wipe-down with disinfectant in case anyone touched a counter or doorknob.
At the other house end, my sellers were COVID-stalled in their attempts to move to Spain, so we negotiated a month-to-month lease for them to stay in their house while I sold mine. Before a month had passed, much hand-washing had occurred at my house and it sold. The transaction was so pristine that a notary watched me sign through the front window.
That brought Round Two, a trail of contractors now entering the house for requested inspection remedies. I greeted each one through the front window – wearing and pointing to my mask, which sent them scurrying back to their trucks to get their own.
To keep my distance, I taped the applicable part of the inspection report to the applicable area, stayed in my office with the door closed, and gave them my cell phone number in case there were questions. Around this time, my son, who did not need a mask reminder, showed up in his pick-up truck to schlep 55 boxes of donations because the Salvation Army was not picking up. I waved and blew kisses to the grandkids, who stayed put in the backseat.
As soon as my sellers’ lease was up, Round Three began – a parade of contractors doing pre-move work at the new house while I was packing up the old one. Thankfully, by this time my daughter had driven cross-country from Oregon (flights being dicey) to help. For the journey, she lugged all her food, a tent and a portable toilet, and camped overnight in friends’ backyards.
By the time this column runs, Round Four – the actual move – will be behind us, with five masked men hauling 1/3 of my stuff – the part that was not donated or auctioned or trashed – to my new place.
Soon I will join the rest of the world in battling social distance boredom and weighing the risks of attending protests and expanding my social bubble a little farther for my own mental health.
But for the moment I’m going to revel in the fact that I have now bought and sold a house during a pandemic. I think I’ll take a deep breath (at a reasonable distance) and maybe attack the ambitious garden the previous owners put in. Like the virus, I hadn’t noticed it when I made the offer on the house.
No worries. I’m sure that returning to nature will simplify my life.
Copyright 2020 Pat Snyder
One Response
Oh Pat. You have a way of making any struggle look easy and sound fun! Thanks always for the levity.
Also, while your columns are always well-written, I love the structure of this one. The tease and then the fall back. Like a well-told joke.
See you on zoom soon!
~ Nita