A-hunting We Will Go: Part 1

Yesterday afternoon, my friend using my computer in the study, said, "There are two people on your balcony." This was very odd, as my parents are not in town, and my friend is the only other visitor I get. In fact, in order for people to get to my balcony, they have to come upstairs, which means they make a lot of effort at getting lost.

I opened my door and said, "Hi. May I help you?" which I find much more polite than asking why the heck they’re nosing around my private residence. One of the women said, "We just looked at all the pictures, and now we’re checking out the grounds." Grounds? Oh, I’m part of "the grounds" now? I guess I should have expected it, considering how attractive my flower pots are (even if I do say so myself). Plus, when you consider that half of the guests at the B&B/art gallery can’t read either of the signs that tells them to park over there, not in the residents’ lot, it was only a matter of time before they ventured up my stairs.

I’ve had only one other unexpected visitor since I moved in. That was a woman who was checking out the other unit that had been for sale, and at least she had the courtesy to ring my doorbell. I told her what little I knew and suggested she talk to the realtor. Speaking of realtors, I promised that I’d tell you more about my "adobe abode", and my realtor would be a good place to start.

In July of last year, I stopped by the campus PBS and NPR affiliates to ask if any of their members/supporters was a realtor. I received three references but dropped two immediately because they were well-known agencies who already had enough money. I phoned the third and set up an appointment to see her. We met and discussed what I was wanting. She told me that she was going on vacation to see her new grandson but suggested I check out listings in the free real estate publications and, more importantly, see how much money the banks would be willing to give me.

I first went to the mega-bank where I have my checking account. I thought they might give me a deal, as I am already a customer. The guy, who looked barely out of college, didn’t seem to listen to me. He was more interested in selling me a particular mortgage. I went then to a local bank, whose series of radio ads (in the style of Dragnet) had appealed to me. (I particularly liked the one that asked, "Has your bank committed merger?") Not only did the agent listen to me, he answered all my questions, and he gave me a better interest rate than the mega-bank. (The fact that this local bank sold my mortgage to a bank in Albuquerque when the ink on my signature was barely dry is neither here nor there.)

Now that I knew how much house I could afford, the next step was to find one. I selected candidates in my price range from the free publications then consulted a map to determine which ones were in decent neighborhoods. I went out after my early morning walks on weekends, so I wouldn’t have to worry about traffic while I sought house numbers on unfamiliar streets. The better looking ones, alas, were already under contract. The still-available ones tended to be in sketchy neighborhoods. (My realtor explained that, in our hot market, the good places are snatched up right away, and waiting for the ads to be published is at least a week too late.) I also checked out the link to the Multiple Listing Service on my realtor’s web site. When she returned, we made up a list of houses to visit.

Our first afternoon out, we must have stopped at four to six places, but only two stand out in my memory. The first was a "patio home" (realtor-speak for a duplex). It was in a decent neighborhood, was well kept by the elderly couple that lived there, and had a one-car garage and a yard I could do something with. However, it was like a glorified two-bedroom apartment, and I wasn’t looking for that. (Ironically, that’s exactly what I ended up with.) The other one I remember was a "fixer-upper". I figured I could replace the kitchen’s old vinyl floor with ceramic tile myself, but there were worse problems. The sun room that had been added at the back was settling at a different rate than the rest of the house, so the doors were stuck and very difficult to open. Plus, there was that water problem evident where the roof lines joined. We walked into the first bedroom, which was quite small, but it seemed to have a large closet. The realtor (let me call her Carol now, as I’ve already given you the link to her website) slid open the closet door to reveal.... the bedroom next door. Well, that was interesting. The first bathroom had "Wow that’s bright!" shocking, teal tiles. How am I supposed to decorate around that? The master bathroom had light pink tile, which was probably original to the house. It wasn't masculine, but I could distract from it by using dark towels. The main problem in this bathroom was its size. I’ve never seen a bathroom that small. The toilet was practically in the bedroom -- really. The door nearly brushed the porcelain when I closed it.

Needless to say, I didn’t hold out much hope for our second venture a couple of weeks later. One place was suspiciously affordable, but Carol told me flat-out, "You don’t want that one." We drove by, and she indeed was right. Another one was a good size, had a lot of charm, a recently renovated kitchen, and a lot of storage space. I mean a lot. Between the property lines and both sides of the house were hand-built storage areas. I could have kept all my junk, and yours, in them. The backyard was nice, but the only way to access it, because of the added-on storage, was through the house. If I ever wanted to excavate the in-ground pool that had been filled in.... Let’s just say it sounds like a lot of money. The penultimate place we visited had one room with built-in, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and a large yard, with fruit trees and a decent lawn and lots of places to show off my green thumb. I probably would have been satisfied there.

"Do you want to see the condo?" Carol asked. We were both kind of tired, and it was a hot, August afternoon, but it was on the way back to her office, so, "Why not?" I replied. I am so glad I did!