I could probably do a blog exclusively about nothing but homes that the boy, the wife and I go to look at. There is just not enough time to wade thru all the material. And believe me there is alot of it.
That said, looking at homes, staged to buy, is alot like working for a moving company. You see inside peoples lives, you get a sense of who they are, or in some cases were, based on what they show you or how they’ve left their former homes behind.
Ever read The Crying of Lot 49 by Pynchon? There is a description in there of what its like to look at the trade ins folks bring in on the used car lot. Sometimes house shopping can be like that. (it starts on page 13. Bottom Paragraph.)
Various incidents from today’s travels, in no particular order to the above mentioned effect:
Converted Cape Cod house: Bad windows. Strange layout on the second floor. Cramped.
As Steph and I went down the stairs into the finished basement , out of the corner of my eye, I see someone sitting in a chair at a desk. There is an eternal millisecond where I am convinced that that there is a Dead body.
Its a huge stuffed animal.
On our way back up the steps a few minutes later, the wife and I confirm that we had the same thought at the same time walking down those steps: dead body in the basement.
Creepy.
Squat Brick house with great floors but no back yard:
This was the last place we checked out. An apple tree is right by the drive way. Its fruits are unpicked, all over the ground, crushed or half chewed by squirrels, insects, etc.
The realtor tells us that the place is currently occupied by a renter. Whenever you hear this, you know you are in for it.
The building looks nice from the street.
Things go down hill from there. The porch, enclosed, smells like someone went into the crawl space underneath, vomited there and left it to cook in the summer heat.
The living room is a very nice size. Fire place. Beautiful exposed hard wood floors.
However, Partially unpacked bags are all over the furniture. All the windows are closed. The shades are all pulled down. This is standard throughout the house.
Bedroom: Rows upon rows of sci-fi and fantasy, all terrifically well organized on book shelves. Physics texts. Army officer manuals.
Checking out the closets, Army dress uniform, fresh from dry cleaner.
Dining room: Desert camo jacket hanging on a door, 40 bottles of wine sitting in a corner, piles of day of the week cases filled with pills and vitamins.
Kitchen: the boy grabs and knocks over a basket containing packs and packs of Nicorette.
The back porch: empty 2 liter bottle of soda with countless cigarette butts.
Conclusion: I couldn’t help but think I stumbled into some vet’s PTSD nightmare.
Then again, I thought that stuffed animal was a dead body.
