Monday Memories

Planet M Files is hosting Monday Memories. Thought I'd join in this morning.

We landed in this 1970 something suburb fourteen years ago while looking for the perfect property in the country with acreage and a barn, so we could have chickens and a couple of goats to milk and a big garden. That dream was going to cost more than we had in our pocket, but in the suburbs- wow- you could get a four bedroom place with two baths and a swimming pool. I got sucked in. But I was bitter about it. I really wanted the barn.

We bought a three bedroom, walk-out ranch with blue siding, a deck overlooking a good sized back yard and above ground, oval Doughboy pool with a dug out deep end. A strip of woods separated our lot in back from the muck fields where onions were growing. It was okay. Happiness can be achieved anywhere. We shared the place with our three kids and a plethora of mice. No matter what we did, the mice got into the walk-out level. After three years, I couldn't stand it.

One day I was riding my bike. Eleven doors down, on the same side of the street we lived on, I spied a man hammering a For Sale by Owner sign into his front yard. The house looked nice- a brick ranch. I imagined a brick house being tight- no mice. I wheeled my bicycle into his driveway to have a little chat. This was a four bedroom walkout with a built in the ground swimming pool and a four stall garage- two wide, two deep- did I want to see it? Yes. I wanted to see it. So, he showed me around. Any mice? I asked. Never.

Later, back at the blue ranch, I.T. and I had errands to run. Riding around in the car, I casually slipped a question to I.T., carefully mingling it with other unrelated conversation. "If we had a chance to buy a brick house that has one more bedroom than our current home, a four stall garage, an inground pool, stay on the same street we live on now-and only raise our mortgage payment $50/month- would you be interested?" I.T. is not a risk taker and does not like change. "Why?" came flatly from this man of few words. Then I told him all about the house down the street, getting the tour and how the price was so low, it'd be like having a bigger, better house for almost the same mortgage. No mice. He remained silent.

The next day, I felt sure we should buy it. I.T. had not said no. After he left for work, I hammered a For Sale By Owner sign into our front yard. Then I made some cardboard signs that read For Sale By Owner with our phone # and an arrow directing interested parties to our home through the twisty suburb. I nailed them to every telephone pole from the main road to our street. Then I rode my bike down to the brick house and told the owner we were very interested and that my husband would be wanting a tour after dinner. To make sure he knew I was serious, I told him our house was already for sale.

I biked home and busied myself with housework waiting for I.T. to arrive. At precisely 5 p.m., from my hideout in the laundry room on the lower level, I heard the familiar sound of the door between the garage and kitchen, as it opened.

Immediately, "HEI. DEEEEE!" I.T. was calling.

I rushed up the stairs, "what is it?" I gave my best innocent eyes.

"Our house is for sale." I.T. seemed upset. He had seen a sign on a telephone pole on the way into the subdivision advertising a house newly for sale. As he drove past, he glimpsed the phone number on the sign. He explained how he'd stopped the car, put it in reverse and double checked the number. It was ours. And why was there a for sale sign in our yard?

"Oh that, right...well.... I went over the conversation we'd had in the car the night before- the hypothetical house with the extra bedroom, four stall garage, in-ground pool, same street, same mortgage payment- almost. I begged him to pleease go with me to see it after dinner. He said nothing. For one brief, star spangled moment, through his rocket red glare, bombs bursting in air- I thought he might kill me. I don't remember if he actually said he'd go, but we did go down to see the house after dinner.

Back then, interest rates were low, people were working and the housing market was moving. I was afraid someone else would buy the brick house out from under me. Trying to make a deal with the owner to help prevent this, I asked him if he would hold the house for me for, say, three days- give me three days to sell my house. No deal. I kept the pressure on and he finally told me he would give me 24 hours to sell my house. For that time, he would not sell the brick house to anyone else, but if someone wanted to see it, he would show it. I.T. just looked at me like I was the nut that I am. I had 24 hours to sell our blue ranch.

The next day, Friday late afternoon, a couple drove by our house. They drove by again. They pulled into the driveway. They wanted to see the house. Keeping a house in show shape 100% of the time was near to impossible with three little kids and a dog running in and out of it. I told them to come back in three hours. I tore through that house cleaning and straightening. I.T. loaded the kids and dog in the car and left. The potential buyers returned. They loved it. They made an offer. I said no, the price is firm, but I'd throw in the solar cover for the pool. They took it.

It was late by the time we settled out all the paperwork and such. But early the next morning, I hopped on my bike and booked down to the brick. The owner was in the driveway trying to enjoy his coffee when I skidded in missing him by a hair. "I sold my house!"

Each child moved into his or her very own bedroom (though two have since moved out, thus we have two spare bedrooms). I.T. has plenty of space to store his stuff in our four stall garage, the pool is a neighborhood fun spot and we have never seen a mouse in this house. I.T. made me promise that for the rest of our married life, so that would be all the rest of both our lives, I would never surprise him with anything again- ever. I've tried very hard not to.