Well, our wait is over. It should have been over yesterday, but once again, the agent from hell dropped the ball.
The house we were supposed to close the deal on Monday is no longer a deal in the works. It’s entirely off–the house can’t ever have the utilities turned on.
I thought we’d done our homework prior to ever making an offer, because when it comes right down to it, that’s the buyer’s responsibility. We’re just fortunate that I’m none too patient and wanted the city’s inspection done so we could turn the utilities on as soon as the house closed.
It seems that prior to the building (it was a garage pre-Katrina) being converted, FEMA had surveyed the damage in the area and had designated the building as damaged beyond repair. That meant that it could not be repaired or remodeled without being raised to above flood levels. (The area had about five feet of water with the hurricane, but normally does not flood for hurricanes or tropical storms.) There isn’t anything anybody can do–it’s apparently a case of what FEMA says is as good as law. The house is unusable. We’re not buying it, and the lot itself is over priced if it only contains a building that has to be torn down as per FEMA.
Yee haw, we’re still homeless, but as my husband keeps reminding me, there is a silver lining to the cloud. We aren’t the ones who own that useless piece of property. Our money isn’t tied up in it.
That isn’t helping me very much today. I am depressed, I had seen the light at the end of the tunnel. I had begun to think about paint, landscaping, and fencing for the dogs. I was excited, and could see French doors installed in the living area towards the yard on that side.
It reminds me a lot of a house my mother and I looked at years ago. She’d fallen in love with it from the outside. She had actually gotten a pattern to crochet by hand some curtains for the bay window. She was so disappointed when we got inside, discovered it was far beyond our ability to fix up, with everything from dangling 1930’s electrical wiring to dissolving plaster and grass growing up through the toilet. I wasn’t thrilled to discover that the third “bedroom” was actually a dirt floored lean-to on the back of the house.
Never get excited until all the t’s are crossed and i’s are dotted.
So we’re back on the prowl. Not that we have much to look at. What aggravates me the most is that we passed up several other optional purchases, because this one was the cheapest of the group, and we were then locked in on the offer. Two months later, we have no house at all.
I can try and be philosophical about the entire situation. It’s not working too well right now, it sounds more like sour grapes than philosophy to me today. So, I’m focusing on extracting the earnest money from the real estate agent (she cashed the checks) and continuing the search.
So we weren’t meant to get this house. It was Fate looking down at us and shaking their collective heads and pushing the house aside. I only hope that the same group of Ladies of Fate see fit to help us find the right place for us. I don’t want something big and fancy, I just want something dry and safe, that we can make attractive and comfortable for us and our motley crew of rescued companions. I want a yard that I can plant a few shrubs and trees in for fruit, along with a garden, and still have space for the dogs to run and be dogs in. I want my granddaughter to look forward to visiting us in it.
I’m just not cut out to be a nomad, it seems, yet at the same time, its as though those Ladies of Fate keep trying to push me into a nomadic lifestyle. I feel detached and disconnected without a place to call home.