Why I'm Not a Realtor

Not a house we looked at. This was in Seattle.

Looking at houses for sale on the internet is addictive. So is driving by them, and going to open houses, and pestering your mortgage broker dude and realtor.


I don't want to do anything else. It's weird. Like I'd imagine a junkie would act--only looking for fixes, not caring about, say: writing, learning more about Scrivener, paying bills, eating healthy, or going to yoga class. But maybe junkies don't do any of those things anyway.

Saturday Ali and I went to two open houses, and yesterday three. But then we drove around for hours looking at more that weren't open and peering in windows, striking addresses from lists because a house was in that neighborhood, or it didn't have a big enough back yard, or it looked too small for our needs.

After we got home, I went through another six pages of listings in the online version of the Eugene Register Guard. I've started a new list of drive by addresses, and one list for the realtor of houses I definitely want to see the inside of. Seriously, it's as time consuming as first setting up your profile and browsing the singles on OK Cupid. Or Facebook.

Of course, this is all very pre-mature, as are lots of things I tend to do. We haven't even met with the mortgage broker to see if we can, together, get pre-approved for a home loan. That's tomorrow morning.

Moving in together will mean big changes for all of us, but mostly not-so-big changes. While Ali likes and genuinely cares for and worries about my teenage children, he's never lived with kids before. I'm worried that occasionally he'll need a quiet place to time-out in (not so much different from traditional parents, actually), away from the noise, chaos, or drama teenagers sometimes bring--depending on the kid. I'm sure Ali worries a little about this, too.

That--plus our three large dogs, and my desire to garden and raise chickens--creates some unique (but not strange) housing needs. We're quite obviously looking for a large fenced lot. And we'll need a certain amount of separation of space in the actual living quarters, not to mention the general square footage required for four people, three dogs, lots of art, and myriads of books.

In our preliminary searching, we've found one in particular that we keep using as a reference. Do we like this house as much as the other one? No? Then, strike it from the list.

As with every home, even "dream ones" you construct yourself, there are things about it that are not quite perfect. You'd change them if you could. But, generally, the positives far out-weigh the bad, and that is the case of this "reference" house we've found.

The back yard isn't as flat as I'd like it, the location of the home isn't in my favorite neighborhood, and one of the bathrooms would rarely be used--given its location in the house. Which just seems wasteful. Other than that, though, it's pretty near perfect to suiting our needs. The property taxes are lower than in some places, the dogs wouldn't bottle-neck in the hallways, there's a great place for Ali to escape to, AND it boosts an artists' studio. With at least three artists in the family, this would be great fun to have.

And, in lean times, if I couldn't manage my rent downtown, I could use the studio as a place to practice massage out of. It has an outside entrance, and an accessible bathroom--one that wouldn't have clients traipsing through my dog-haired living room, or messy kitchen.

All in all, pretty nearly perfect.

But here I am waxing poetic on a house I don't know for sure if I can get a loan for, a list of eight other homes I want tours of, and twelve more I'm going to drive by. Just to see. They fit under the category of: Eh. It might be cool. But it might be too small. I can't tell by the pictures. And I don't even know where Myoak is.

I swear I could make a full time job out of looking for a house to buy. I certainly spend enough time on it--it's even bleeding over into my writing! Though pretty soon I will be sick of it, and will just take whatever house I'm looking at the time. Which is why I'll never be a realtor.

I might not sell my house for "just cool."

I have a shaman-in-training friend.
You've met him before, in this blog. My brotherfriend.
We talked the other night about how to re-access spirit through dream gates. Of how talk to soul again.

Despite this sounding a smidgeon like a fantasy novel,  I don't actually feel like writing fiction right now.

Don't get me wrong, I love fiction. I want to write fiction, and publish fiction. But first, right now, I am immersed in the world of memoir. Living memoir. Non-fiction. Living my life in a creatively non-fiction way.

I'm making roads, honoring my needs, letting go. 

I'm learning ever more about myself. 

I'm.slowing.down. 

I'm looking at my experiences with MORE maturity and LESS obsession.

And.

Also.

I am trying to reconnect with my intuition. 

When Rob died, that catapulted me into talking with him in the pages of my journal, of receiving visits from him in my dreams, of meeting my spirit guides and my soul family. Of trusting myself. Implicitly. 

But not anymore.

To any of that.

My brotherfriend and I talked also about trusting myself again.

Well.

It's not really dis-trust, like I'm afraid I'll steal my laptop from myself, but more like ... when I check in on some uber-important question for soul and self, I want to know that the answer I receive is coming from a place of wholeness. Not from fear or desire.

Or co-dependancy.

Getting back to that place may take some time.
And I'm horribly out of practice.

All I know to do is: dance until the dream gates open, write until I hear the clarity that doesn't come from me, and to dialogue with people that remind me to check inside. ALL THE TIME.

"Is this bringing me closer to my goals?"
"Is making this choice in line with my true calling?"
"Will I be proud of this decision?"
"Am I communicating in the most non-violent way possible here?"
"Will chocolate REALLY help today?"
"Is this me being authentic?"

You might wonder why I'm so interested in this checking in with my soul/true calling stuff right now -- I mean, other than the general reasons of personal growth and living a life authentically, and one you can be proud to say you are living.

The reason I need to know if I'm lying to myself, or more accurately, that the answers to my questions are VALID ones -- the real reasons, the right reasons -- is because

I want to know if I'm supposed to move to Costa Rica.

I co-own a piece of land there already. I wanted to do it before, that's why it was purchased to begin with. But the plot changed in my memoir. The cast of characters is different. And I don't know if it is in my character's emotional arc to transcend the challenges to make it work with the differences from the original version of the story.

My ex wants to sell the land. So if I want to keep that Costa Rica dream alive (albeit in ICU), I need to come up with some serious cash to buy his half out. And I need to do it quickly. So, the question now becomes, not just do I want to live in Costa Rica someday? or even, do I want a vacation oasis in Costa Rica? but now it's do I want all that bad enough to put in an immense amount of time, effort and honest sweat for the next six months plus to make that happen? (Clarification: it'll take me six months to buy out my ex's half of the property. I could still take years to move down there, and I've made peace with that.)

Here's where the talking to yourself becomes mandatory.

I need to know if it is my true calling to go there. Is this me being authentic? Or is it just cool?
Because if it is, that's totally fine.

But I might not sell my house for "just cool."

My House is Me

Let me talk about my house.

The kitchen feels like my mom. I want to sit at this table – that my grandfather made – and drink the coffee that my mom got up so early in the morning to drink. Before the rest of the house awoke.

I Need a Name For My New Home

I'm so excited about my new house!
Even though I can't move into it for six weeks.
How will I wait for that?!

My friend, Tamara, says, "Whatever. You'll be packing. It's not that long." Call me insane but, I didn't actually think I'd have to pack. It's just a few blocks away. Like fifteen, or something. I thought that I could make a few van trips with some laundry baskets full of clothes and kitchen utensils and it'd be done. Right?

The Ghosts of Unwritten Blog Posts

Makes you wonder
what happens on Thursdays at 11am.
You know?

I woke up in the middle of the night last night and thought of all the blog posts that have been rolling around in my head lately -- unwritten.

First there was the one about my vacation and love and what it's been like in long-distance relationship realm. Then there was the one about abortion and how single parenthood could affect someone's stance on that issue. And then that blog post segued nicely into the one on religion and what last vestiges of power and guilt organized religion still hold over me. Also how my cyber-friends in Portland can make classy barbs at religion -- during Halloween no less -- and still have a following.

Then there was the post on Ikea and secrets.
One on assimilation, and becoming someone else -- how hard it is to stay authentic, especially in relationships.

One on moving yet again.

One on the pros and cons of having a baby later in life. Or more specifically do I want to have another baby. Because being newly divorced means you can ask yourself these questions now.

There was another post I thought about on self-improvement, living in line with your principles, and saying sorry when it's the right thing to do.

But dammit.

I had a conversation with a friend that turned that post on its ear.

Another blog post was going to be about my favorite sweater. The one I love and looks great on me -- like it was made for me -- painted on. With a hood and cool buttons. My Faerieworlds sweater.

But.

How every time I wear it, I think of my ex-boyfriend.

And that's crummy. Because it's coming on winter now and I'll be wanting to wear it all the time. The only thing I can think to do is ... wear it. And hopefully new memories will come from that.

And then there's the post on my son and counseling: more invisible special needs, and my fears surrounding those.

And my fears surrounding the future. Everyone has those fears. That would make a good blog post, too.





But not in the middle of the night.

Dreamy House Plans

 So. For a few days now, Paul and I have been working on the house plans. The latest ones were emailed to us and we printed them off, made some adjustments, scanned it, and emailed them back (with notes).

I tried inserted the copy onto this blog but it appears that since it is in pdf format, my blog server doesn't want to upload it. So you will have to content yourself with knowing that it is

Free Healthy Food!

Paul and I have a new food budget. 

We have four people in our family, but we often feed our friends or our children's friends when they come to visit. And our house is often full.

Nevertheless, we are trying to stick to $600/month.

My mother-in-law, perhaps rightly, scoffs at trying to do this during the holidays.

"People always buy more food in November and December," she says.

Well. I'm still trying. And, for the record, when we do inevitably (because we've only recently started this new food budget) go over, I know it immediately. I agonize over it. I'm looking for different places to shop; I talk myself out of buying organic produce this one time. 

I give myself huge kudos for this because BEFORE, we didn't have a budget. I didn't know when I'd spent too much ... it would take months (or longer) to realize that I was spending enormous amounts of money for food. (One month I recorded it at $1200.) So, I'm glad of where I've gotten to so far.

But I certainly want to keep improving. 

I know we can stick to our food budget. 

And the sooner I can make that a reality ('cuz I do the majority of the grocery shopping), the more comfortable our wait for our Costa Rican dream will be.

I was aching for the peace and warmth of Osa Mountain Village this morning.

I didn't get enough sleep last night.

Yesterday was an emotional day for me. I'm feeling stressed and restless and out of sorts.

The holidays are coming up and I'm only partly prepared. (I need to make some more lists! Then I'll feel better. Why didn't I think of this before?)

Paul's surgery is coming up.

And this morning? I just wanted to be on Osa Mountain in a little casita rental, watching my house being built.

I thought about emailing Jim, the land owner over there, and just saying 'hi' and that I was missing Costa Rica. But then I worried that my contacting him would remind him that he's still waiting for his money for the land. So I didn't do it.

Instead I looked over a current newsletter. And funny enough, it was talking about food.

Free food. 

Wouldn't that be nice right now? ;)

(This is a Starfruit tree.)

Here's an excerpt from the newsletter:

           90% of food cost is in packaging and transport. So true!

          Our goal is to create 100% "Food Security" using our 750+ acres and by trading 

          with local farmers. So easy to be a 'locavore' here!

          We've already planted over 2,300 fruit trees.  Close to 40 varieties!  

          Guava, Mango, Mamone, 5 types of oranges, many other kinds of citrus, 4 types of 

          avocado, bananas and plantains ... [etc.] 

          [And] we are using a vertical system for growing 38 varieties of veggies, herbs and

          spices. The system allows us to grow vast quantities of veggies organically in a small

          area.  

          

         The first two greenhouses are already built...     I so can't wait to get going on this.

Oh yeah.

One more thing to worry about.

We still haven't heard about the financing.

The lender says it "looks good" but we still haven't gotten the call from the title company to come in and close. 

Cross your fingers, Everybody!

And here's to hoping you have a wonderful holiday season and that you have plenty of food to eat wherever you are.

Blessings and Namaste.

I Am My Own Conundrum

I am a mother, a wife, a failed housekeeper, a disgruntled non-vegan, a reader, a procrastinator, a polyamorist, a writer, an urban-homesteader, a future ex-pat.

I am a fringe A.D.D.-er, an advocate for my son's "special needs," a "special needs" detective, a sugar addict and a frequent consumer of chocolate, cheese and olives.

I am a wannabe living simply seeker and a not-so-closet book junkie that wants to travel many places for long vacations involving rat-race jobs to fund them and foreign oil guzzling, carbon foot-printing airplanes to take me there.

I want to hang my clothes to dry and raise chickens and rabbits and knit and write on my idyllic farm and take my dogs running on my land, but I also want no responsibilities and to live in a little cottage across from a city park with a container garden on my porches and have gatherings at my home amongst friends.

I want to move out of the country and escape my husband's job where I rarely see him with its unpredictable days off and long days with no set closing time or lunch hour, to a place where the cost of living is low enough that our jobs keep us together in goal and spirit and commitment, rather than apart.

I want to move out of the country for the excitement and new challenge and for new writing fodder. But I don't want to because I'd miss Starbucks decaf mochas and my writing group and Bhangra dance lessons and Bikram yoga and No Shame Eugene Theater group.

I'd miss the friends I've finally made -- the ones that take longer and longer to make the older I get.

I'd miss my dogs that we might very well have to leave behind if we left.

I don't want to move because what if there isn't a school that I would touch with a ten foot pole for my kids. Before, I'd just say I'd home/un-school them, but I feel done with that now. I don't feel I have the energy, my attention is strongly diverted to my writing right now, and Robert's needs suddenly seem beyond my scope of expertise. But then again -- if we moved, it would be likely that Paul would be more helpful with the children and engage with them in ways that I wouldn't, haven't, or won't. And a friend brought up that maybe in another country, where they treat their children differently and award them different station, he wouldn't have special needs. Maybe he'd blossom into who he really is.

I also don't want to move because of my daughter. She's a teenager now -- even though she's only eleven -- and walks around with her iPod earbuds in, trying to shut us all out and she hates moving. Despite our long times at each of our two Eugene homes, she's necessarily had to move schools and daycares for various reasons and she remembers each kid that was important to her from each school (all the way back to her preschool daycare.) And she cries about them and misses them to this day.

We've finally gotten her back into a school we should've left her in all along and it'll take her through middle school. So I really don't want to move her out of that and even if we plan and wait for the three year mark (until she's out of 8th grade) -- many of her friends would be scattered to different high schools anyway, so maybe the loss would be diminished or at least not added to it - but then Robert's schooling would be interrupted mid-middle school.

So I can't win there.

But maybe, again, if our family were planning for the next three years to go, and Robert all along knew that he'd be moving the summer after his 6th grade year, maybe it wouldn't be a big deal to him.

I love the idea of our family all working together towards a common goal, like all of us learning Spanish together. Not that I've ever wanted to learn Spanish, but ... you know what I mean. And I'd like the idea of all of us making decisions based on our future move.

Paul and I are going to start researching other countries this year. We'll be taking a scouting trip to Costa Rica this fall, and I'd like to add Scotland, Ireland, Wales, New Zealand and Australia to the list.

France has intrigued me for years and Italy, too, but Paul doesn't want to learn a new language. Party Pooper. I mean, half the reason to move to a foreign country would be to learn a new language and immerse yourself in their culture!

Yes, Costa Rica is a Spanish-speaking country, but if we ever did move there, we'd most likely join a sustainable community full of expats growing their own food. So maybe no need for Spanish.

But there now. Paul would chide me for thinking too far ahead.