lament

I was up long before dawn this morning, unable to sleep even though I've been tired for days. When the light of day finally crept in, I went outside in the drizzle to take this photo of my house.

It doesn't seem so right now, but I always try to be appreciative. I do relish the park setting of my current house, even while I'm in the process of trying to move to the walkable neighborhood near downtown. But my house is tiny, and all of my life I've wanted a large house.

My house is ranch-style (one story), built in 1962. I don't like the architecture of that era. But I love Victorian houses, with wood floors, high ceilings (some even with decorative tin), decorative molding, transoms, and huge windows.

Even more importantly to me, I desire an urban neighborhood where people actually walk and bike. I despise the car culture.

I love this photo, taken in the neighborhood I wish to move to, which strikingly displays the way I want to live.


I will be the first to admit that this is a stunning setting in which to live, and I am blessed. But sometimes when I leave this property in my car, I feel close to tears as I unwillingly enter the steady, never ceasing flow of traffic. The few times I've set out on foot or bike to run an errand from this house, I've nearly been mowed down by drivers of large vehicles who are annoyed that I can't get with the program. I don't try anymore; it's truly not safe.



The mere sight of my photos from last winter sadden me. It was a lonely, depressing time. My house is isolated, especially when my only neighbors take off for Florida for 7 months each year. A couple of the snowfalls this year were so major that everything was shut down. There was nobody around to help me shovel out; I was on my own.

It was at the end of this miserable winter that I had my first showing of this house with my realtor:

This is a side/rear view of what I had started referring to as the "Venerable Victorian." It is way under priced for the gentrified neighborhood, which is why I asked to see it. The interior of this house had been cheaply renovated; therefore, the house was rejected by the typical buyers of large houses on this coveted street. The property is angled in such a way that a garage can't be built, either- a turn-off to many buyers who insist on being able to "house" their cars, even in an urban setting. The other houses for sale in the highly sought-after urban neighborhood are way out of my price range.

I can't imagine ever feeling isolated here. It is across the street from an upscale retirement village, a wonderful grocery store, drug store, video store, deli- and just behind the house, a gorgeous urban park with a lake:

Finally I have reached the point in my life where I know what it means to be true to myself. I don't need the approval of others- if someone else prefers living in the suburbs, that's fine for that person- not for me. I admit that I like the hustle and bustle, the bright lights, the constant activity. And I don't have to apologize for preferring that. My dream is to live in a large Victorian in a prime urban location.

To that end, I came up with a grand scheme to win the Venerable Victorian. It's a scary time in my life- I have recently had thousands of dollars of extra expenses related to my son, and the organization I have worked for since college is on the verge of shutting down. Facing probable unemployment, I thought this might actually be the ideal time to move, since my current mortgage payments are very high.

Here was my plan: I'd take out a HELOC loan against the equity on my current house, and I'd take an early distribution on my IRA even though I'd pay hefty taxes and penalties. I had it planned out to the last dime. I'd make a cash offer on the Victorian- a low offer, reflecting today's poor market. I'd be living in the house of my dreams, mortgage-free! As soon as my HELOC loan was approved and signed, I made my first offer.

I SAID that I knew this was a long shot. I SAID that I was totally OK with the thought of not getting the house.

That's what I SAID.

In reality, when my realtor called to tell me that the seller had accepted someone else's offer, my heart stopped.