Deadline or Dead in the Water

My husband reminds me frequently (and not without justification) that our rental villa has a one-year lease. No short-term or month-to-month option available here.  And no one in their right mind would be willing to move three times in little more than a year. But that is the booby prize for homebuilders like us, if we cannot meet the one-year deadline to complete my own little version of Barbie's dream house.

Garage Banned

Both our builder and architect are discouraging me from changing the design of the garage of our new house from a traditional, 2-car to a more unique 2-car design. I have decided to keep my innovative garage design a secret for now so as not to invite ridicule (or copycats.) Of course, a rank design/construction novice like me had no problem coming up with a solution to our little garage puzzle because I have not even a passing acquaintance with zoning and lot size restrictions. What I do know is that we have one week to decide where we will park our cars.

Mow, Mow, Mow the Lawns

As we were not among the lucky souls that went to their heavenly reward yesterday, we are stuck here on earth with not one, but two lawns to mow; our rental villa and our new house. Since we cannot tear down the old house (more on that later, all you preservationists) for a month or more, we must maintain it so as not to advertise its attractions to all the bored teenagers in town.

The End of the Worry

If the world is coming to an end tomorrow, as predicted by the evangelical Family Radio host Harold Camping, I have just wasted a huge chunk of our money buying real estate. The real "rapture" would be if I could wake up a year from now living in my new house.

Real Estate Reality

It occurred to me yesterday, after a meeting with our architect and builder, that we really are building a house. And this house will need to be finished, furnished and tied up in a "Traditional Home" bow.  Not quite an epiphany, more like a recurring smack on the hand.  An instant-replay of high-anxiety. That's why I didn't want to build a house.

Golf Shoes Re-Dux

Having searched unsuccessfully for my old sloppy-weather golf shoes for the 30+ days we have lived in our charming rental house, I forced my husband to go through all the boxes in the basement and closets again. He finally found them in a box marked “Fragile-front hall mirror” (written in his handwriting, I might add) and proceeded to do that guy bragging thing until I threatened to harm him. That box also contained some files I was looking for and my garden clogs. Another successful day in “splitsville,” (not our marital state but our temporary home.)

The Journey Begins

Among the many things I swore I would never do when I convinced my husband to sell our home of 20 years- move twice in a year, rent a house, build a house, move hundreds of boxes of rarely used possessions, lose track of important personal possessions (like my golf shoes,) - I now find that all my energy is directed toward the third. Building a house is not my dream. It’s not a life-long goal, it’s not on my bucket list, more like my upchuck list.