What a Difference a Year Makes

 A year ago, we had sold our Minnetonka home and were awaiting closing.

We were wintering in Florida.  We were hoping to find a new home (single level living) before we returned to Minnesota.

Alas, the hope was misplaced, given the lack of inventory.  During the past year, I learned that:  

• About 14 million mortgage borrowers refinanced their homes between 2020 and 2021.
• Rates were at all-time lows during the pandemic, sinking as low as 2.65%.

Given that mortgage rates are now in the high 6 to high 7 percent, more owners, even those who had an interest in moving, were hesitant to give up their historically low (probably never to be seen again) rates.  To whit: lack of inventory.

I've previously chronicled how emotionally difficult the move ended up being, far surpassing what I anticipated and hanging on longer than I bargained for.

We moved into an apartment, and I'll admit that this past summer, it felt pretty good.  Our entire family, grandchildren especially, took advantage of the community pool.  Going downstairs to grill proved relatively easy, with the addition of a few plastic dishes and baskets to convey grill items back and forth.  Our small balcony efficiently supported an herb garden and other annuals, as well as a bird feeder that the neighborhood birds could visit without competition from the squirrels.  We felt as if we were becoming settled, accustomed to the new neighborhood (which had a terrific breakfast spot within walking distance for Dan), figuring out the fastest way to the freeway so I could make it to work out in time.  Our location was convenient to our adult children's homes and shopping, not too far from Dan's Rotary meeting.  I liked where I set up my desk in our bedroom, by windows overlooking the neighborhood trees.  We missed the community of neighbors from Minnetonka; our apartment complex was populated primarily with younger folk who seemed to have little or no interest in saying hello in the elevator, much less develop a sense of community.  We missed the ability to host more than two people at a time, although we did utilize the complex's Community Room for a few gatherings of family and friends, which worked out well.  It was the Iowa year for the Second Thanksgiving, so I could defer thinking about how we would host that in 2024.  To my delight, He Who Must Not Be Named and my darling daughter in law Kitty stepped up to host our Christmas morning gathering.

Like I said, it was pretty good.

In particular, I missed having an outside.  A yard.  Green space where I could park myself on a lawn chair and read.  A grill a bit more conveniently located than down the elevator, walk the hallway, don't forget the fob to get outside and back indoors.  The ability to tie the dog out or let him onto a deck where he can sit majestically and survey his alleged kingdom (which is what Benny does here in Florida on the balcony).  More garden pots to putter in, then not trip over when going out on the French-sized balcony that apartment complexes have.

We continued the search for a townhome, not finding much (that lack of inventory).  In late October, we bid on a property not far from our old home and lost it to a higher bidder.  Then, crickets.  Nothing.  Nada.  Zip.  Zilch.  A couple listings drew limited interest--over budget, not desired location, needed too much work.

I struggled with the last.  On one hand, what was wrong with what felt like downgrading?  Corian countertops, old white appliances (top door freezer in the photos almost always made me say move on), dubious looking carpeting, baby poop yellow paint (a surprising accoutrement)--as a friend who was also looking to move once said, these places haven't been remodeled since they were built thirty years ago.  Another friend who bought such a property said it was proving to offer them an opportunity to upgrade at least monthly, as the appliances, then furnace, then plumbing gave up the ghost.  The property would be a roof over our heads sans stairs, what we wanted.  Why was I being so picky?

The answer I came to was that this purchase, unless one or both of us needs assisted living or a nursing home at some undetermined point on this journey to the end of our lives, would be, in all likelihood, our last house.  No more trolling Realtor.com for a place to live.  Pulling over to take a picture of a For Sale sign would no longer be necessary.  

This.  Is.  It.

A sobering thought, yet tempered, for me, with the knowledge we have the ability to make this choice.  Not everyone does, and that feels deeply concerning.  Sharing this with friends, they reminded me that you do what you can and not carry that into decision making.  

And the homeless are everywhere.  And I'm worried about old carpeting and white appliances.  

Homeless Jesus, a sculpture by Timothy Schmalz.  There are over 100 of these located around the world, including at the Basilica of St. Mary in Minneapolis. 

(I'm about to read When We Walk By: Forgotten Humanity, Broken Humanity and the Role We Each Can Play in Ending Homelessness in America.  As another friend said, not exactly a beach read but hey, we do what we can.  Two amazing works of fiction I would highly recommend are Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver, again not necessarily an easy read but wow!  Actually anything by Barbara Kingsolver.  And Hello, Beautiful by Ann Napolitano. )

Back to our story.

Once the outdoor area basically shut down for what has turned out to be a non-existent winter but still not nice enough to spend extended time outside on our small balcony, the apartment felt less spacious than it had during the summer.  Though we discussed the possibility that apartment living might be what we would embrace moving forward, increasingly I hoped that finding a townhouse would be in the sooner rather than later category.

As our date to leave for Florida grew closer, I found myself remembering what last winter was like.  Let's be clear, last winter was warm and wonderful.  And when I woke up in the morning and before I fell asleep at night, the first and last thought was about finding a new place to live.  Realtor.com was my bff.  I kinda didn't really want that first world stressor in my life again this winter.

 I had recognized and accepted that finding a townhouse would require large amounts of patience, and you know how that often goes.  Of course!  I can be patient!  And there's a reason why the axiom tells us that patience is a virtue.

So I tossed it out to the universe.  If it's meant to be, I proposed, it would be pretty darned nice if it could be resolved before we left for Florida.  And if not, so be it.

A week before our scheduled departure date, a property popped up.  I notified Dan.  He contacted our realtor.  The first day the townhouse was on the market, we walked through it and, patience and the energy in the universe working in our favor, we had an accepted purchase agreement by the end of the day.

Yesterday, we closed on the house.  Just like last winter, from Florida.

At night, I visualize the space, imagining how we'll make it our home.  The property itself is bordering on 'the best', a descriptor I don't often used.  Completely remodeled two years ago.  Walk out rather than look out downstairs.  Light, light, light!  Huge deck on the main level, concrete patio on the lower level.  We back onto a nature trail and a creek.  Enormous side yard with mature landscaping, including evergreens that I'm already imagining filled with Christmas lights.  If this is it, it's an awfully good it.

What a difference a year makes.