You Can’t Go Home Again

My husband moved into my house after we were married. It’s a great house in Brookside and provided a safe and nurturing landing spot following my divorce ten years ago. We’ve lived here together with our adult children coming and going for the past couple of years. 

Recently, we realized that an empty nest was on the horizon as the last of our five children will graduate a year from May. Opening two restaurants with our partners in two years has been a rewarding whirlwind; now it’s our new normal. But even during the height of the activity we’ve been thinking and talking about what we want in our next home. We’d like to stay close to where we live now. Perhaps the option of a first-floor master, really great light, a yard big enough for a pool and space for our dogs, Jeff Bridges and Beau, to romp—and hopefully not dig.

How difficult could that be?

Well, let me tell you. Or perhaps you already know that the process of house buying is at a fever pitch. As we dipped our toes in the market we found it at a roiling boil. We were advised that contingencies—for selling a current home, or even inspections—can be as outdated as ice boxes, orange shag carpet, and doorbells that are not cameras. Today it’s better if you can make a cash offer, so selling first and putting your houseful of belongings in storage is preferred, so you can easily write a check at a moment’s notice. 

We’ve come up with a plan. Pack up? Rent storage? Sell and hope something good comes along? Start a grassroots movement convincing everyone to wait on their sale for six months?

Nope. We’re thinking of putting in a pool.