The house down the street was on the market for all of a week before it sold. It was small, old, had a front yard completely overwhelmed by an ancient pine (deep shade, pine needles all the time, branches dropping, can't cut it down because it's a heritage tree), and apparently someone didn't even blink at the $429,000 price tag. Standing in front and looking through the windows all I could do was shake my head as Dixie snuffled in the pine needles. What a crazy market.
We looked at two houses, three townhouses, and a condo today. They were too far south, or had no backyard to speak of, or were cheek by jowl with the freeway, and all of them were horrible except one. The one that wasn't horrible was so tiny it was completely inappropriate. The realtor described it as "a fairy house." Too right.
We did come to a better understanding about what we both want in a house after today's drive through the byways of Sunnyvale and Mountain View. John didn't understand why I was balking at considering places south of San Antonio Road. He doesn't much mind where we live as long as the house is nice. I finally articulated what had me digging in my heels about living in the flatlands of Santa Clara County. Yes, it's soulless and dreary in large swaths. Yes, it's a much longer drive to the city where many of my friends are, and to which we drive virtually every weekend. Yes, public transportation is harder to manage than where we are now. Yes, it's not ideal, but hey, what's the big deal? It'd only be for five to seven years until we could buy up to a nicer place, right?
The problem is that's not a sure bet by any means. But the important thing is I would be seriously compromising my quality of life by buying a house in such an area, and I've already done my share of that. I spent eight long, often miserable years in Nashville; we had no choice at all about living there because that's where John got a job. It was a place where I was unable to create any meaningful social life or even enjoy the physical landscape despite my best efforts. My life was turned upside down, but I learned to cope and did my best to make our home a happy one. Now that I'm finally back in California I'm clear about what matters to me. I want to live in an area I find attractive, that's accessible to my work, has good shopping and plenty of restaurants, and is near the places I socialize. Since we obviously (cf. the first paragraph) can't afford the area immediately north of San Antonio Road, which is Palo Alto, this means looking in San Mateo County exclusively. I deserve someplace that makes me happy after being such a trouper about Nashville.
I will compromise on almost everything else. Not the yard, of course. I must have a yard with sunshine. The rest of it's negotiable, including the size of the yard. A bit of earth for Dixie, a patio for my containers, and I'm set. I can wait to trade up to the yard of my dreams. But first we have to get on the property wagon.
Git along, little dogies. Yeehaw!
The Index
Next Incarnation