Monday, June 19, 2006
It Was Meant To Be
Not long ago, Wayners commented that it was simply meant to be that he and Janners move to Arizona. That's absolutely right. Things fell right into place for them, they found the right house at the right time, he ended up with the perfect surgeon and after care, and now he's all better and has gotten the first job he seriously applied for. Vacation's over bro. Time to go back to work.
Anyway, we were talking about stuff like that and a lot of other stuff over dinner and drinks at Garduno's last night, when I was reminded of a similar tale from nearly 20 years ago. It was November, 1987. I was working for a majorly humongous insurer out in Albuquerque when we made the fateful decision to accept a transfer to Tempe. Any move like that subjects you to an assload of second guessing.
Are we doing the right thing?
What about the kids? Won't it be hard starting at another school?
What if I hate the new job?
Besides, isn't it hotter than a two-peckered billy goat out there?
Where the hell are we going to live?
The answers:
Yes.
Yes, but they're our kids and they're tougher 'n nails.
I did hate the job. It sucked blue whales. I got another one.
No, it's actually hotter than a fresh-fucked fox in a forest fire.
How the hell do I know? Let's fly out there and find a place.
So, Majorly Humongous Insurance Company gave us air fare, a motel room at the Fiesta Inn, and three days to find a home. We were too poor to actually buy a house. Eight years of military and five in law enforcement does not make for a rich family. We were thirty-somethings with three growing kids. We made the decision early on that TFMCD would stay home with the kids, no matter if we had to scrape by, and we had never, ever owned a home. We set parameters for the search for a lease:
1) Safe neighborhood
2) East Valley, as close to Tempe as possible
3) Three bedrooms
4) Less than $700 per month. (Not much, even in 1987)
5) No freaking apartments
6) Owner must lease it with an option to buy.
We walked through what seemed like a thousand rentals, seeing everything from Roach Palaces to homes we couldn't afford even if they doubled my salary. It was tough. It seemed like everything we could afford was snapped up before we could even look at it.
After two fruitless days, we narrowed our requirements down to 4) and 5) only. Finally, on the morning of day three, we found it. It was a small three bedroom south of Chandler Boulevard, just off Cooper. Praise the lord and pass the checkbook. The agent says "Well, we just need to run you by the owner, but it looks like you got yourself a house." Whew! Just under the wire! We had a plane back to Albuquerque that very evening.
So, we relaxed and just screwed around until about lunchtime, when we stopped off at a gas station at Dobson and Elliot to gas up and call the agent. I got on a pay phone (remember those?) and was floored when the agent told me "So sorry, but the owner had already rented that house and forgot to tell us."
Now we were really up against it. I was supposed to start the new job in a couple of weeks, we were total strangers in a totally unknown place, we had a only few hours to catch our plane, and we were homeless. We decided to go back to the motel, get out the maps and the yellow pages, eliminate requirement 5), and just get an apartment. We'd never been more depressed.
We headed north on Dobson from Elliott to go back to Tempe. We hadn't driven two blocks when we saw a guy on the side of the street, pounding something into the ground. As we got closer, we saw that it was sign:
House for Rent
We drove past the intersection and looked down the street. We both said "No way. We can't afford anything on that street." But TFMCD pointed out we had nothing to lose, and might as well check it out. So we turned around. The street was a lovely little family neighborhood in Chandler. Just what we wanted but couldn't seem to afford. We pulled into the driveway and got out of the car just as the owner was locking the door to leave. It came as a shock to her when we walked up behind her.
We saw you had this house for rent?
"What?? We just now put out the sign!"
Yeah, we saw your guy pounding it into the ground over there, and just pulled right in.
She shook her head as though she could not believe we were standing before her asking about renting her house, which had been on the market somewhere around 30 seconds.
Just thought we'd ask. We're moving here and probably can't afford it anyway.
She unlocked the door, took us in, and showed us around. It was spotless, newly repainted, nicely landscaped, safe neighborhood, right area, three bedrooms.......in a word: Perfect. We were in love. It satisfied all six of our parameters.
As we finished the tour, I asked the dreaded question: What's the rent? Here it comes......
"I want $656.50 a month. What I really want is to sell it, but I can't right now. So, unless you intend to buy it someday, I really don't want to rent it to you."
Huh? Did I hear that correctly?
"That's right. I want to lease it only with an option to buy."
I looked at TFMCD. She looked at me. I'm pretty sure our mouths were open. I nearly tore my checkbook in half trying to rip it out of my pocket before this woman changed her mind.
We were home.
There was a day care right around the corner on Elliott. TFMCD was ready to work a little part time, since ZMan (our youngest) had started school, so we stopped in. They hired her immediately.
A couple of weeks later, we packed all our earthly belongings and became Zonies for good. The following year, we bought the house from Hila, that wonderful old woman. She even carried the note. Our palace was 1216 square feet, three small bedrooms (the two boys shared), and a carport. It was one of those little Knoell homes so common to that area. In retrospect, it was a clean, well maintained cracker box, but we thought it was Graceland. We and our three Parakeets lived and loved in that tiny house for nine years, until our salaries finally grew enough that we were able to buy the current Casa de Crime Dog in 1996. Up until our tenth anniversary in our current home, it was the longest we ever lived anywhere. Ever.
Here we are, nearly twenty years later. Our Parakeets have all become Parrotheads, and we have two Grand'Keets. Hila sailed into the mystic back in 2002. Some friends visited our home a few weeks ago, and one very nicely commented on how beautiful it is. That's nice to hear. "You're so lucky," she said, with the best of intentions.
Lucky? Maybe a little. God was watching out for us that day in November 1987, to be sure. Thirty seconds either way, and either the sign would not yet have been there, or Hila would have already been gone when we pulled in. There's more than a little luck in that coincidence. But it took us 22 years of hard work, scrimping to get by on one salary for a good portion of that time, to get here. No way TFMCD and I are writing all that off to luck.
We just have to take a little credit for ourselves.
|
Anyway, we were talking about stuff like that and a lot of other stuff over dinner and drinks at Garduno's last night, when I was reminded of a similar tale from nearly 20 years ago. It was November, 1987. I was working for a majorly humongous insurer out in Albuquerque when we made the fateful decision to accept a transfer to Tempe. Any move like that subjects you to an assload of second guessing.
Are we doing the right thing?
What about the kids? Won't it be hard starting at another school?
What if I hate the new job?
Besides, isn't it hotter than a two-peckered billy goat out there?
Where the hell are we going to live?
The answers:
Yes.
Yes, but they're our kids and they're tougher 'n nails.
I did hate the job. It sucked blue whales. I got another one.
No, it's actually hotter than a fresh-fucked fox in a forest fire.
How the hell do I know? Let's fly out there and find a place.
So, Majorly Humongous Insurance Company gave us air fare, a motel room at the Fiesta Inn, and three days to find a home. We were too poor to actually buy a house. Eight years of military and five in law enforcement does not make for a rich family. We were thirty-somethings with three growing kids. We made the decision early on that TFMCD would stay home with the kids, no matter if we had to scrape by, and we had never, ever owned a home. We set parameters for the search for a lease:
1) Safe neighborhood
2) East Valley, as close to Tempe as possible
3) Three bedrooms
4) Less than $700 per month. (Not much, even in 1987)
5) No freaking apartments
6) Owner must lease it with an option to buy.
We walked through what seemed like a thousand rentals, seeing everything from Roach Palaces to homes we couldn't afford even if they doubled my salary. It was tough. It seemed like everything we could afford was snapped up before we could even look at it.
After two fruitless days, we narrowed our requirements down to 4) and 5) only. Finally, on the morning of day three, we found it. It was a small three bedroom south of Chandler Boulevard, just off Cooper. Praise the lord and pass the checkbook. The agent says "Well, we just need to run you by the owner, but it looks like you got yourself a house." Whew! Just under the wire! We had a plane back to Albuquerque that very evening.
So, we relaxed and just screwed around until about lunchtime, when we stopped off at a gas station at Dobson and Elliot to gas up and call the agent. I got on a pay phone (remember those?) and was floored when the agent told me "So sorry, but the owner had already rented that house and forgot to tell us."
Now we were really up against it. I was supposed to start the new job in a couple of weeks, we were total strangers in a totally unknown place, we had a only few hours to catch our plane, and we were homeless. We decided to go back to the motel, get out the maps and the yellow pages, eliminate requirement 5), and just get an apartment. We'd never been more depressed.
We headed north on Dobson from Elliott to go back to Tempe. We hadn't driven two blocks when we saw a guy on the side of the street, pounding something into the ground. As we got closer, we saw that it was sign:
House for Rent
We drove past the intersection and looked down the street. We both said "No way. We can't afford anything on that street." But TFMCD pointed out we had nothing to lose, and might as well check it out. So we turned around. The street was a lovely little family neighborhood in Chandler. Just what we wanted but couldn't seem to afford. We pulled into the driveway and got out of the car just as the owner was locking the door to leave. It came as a shock to her when we walked up behind her.
We saw you had this house for rent?
"What?? We just now put out the sign!"
Yeah, we saw your guy pounding it into the ground over there, and just pulled right in.
She shook her head as though she could not believe we were standing before her asking about renting her house, which had been on the market somewhere around 30 seconds.
Just thought we'd ask. We're moving here and probably can't afford it anyway.
She unlocked the door, took us in, and showed us around. It was spotless, newly repainted, nicely landscaped, safe neighborhood, right area, three bedrooms.......in a word: Perfect. We were in love. It satisfied all six of our parameters.
As we finished the tour, I asked the dreaded question: What's the rent? Here it comes......
"I want $656.50 a month. What I really want is to sell it, but I can't right now. So, unless you intend to buy it someday, I really don't want to rent it to you."
Huh? Did I hear that correctly?
"That's right. I want to lease it only with an option to buy."
I looked at TFMCD. She looked at me. I'm pretty sure our mouths were open. I nearly tore my checkbook in half trying to rip it out of my pocket before this woman changed her mind.
We were home.
There was a day care right around the corner on Elliott. TFMCD was ready to work a little part time, since ZMan (our youngest) had started school, so we stopped in. They hired her immediately.
A couple of weeks later, we packed all our earthly belongings and became Zonies for good. The following year, we bought the house from Hila, that wonderful old woman. She even carried the note. Our palace was 1216 square feet, three small bedrooms (the two boys shared), and a carport. It was one of those little Knoell homes so common to that area. In retrospect, it was a clean, well maintained cracker box, but we thought it was Graceland. We and our three Parakeets lived and loved in that tiny house for nine years, until our salaries finally grew enough that we were able to buy the current Casa de Crime Dog in 1996. Up until our tenth anniversary in our current home, it was the longest we ever lived anywhere. Ever.
Here we are, nearly twenty years later. Our Parakeets have all become Parrotheads, and we have two Grand'Keets. Hila sailed into the mystic back in 2002. Some friends visited our home a few weeks ago, and one very nicely commented on how beautiful it is. That's nice to hear. "You're so lucky," she said, with the best of intentions.
Lucky? Maybe a little. God was watching out for us that day in November 1987, to be sure. Thirty seconds either way, and either the sign would not yet have been there, or Hila would have already been gone when we pulled in. There's more than a little luck in that coincidence. But it took us 22 years of hard work, scrimping to get by on one salary for a good portion of that time, to get here. No way TFMCD and I are writing all that off to luck.
We just have to take a little credit for ourselves.
