Monday, March 30, 2015

To There and Back Again

The last ten days have been full of highs and lows, gnashing of teeth and general rejoicing. I'm ready for a nervous breakdown, but I just don't have the time to schedule one right now.

The weekend trip to the Central Coast was interesting. First, the traffic was horrible; stop and crawl from my house in Pasadena all the way up to Santa Barbara. It took me over three hours to go just 100 miles. When I got to Santa Barbara, there was a temporary road sign flashing, "U.S. 101 closed ahead at 246. Take Highway 1 as detour." Since I couldn't remember which highway 246 was (it's the exit to Lompoc), I stopped to check out the situation and to get a bite to eat.

It seems there was a gentleman who had barricaded himself in his home. He was armed and his home was near enough to the freeway that Highway Patrol decided to close it down from the Lompoc turnoff all the way to Orcutt, which is just south of Santa Maria. I decided not to rush my lunch.

I headed off north, and by the time I got to the Lompoc turnoff, Caltrans and the CHP were busy breaking down cone barriers. Another temporary sign flashed on the shoulder: "101 OPEN." I let out a sigh of relief and hit the gas.

By the time I got into my motel room, it was after 6 in the evening. I called Kittie and David around 7 p.m. (Kittie's working late, as it's tax season) and let them know I was just going unwind, get some rest, and I would see them tomorrow.

Saturday, I dropped in on David, who was home working on one of his VW bugs. There was a car show the next day, and he was prepping. We hung out a while. He checked the fluids in my car, since I  had had a weird episode on the highway where it seemed the car lost power, but the engine was still running.

At two o'clock I headed out to Vena's place. She had an old friend with her, a guy named Richard, who was drinking in earnest when I arrived. We sat and chatted for a while, and Vena and I got on our  favorite subject—deceased spouses—and Richard seemed to resent being left out of the conversation.

Kittie was spending the day at work, of course, and about four o'clock she called, having gotten off of work, and suggested she and David join us and we could all go to dinner. Vena was adamant that she wanted Japanese. Richard kept grousing, wanting to go to more of a steakhouse.

It dawned on me that he was shooting for a nice meal for which someone else was going to pay. When David and Kittie arrived, it became clear to Kittie at once what was going on. Vena and Richard were going in David and Kittie's car. On the ride to the restaurant, Kittie made it clear that everyone was paying for their own dinner. Richard ended up getting a bowl of Udon noodles and scarfing up his share of the appetizers Kittie and I ordered.

After dinner, I headed back to the motel and settled in for the evening.

The next day, at 2 p.m., a get-together was planned for Sandy Beck's house in San Luis Obispo. This was a chance to say goodbye to my friends on the Central Coast. It was not everyone I knew, but it was a chance to bid farewell. It was quite cathartic for me, and made the move seem more real.

Jeff and Sandy before the Christmas tree
that has been up since 2013.
Over the weekend, I started getting e-mails from Realtor Jan about questions the buyers had put forth about the HOA. I answered what I could, but the sticking point seemed to be a document referred to as the Reserve Study, which basically lists what maintenance the HOA expects to do on the complex and when, and how they plan to pay for it.

I'd never heard of this, and we obviously didn't have one, which is a tiny bit illegal, but Jan assured me that it is something many small HOAs don't do, even though they should. She never saw this as being a sticking point on a sale before. So there was back-and-forth e-mails (all having to go through the Realtors, of course), and Jan at one point said something about having the back-up contingency offer and all of a sudden I saw the sale falling through.

All kinds of crap flashed before my eyes: The contingency falls through, we have to put the house back on the market, I end up getting $40,000 less than I thought. At some point, I run out of money and end up in a shopping cart on the streets.

Yes, I freaked out behind this good. I stopped packing. I stopped scheduling things (like the movers) until I knew exactly where this was going. Then, on Friday, Jan e-mailed with the news that the buyers had signed off on their contingencies, and escrow was on.

I spent the weekend sort of puttering-packing. All of the organized packing has been done. Now is when I go through drawers for a final time and pack the stuff of toss it.

So today I'm scheduling the next two weeks, right after I finish this entry.

I so so so so so so so so want this whole thing to be over with now.

Yeah, I know; give it a couple weeks.

Thursday, March 19, 2015

Twenty-five, then Thirty to Go

Twenty-five days until escrow closes. Thirty days until my move-out period ends. Then it's just me and the cat and the car. I'm feeling good about this, but my heart hesitates over the ease with which we will survive this cross-country trip.

I can't seem to get to the packing in earnest. Every time I turn around there is another person showing up to inspect the house. This morning it was the appraisal inspection (the buyers are taking out a small mortgage on the house), and tomorrow morning is the termite inspection (which should have happened on Tuesday morning, but they never showed up: Terminix. Gotta love 'em. We're using Jan's guy this time). I think tomorrow will be the last of them, and we can slide quietly to the end of escrow.

This weekend I'm heading up the coast for my farewell visit to San Luis Obispo County. In a completely selfish way, I'm feeling like this is a waste of three days and several hundred dollars, but I think that's dad talking in my head. He never liked going anywhere, and taking vacations was like pulling teeth with him. And the part of me that dragged its feet on getting the house onto the market and sold is still in force (also vestigial dad), wanting to simply sit in the house and sort and pack until the new owners kick me out.

I think this weekend will be cathartic, as it is really saying goodbye to many of these people. I will not see them again unless they visit or I visit, and some of them are old enough that those scenarios are unlikely to occur before one of us dies. I have promised to fly Kittie and David out to Wisconsin for a visit as thanks for all the help and support they've supplied over the last year and a half. And I'm sure I'll take at least one trip back out to the Coast, if only to take a break from winter.

A year and a half: it's hard to imagine it was that long ago that Steve died. Or that it was a year ago I traveled around the country, visiting places that might be my new home, staying with all those folks Steve and I said we would visit. In that sense, it was also a kind of a pilgrimage, although I didn't realize it at the time.

We had rain yesterday here in Pasadena, with one or two downpours and one or two thunderclaps. But it will do nothing to mitigate the drought. Possibly 0.3" total; just enough to mess up the patio. Then came the humidity, as it was also 80ยบ in the afternoon. The climate is certainly not trying to lull me into staying. I'm leaving the state just in time to avoid showering while standing in two five-gallon buckets, saving the effluence of my ablutions to flush the toilets and water the plants.

The cross-country drive ahead seems a great insurmountable wall before me. Then I think about those who rode the dirt trails from the Midwest to the Pacific, and I don't feel so bad about my four-day, climate-controlled drive with a V6 and automatic everything. And with the Google Maps mobile app, it's near impossible to get lost.

I have two routes sketched out: the shorter one to the north—going through Utah and Colorado—and the longer one (by 500 miles) through New Mexico and Texas, in case there's a last-minute freeze on the northern route. Going north means four days of driving about 8 hours a day. The southern route means driving 11 to 12 hours a day. I'm thinking of the cat here, trying to keep the travel days down to a minimum. I'm thinking go north and to hell with it.

It's nice to know that the movers will be here to catch any loose ends I don't get. It will be a great luxury to have a crew of four guys here for an entire day, moving out everything and heading it to storage. I'm still at a loss of what to do with the cat on move-out day; just stow her in the car in the tube for the day, or let her hide in her hidey hole until everyone leaves. I can deal with sleeping on the air mattress for one night before heading out on our sojourn to the Midwest.

All the household bills (including mortgage and line of credit) are paid up through April, so my financial obligations to the house are paid through escrow. How very odd to be closing up the home I shared with Steve for so many years. The whole place will be pared down to what can fit into the trunk of the car and the passenger's seat (the back seat being filled with the cat tube). I could write a "travels with" book, except it would be very boring.

I've got this big ol' scab on my psyche and I've been really good about not picking at it. In the last month or so, it's really been itching, but I'm letting it slough off of its own accord. That will happen at some point when I'm unpacking all these boxes in the new structure I'll call home. There'll be a scar, for sure, to commemorate the trauma, but I will be whole and functional and slightly wiser after the fact.

Monday, March 16, 2015

The Last Detail: Part II

And now the second half…


Kittie and David came down for the weekend. Even though it's tax season, Kittie didn't have to work on Saturday, so she called on Wednesday and suggested they come down for the weekend. I couldn't have been happier. Finally, we could spend a weekend without the house/the move/the sale/the packing being a reason for their being here. It was nice to have a weekend with them without any chores or deadlines to be done or met.

Friday morning, Brandon Pink (fourth generation of Pink Transfer) stopped by to take inventory of the house and put together a quote for the pack and moveout from this house to storage in Monrovia, then a quote for the cross-country move to La Crosse. He sent the quotes later the in afternoon, and everything was falling well within (and below) my budgeted moving costs.

Kittie and David arrived, as usual, late Friday evening. We had some time to chat and watch a "Fringe" episode (the second of the first season; I'm trying to get them hooked on watching streaming Netflix) before hitting the sack.

Jan had called earlier on Friday to ask if she could stop by over the weekend and have me sign the escrow papers, as well as counter the requests from the home inspection. The only requests the buyers had was to 1) provide $100 to clear the drain hose from the dishwasher, and that I replace the water heater (which is really old). I countered, offering an $1,100 credit to them to get these things fixed. I figured that amount would allow them to put in a new water heater (of their choosing, not mine), with enough left over to purchase a new dishwasher, which is really the best remedy.

I told Jan to drop by on Saturday afternoon and we could finish the paperwork. "Just give a call when you're ready to come over," I said.

Saturday morning started slowly, which is the way to start the weekend. After some coffee, we headed off to Andy's for breakfast, stopping off for some groceries on the way home. Kittie brought some huge, perfectly ripe strawberries from Grover Beach, so we got some of those sponge cake cups and a can of whipped cream. Also, since it was pi day (3.14.15), we picked up an apple pie to celebrate the date.

About 2:30 or 3:00, Jan came over with a stack of papers about two inches high. There was lots of signing and initialing and reading and explanations, but we got through all the paperwork, and she was on her way.

I had e-mailed Robin and Evan to let them know Kittie and David were here for the weekend, and inviting them to come over, visit, and see the remodeled house. After Jan left, David decided to take a walk down to Ralph's to get a couple things we forgot earlier in the day.

While David was gone, Robin called to say she and Evan were coming over in a bit. They had both been working like crazy all week, and they were going to make Saturday evening a date night. Also, Robin was scheduled for her big steak, which she has once a year (usually consumed on her birthday, but there was some reason for her to have it tonight).

They showed up about an hour later, and we all visited for about an hour, during which Evan was looking for a good place in town to buy a really good steak for his wife. I suggested the Arroyo Chop House or Parkway Grill, both excellent steakhouse restaurants. They chose Arroyo Chop House, testing later in the evening and raving about how great the food was.

I do a Peeping Tom of Kittie and David from the patio.
The rest of the evening was kicked back: Kittie put together some spaghetti with meat sauce, along with a salad, then we had apple pie, then we had strawberry shortcake. Then more pie. We watched three more episodes of "Fringe," and I think I have Kittie hooked.

Sunday morning we had cinnamon rolls and scrambled eggs, sat around with our devices (two iPhones and an iPad). I showed them a couple of the houses I was looking at in La Crosse, saying I hoped they didn't sell before I had a chance to look at (and possibly purchase) them.

We did have one chore for the weekend, which was emptying out the stuff from the downstairs closet for packing, and David put together the last four empty boxes from the Box Store. We got all the boxed items and flotsam out of the closet and spread out on the dining room table. Once achieved, we all sat and visited just a little longer, not really wanting the weekend to be over.

Kittie and David hit the road around 2:00 in the afternoon, leaving me with this large pile of things to sort/pack/chuck out. True to form, I took a short nap before tackling the pile, and then came up to the office to write this entry before starting in.

The office I'm going to have to wade through myself. Robin has promised to help me packing up the kitchen, which is going to be the biggest task left before moving out (if you don't count training the cat to ride in the car without freaking out. I have a schedule of acclimating her to being in her tube, then being in the car, then riding in the car. It will take about two weeks and hopefully will keep her from going off the deep end into some twisted kitty psychosis because of the four-day, cross-country sojourn.

So the deconstruction of the household is going well.

A definite corner has been turned. The world only spins forward. Excitement builds at what is ahead of me. I am strong and can meet this, merge with the flow and move on.

Tomorrow is the termite inspection, hopefully the last inspection to go through. Since the HOA has a monthly termite inspection and treatment, I'm not too worried about this one.

The Last Detail: Part I

This post is split into two parts, which seems appropriate.


Two years ago, almost to the day, Steve had been admitted to the VA hospital with a preliminary diagnosis of lung cancer, which was verified within a week. A bizarre seven months of death and dying ensued, like an unfamiliar script written by Shirley Jackson, directed by David Lynch. It even had the surprise twist ending, though the outcome of the story was simple enough to anticipate.

Life in Sunny Southern California!
I let love guide me through that time. With two people, love's a real good tool for just about anything. But once one of them is gone, love loses its familiar avenues from one heart to another. It spills. It sputters. It overflows in undirected grief. It becomes ineffectual. The love hasn't gone wrong, only astray and underappreciated.

That shell of pure shock can be debilitating. You stumble like the survivor of this blast, feeling for your equilibrium, the world filtered through ringing ears and poorly focused eyes. On the other side of this, people look in and see loss and grief, which makes them nervous, afraid, terrified. Many let the repulsion of death overcome the desire to reach out to the afflicted. At close quarters, grief can be quite contagious. Everyone knows this.

So it's not just the grief and mourning that a survivor has to overcome, but the complexity of placing one's self back into the world, removing your filters and others' fears; not just being of the world once again but in the world. It's a sore process, because you can't do it successfully without taking the time to rebuild faith and trust in yourself. New fords are formed for the love to travel. A form of spiritual budding seems to take place. Death and birth. Death and Birth.

I guess Joni Mitchell wasn't just being pretentious.

Perhaps it's because I signed all the escrow papers this weekend—our house is sold—but I feel the clock is ticking, for the first time in months. There is a finite framework for my move. Shit or get off the pot. Let's have an adventure!

It frees me to take the important parts of Steve with me. He would love driving cross country; I'd have to goose him into it, like when we went to Europe, but he would get a kick out of it. He wasn't so keen on the idea of winters, but I love them.

And perhaps I was ready for this change. It started with a Facebook post of a quote by Henry Scott Holland:
“Death is nothing at all. It does not count. I have only slipped away into the next room. Nothing has happened. Everything remains exactly as it was. I am I, and you are you, and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged. Whatever we were to each other, that we are still. Call me by the old familiar name. Speak of me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference into your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was. There is absolute and unbroken continuity. What is this death but a negligible accident? I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just round the corner. All is well. Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost. One brief moment and all will be as it was before. How we shall laugh at the thought of parting when we meet again!”
It's true: beyond Steve not being here, everything else is intact, and has been since the day he died. That makes me feel solid and real: the change in perception was mine alone. Everything else remains exactly as it was.

I'm starting to think that the mourning process is not for the dead, but for that part of me which was torn away when he moved out of reach. The part of Steve that is part of me I still hold and cherish. It only makes sense that he should do the same with the part of me that has become him.

It may sound insane, but it makes sense to me.

Then I saw this quote from St. Augustine:
“The things over the loss of which you mourn have indeed passed away, for they were in their nature temporary, but their loss does not involve the annihilation of that love … it abides in its own treasury…. Does the miser lose his gold when he stores it in a secret place? Does he not then become … more confidently assured that the gold is in his possession when he keeps it in some safer hiding-place, where it is hidden even from his eyes? …and shall heavenly love sorrow as if it had lost for ever that which it has only sent before it to the garner of the upper world?”

Word to your mother, Auggie.

Wednesday, March 11, 2015

Dotting T's and Crossing I's

I am upstairs, actually doing some real graphics for a change. There are a few minor corrections before I process the online directory file for the chamber of commerce.

The buyer's home inspection is going on at the moment. Got to meet one of the couple who bought the place (or are buying, as we are in the process of it). His Realtor is here with him and the inspector is presently on the roof with the air conditioner on. Having never been through this process before, I'm nervous, though I'm doing nothing.

My escrow opened Monday. Tuesday, I got an e-document to sign for a contingency counteroffer (in other words, if this first deal falls through, the contingency counteroffer ($406,000) will automatically kick in. Also, handyman Doug stopped by to give a quote on some remaining work. 

Seems the city wants smoke detectors, as well as carbon monoxide detectors, in each of the stairwells. Then they also want a smoke detector installed inside each of the bedrooms. Also, the water heater needs to be double-strapped to the wall. I've gone online and purchased the detectors. This afternoon, after the inspector leaves, I'll call Doug to come by and put in the detectors and the safety straps around the water heater. 

Tomorrow afternoon, the city inspector is going to come through to make sure we have detectors, security plugs within three feet of a water source, and the water heater is double-strapped, then he/she will sign off on it.

Friday morning Pink Transfer is coming over for the mover’s quote. (No, it’s not a gay company, nor does it have anything to do with breast cancer awareness; the family’s name is Pink, and they have been moving folks for nearly a century.) I've heard nothing but glowing reports about them. The movers who will receive my goods on the other end I have no knowledge of, at least not until Friday.

Beyond giving me a quote, I also want the rep to give me guidelines of what needs to be packed, what they can take as individual pieces (like lamps?) and how to stage it all (no more taking boxes down to the garage; they will begin to accumulate wherever they are generated and will be moved out from there. 

I want the movers to come in and clear out everything, except for a few important items that are going in the car with me (the cat and her “needs,” my computer and my laptop, the art glass sculpture and, of course, Steve’s box of leftovers. A couple more things will come to mind, I’m sure (like a trousseau for immediate use upon arrival, and a little Preparation H to counteract the effects of sitting for that many hours and days in a constantly moving car).

I'm planning a last trip up the coast for the weekend after next to say goodbye to all those who feel like saying goodbye to me. I'm not sure who all that will be. I asked Kittie to organize that on her end, as I still don't have many e-mail addresses for friends on the coast (and I'm not sure who still adores me unconditionally up there).

Now, instead of lists of things to get done to put the house on the market, I'm dealing with lists of things to get done to get me the hell out of here on time.

But I still have five weeks to accomplish everything. And I have Jan gently nudging me along, making sure something significant happens every day. And with the inspections out of the way this week (hopefully), I'll be able to start pulling the final stuff out of the closets and cupboards and get them packed and ready.

I can remember, for Mom, the most daunting task in moving was winnowing down the pots and pans that she would use in the last week before a move. And, inevitably, she would pack some pot or pan deep away in the back of a pile of boxes and then realize she needed it to make dinner.

If this occurs to me, I'll just be ordering out. Of course, I don't have five kids and a husband to feed on a daily basis.

And, finally, I'm researching my cross-country route for when I leave here next month; where the overnight stops should be and whether to go mid-country route (through Utah and Colorado) or the south country route (through Arizona, New Mexico and Texas). The southern route adds about 500 miles to the trip, but brother Steve warned that quirk storms and freezes can crop up in the mountain states (and the northern plains, for that matter) in April.

I've decided I'm taking the mid-country route, but I have all the information on the southern route, in case I need to take that one.

They are gone now. Things are quiet — or as quiet as they get here on a weekend afternoon.

Sunday, March 8, 2015

I May Already Be a Weiner

We had another Open House today. The last, thank God. With five offers on the condo, we still had an Open House. I said yes to it because if we had skipped it, everything would have fallen through and I'd be back at square one. Or at least that's what the pessimist in me says. We had two more people come through today who were going to submit offers.

About an hour after the Open House was over, I went down to Realtor Jan's office and signed the papers accepting an offer. Escrow opens tomorrow.

Originally, there were four offers on the house last Thursday: $375,000 (2), $380,000, $385,000. Jan sent back a multiple counteroffer for $385,000. The responses to that came back at $387,000 (2), $390,000 and $395,000. And then another offer came in on Saturday that beat out all the counteroffers. That's the paperwork that I signed off on today.

While I was at Jan's office, she contacted the original four bidders, asking them if they would like to be back-up contingent offers for the property at $1,000 over the bid we signed on. But the buyers' financials and offer are impeccable, so I'm thinking that won't happen.

Last Thursday, Jan came over at 9:30 a.m. for the Realtors' caravan Open House. It lasted from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. I was getting ready to leave that morning when she buzzed at the gate. Coming in with her were two guys, obviously a middle-aged gay couple. We made eye contact as they were coming in and I was going out. Curious, I asked Jan about them, but she didn't know anything.

On Friday we had the counteroffers back, with the second round of prices. On Saturday afternoon, Jan called to let me know another, a fifth offer had been submitted. "You know those two guys you asked me about on Thursday?" she queried. "They sent in an offer. You might want to sit down. It has a four in it." I was floored: $405,000. Jan was dubious that we'd do much better than $390,000, even in a multiple-bid situation.

This is lovely: $30,000 over asking price, and from seasoned buyers.

Turns out these guys took one look at the place and fell in love with it. I'm glad I left out the "gay" picture of Steve and me sharing a feather boa at an Oscars party. The Ken cake pan (from Ken and Barbie fame) hanging on the kitchen wall was another campy gay giveaway. The best part, they are buying this for their new home (they have several income properties in the Silver Lake district in L.A., so this could have been just another investment property to rent).

I was floored at the news. I was overjoyed. I had to stop and cry a little, thinking how pleased Steve would be that the new owners would be another "middle-aged" gay couple, and that they saw the potential for love and joy here. Somehow, that eases the pain of selling what was our home together, and provides a kind of special continuity for the house.

Now is the beginning of the end. With a 35-day escrow opening tomorrow and a five-day move-out period tacked on after its close, the timeline is fairly tight. If all goes well, escrow will close on April 13 and my last day in legal residence will be April 18.

This means I will be hitting the road April 19 (the beginning of the next era) and arriving in La Crosse on the 22nd. (Well, arriving in Winona, Minn., as I'm staying with my niece, Amanda, and that's where she lives. It's just 30 minutes to La Crosse from there.) Staying with Amanda—and Natalie, of course—is a boon, since house hunting can begin right away, rather than having to look for a rental first. I figure even if I take a couple weeks, I could be in a new home by Independence Day.

For tomorrow ("T" [travel] minus 40 days):

1) Make an appointment to get cat checked up and microchipped;
2) Make an appointment with the movers;
3) Finish taxes;
4) Start packing in earnest;
5) Make an appointment to get the car checked out;
6) Start training the cat to her carrier and transferring to and from the tube/enclosure she will be occupying on the cross-country trek.

It is ending. It is beginning. An old life is going dormant while a new mindframe is emerging from what will be the rest of my life.

Friday, March 6, 2015

Like Having Bees Live in Your Head

I just came back from my Realtors office. I wanted to hold off posting anything until I had the final news to tell, but I've been getting calls about not posting, so I'll let you in on what's happening now.

We have four solid offers for the house on the table, one for asking price ($375,000) and three over. Today we did a multiple counteroffer (I did not know such a thing existed), countering at $385,000, which is the highest original offer we got.

There may be a fifth and sixth offer coming in this weekend, and we're still holding the third Open House this Sunday, "As a contingency," Realtor Jan says. In fact, there is a Realtor coming over to show the house this afternoon. Not being knowledgeable about the real estate market, I'm following Jan's advice, which has been spot on so far.

So I'm crossing my fingers in hopes that someone will go to $390,000 in response to the counteroffer. That would be nice. I know that, before the economic fall in 2009, this place was appraised for $425,000, so we almost recaptured the full amount in the intervening six years. I'm just happy that I will walk away from this sale with well over $200,000 in equity. I am a happy camper.

But now comes all the other stuff: once I know the close date on escrow, I have to schedule the movers, get the cat checked out before the trip (and microchipped), and have the car checked out, as well.

Packing won't be a daunting task, as over half of the household is already boxed and down in the garage. The kitchen will be the biggest packing job, with the office and bedroom coming in second and third.

So the sales process has gone as far as my counteroffers. It should only take a couple days to get the responses back and sign (or counteroffer once again) whatever responses we get.

So rejoicing is probably a couple days away, but at least I'm not sitting here worrying about how low the offers will go. I had told myself that I wouldn't take a penny less than $368,000.

I think God is shining on this move. He's certainly glowing warm inside me today, which matches the 80-degree weather (though the air quality is still "moderate").

I can't wait to be somewhere where the helicopters don't loom overhead nightly; where the constant roaring drone of a 10-lane freeway is not two blocks away; where "rush hour" means you might have to wait two changes of the light to make a left turn; where nature overshadows manmade construction and the seasons change.

More as it develops.