At night, it’s so quiet inside our new house. I feel my feet touching the carpet in the hallway but I can’t hear the steps. Only the whirring fans and single cricket practicing his wings at full volume are audible.
Outside, the full moon whitens legions of weeds advancing on scarce blades of grass. The rickety brown fence boards are chrome-plated in the light. And the man-made-of-cheese notes my lack of progress on the “gardens."
By the time we sold our little house on K Street back home in Tacoma, we had eight gardens. Now, I can’t even get hold of the two that came along with the transom windows and red brick fireplace (thankfully painted white now) in Reseda. I am forgetting that it took four years to grow those Tacoma gardens. At their heights, they couldn’t support one healthy rose like the three I've inherited. The tender green leaves succumbing to the ever-present Black Spot mildew. Here, the roses persist despite my ignorance. Must be all the glamour in the air.
It’s still hard to believe we own this place. It’s wonderful every time I convince myself it's true. It’s the opposite of when my mom died. I would think to phone her and in the next breath remember she wasn’t taking any more calls. Here I wake-up in the new place, inhale, and this is still our house. We don’t have to look for another apartment with a move-in special or underground parking. We have a garage! So worth it.
Reseda is far away from work for both Fredd and I. On the drive out here for the first time full-on doubting our dreams of homeownership, our transportation strategies were created. Fredd would drive me to the bus stop and I would take the Orange Line to NoHo and transfer to the Burbank Blue Bus. Let’s just say it’s one thing to propose a solution, and quite another to drag your ass to the hub to act it out. Fredd drives two hours a day back and forth to his work through beautiful Topanga Canyon and down the beach on PCH, totally worth it.
The mortgage payment shreds our paychecks. We knew what we were getting into. We asked ourselves, "If not now, when?" It was a buyer’s market and interest rates were super low. Now that we’ve actually paid one payment, we’re getting remedial lessons on wants vs. needs. I want a table and chairs, a couple of bedroom sets, a kitchen remodel, a new shovel (Fredd tore our metal spade pulling a cement molar out of the rock-hard front yard). Realistically, I see a new shovel, and maybe a small pitch fork in my immediate future.
October is upon us and I think we have some Halloween decorations in a plastic tub somewhere to put up. What I am really looking forward to is the smell of a Christmas tree, and the taste of fresh baked gingerbread made so much sweeter by rising in our very own oven.
The yard will keep, the busses are going to keep rolling me back and forth to work in Burbank, and Fredd is getting lots of reading done while waiting for his wife and her little dog at the Park‘n’Ride. Moving out here has changed our view so drastically that it’s going to take some time to adjust. Exchanging our old apartment neighbor's crap music for cricket songs is going to make it a lot easier.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Walking on Water
The river rushes over our toes as we walk the last few yards from the boat to the shore on our own. Deep in my throat, "good-bye" growls at the punk rock gushing through the adjoining apartment walls. Through clenched teeth, "farewell" to the Sunday morning soccer fans, “Weta! Weta! Weta!” at the top of their lungs. The dumpster, perpetually open, smears it’s stinky fingers up my nose for nearly the final time.
At this point in the journey, it’s really about patience. The flood of phone calls and emails have stopped. The forms have been filled out, initialed, and signed. Now we wait for “turn around times.” We wait for “drawing docs” which involves no drawing at all, but takes two full business days to accomplish. We creep along the two-way, glassy surface of what could be a whole new life in full view of the old one, knowing that one wrong step could plunge us back into the drink.
“Funding” is when the lender actually cuts a check but that still doesn’t garner me keys! Oh no, thank you very much, not in the great state of California. No! You have to wait a whole other day. A cooling off period. Really? In case I get cold feet after two years of this goat-rope and want my money back at the last minute? Right. Totally happening.
The loan is not “recorded” until the next day when we receive our keys. I envision a bench full of turtles in powder wigs, an enormous rubberstamp held aloft for 8 hours (plus or minus) that reads, RECORDED. It crashes down over our signature blocks, and that’s when we’ll be on the warm sand, more worried about how to keep the house then how to get it.
I am trying to stay positive, trying to think about pumpkins seeds going into the ground. Imagining my hands turning the orange gourds carefully on the vines in the garden out back. I see my friends’ faces, red with margaritas. We argue about movies, music, books, TV and what we’d produce ourselves if we could only get read. Not sure how all that’s going to happen without furniture. I know! I’ll believe that the furniture will find me.
At this point in the journey, it’s really about patience. The flood of phone calls and emails have stopped. The forms have been filled out, initialed, and signed. Now we wait for “turn around times.” We wait for “drawing docs” which involves no drawing at all, but takes two full business days to accomplish. We creep along the two-way, glassy surface of what could be a whole new life in full view of the old one, knowing that one wrong step could plunge us back into the drink.
“Funding” is when the lender actually cuts a check but that still doesn’t garner me keys! Oh no, thank you very much, not in the great state of California. No! You have to wait a whole other day. A cooling off period. Really? In case I get cold feet after two years of this goat-rope and want my money back at the last minute? Right. Totally happening.
The loan is not “recorded” until the next day when we receive our keys. I envision a bench full of turtles in powder wigs, an enormous rubberstamp held aloft for 8 hours (plus or minus) that reads, RECORDED. It crashes down over our signature blocks, and that’s when we’ll be on the warm sand, more worried about how to keep the house then how to get it.
I am trying to stay positive, trying to think about pumpkins seeds going into the ground. Imagining my hands turning the orange gourds carefully on the vines in the garden out back. I see my friends’ faces, red with margaritas. We argue about movies, music, books, TV and what we’d produce ourselves if we could only get read. Not sure how all that’s going to happen without furniture. I know! I’ll believe that the furniture will find me.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Quantum Disappointment
On my birthday, June 3, we heard that our deal for the house was nonviable. The mortgage underwriters had studied the appraisal and in combination with their own valuation metrics had determined that even after the listed repairs were made, the home would not be worth the asking price. The only hope that remained was that the seller could reduce the price to agree with the appraisal: a forty thousand dollar concession but still we held a candle.
A couple of days passed. We jumped through some more financial hoops and then got the call on our way into Pavilions. The deal was dead. Fredd sank down onto the black painted bench outside the store to wait with our little dog whose white tail seemed to be waving surrender.
Routine guided me through the grocery aisles and Denial carried the three of us back the apartment and the cardboard boxes. We laid in bed for hours, our heart filleted, unable to lift our limbs.
People typed condolence emails and posted kind facebook messages. One friend said it was like a miscarriage. Having had a miscarriage, I would have to agree with her. You wrap your decisions around a life with a home of your own the way you would for a child of your own. You prepare in good faith. You pick out colors, buy the crib, and knit a blanket expecting you’ll need it.
"Everything happens for a reason.” The idea that intelligence is somehow guiding the minutia of my circumstances has, over the years, seemed less and less likely. But today, June 16th, we are once again about to open escrow on a lovely home that we are very excited about. It’s got style we didn’t think we could afford. It feels to us like a loft on the ground, literally nestled in our beloved Reseda. While small set backs keep popping up, we’re hoping “the next leap will be the leap home.”
A couple of days passed. We jumped through some more financial hoops and then got the call on our way into Pavilions. The deal was dead. Fredd sank down onto the black painted bench outside the store to wait with our little dog whose white tail seemed to be waving surrender.
Routine guided me through the grocery aisles and Denial carried the three of us back the apartment and the cardboard boxes. We laid in bed for hours, our heart filleted, unable to lift our limbs.
People typed condolence emails and posted kind facebook messages. One friend said it was like a miscarriage. Having had a miscarriage, I would have to agree with her. You wrap your decisions around a life with a home of your own the way you would for a child of your own. You prepare in good faith. You pick out colors, buy the crib, and knit a blanket expecting you’ll need it.
"Everything happens for a reason.” The idea that intelligence is somehow guiding the minutia of my circumstances has, over the years, seemed less and less likely. But today, June 16th, we are once again about to open escrow on a lovely home that we are very excited about. It’s got style we didn’t think we could afford. It feels to us like a loft on the ground, literally nestled in our beloved Reseda. While small set backs keep popping up, we’re hoping “the next leap will be the leap home.”
Friday, May 14, 2010
All Hail The Velvet Wizard
In the dawn past the Credit Agency giants, bathed in afterglow of our debt-soaked slog through the Entertainment swamps and fresh from slaying the Listingbook monster, we stand at the river Tax Credits, victorious.
The river is wide and treacherous. The angry waters crash into black rocks whose shiny faces send daggers into our eyes, cutting us off from our quest, a cottage on the opposite bank. She’s a damsel in distress neglected and abused by the ogre who has held her for far too long.
A fiery-haired woman paddles ashore in a boat that looks too small and shallow for the task. In the boat, only the woman, the oars and a fat yellow bag that rattles when she touches it. Her smile is as warm as her hair, her demeanor gentle as she invites us to join her. The river turns dark almost immediately with disappointment and dread. Old ghosts of our life’s despair fly in our faces but the woman skiffs over the fear without allowing our hearts to sag once.
Reassured by our guide and spurred by the cries of the damsel on the bank we press on to the driveway of the ogre’s. Here our guide tosses her bag over her shoulder and she becomes a velvet wizard, completely unfazed by ogre or his stench. She keeps him at bay, plying him with her sincerity and warmth while we glimpse our damsel up close, her location, her condition, her charm. Then, as quickly as we arrived, we leave.
To free the damsel we must prove ourselves worthy yet again but now with a wizard on our side we cannot fail. Together we face the Guardians of Homeownership: Loan Officer, Loan Processor, Escrow Officer, and the most mysterious, Underwriter. We hire guns: General Inspector, Sewer Guy and Pest Guy. One by one our boat fills up as Guardian and Gun is wooed and won.
Today we sail toward the damsel again, this time to her rescue. She’ll be freed on the Solstice and before we’re finished she’ll be the best on the block. There will be wreaths, cakes and ale that day, especially ale, lots of ale.
The river is wide and treacherous. The angry waters crash into black rocks whose shiny faces send daggers into our eyes, cutting us off from our quest, a cottage on the opposite bank. She’s a damsel in distress neglected and abused by the ogre who has held her for far too long.
A fiery-haired woman paddles ashore in a boat that looks too small and shallow for the task. In the boat, only the woman, the oars and a fat yellow bag that rattles when she touches it. Her smile is as warm as her hair, her demeanor gentle as she invites us to join her. The river turns dark almost immediately with disappointment and dread. Old ghosts of our life’s despair fly in our faces but the woman skiffs over the fear without allowing our hearts to sag once.
Reassured by our guide and spurred by the cries of the damsel on the bank we press on to the driveway of the ogre’s. Here our guide tosses her bag over her shoulder and she becomes a velvet wizard, completely unfazed by ogre or his stench. She keeps him at bay, plying him with her sincerity and warmth while we glimpse our damsel up close, her location, her condition, her charm. Then, as quickly as we arrived, we leave.
To free the damsel we must prove ourselves worthy yet again but now with a wizard on our side we cannot fail. Together we face the Guardians of Homeownership: Loan Officer, Loan Processor, Escrow Officer, and the most mysterious, Underwriter. We hire guns: General Inspector, Sewer Guy and Pest Guy. One by one our boat fills up as Guardian and Gun is wooed and won.
Today we sail toward the damsel again, this time to her rescue. She’ll be freed on the Solstice and before we’re finished she’ll be the best on the block. There will be wreaths, cakes and ale that day, especially ale, lots of ale.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Our Letter To The Owner
My husband Fredd and I came to LA in 1999 – run-a-ways from a town where creativity was a handicap.
Fredd graduated from his editing program; I got my BA, Our eldest was off to college, our second son graduated from Jr. High and our daughter from elementary school. If we were ever going to try to make a life in LA, ’99 was the time.
We rented our home in Tacoma to a friend and we set out to achieve our goals in entertainment. We brought two kids and a U-Haul down here with all of our belongings we could stuff into the back compartment.
When we arrived, my husband’s job was given away, the kids were hungry and my friend was still promising to pay the rent. We ate cinnamon French toast on Lankershim Boulevard for breakfast that first day. In typical fashion, the kids weren’t finishing their plates. Fredd and I looked at each other, not sure how our “goals” were going to fill their noon bellies, and pressed, “come on guys, eat up.”
Here we are eleven years later. Our eldest works in IT and loves the music scene in Seattle. Our second son is a computer engineer in San Jose. Our daughter is a personal trainer in Seattle. My husband is an editor at a company he could have only imagined back in ’99. I’ve worked for years as an assistant until now where I’ve got my own office and work as the company’s art director.
Your house is a dream come true for us, our real world Oscar. We’ve worked unbelievably hard, sacrificed so much, and now that quiet, tree-lined street you’ve cared for so long could be our reward. When I walked out on your patio I saw it wrapped in Christmas lights and all our friends around the food table. I could hear the shovel sinking into to healthy, organic soil in the yard where I’d raise vegetable beds. I imagined my new puppy, who was waiting in the car, running and playing safely off-leash.
I can tell by the improvements that you’ve made to your home that you are a creative like us. The sun will glimmer brightly off the stained glass panes I’ll make in the garage and hoist up to the skylights.
We want to finally leave apartment living and go back to having a guest room where family can come and visit. Your place is perfect for us in every way. We’ve been looking for over a year and experienced more than one disappointment. I am proud to be a veteran, having served in Special Ops in the years of Noriega but as VA buyers we are the lowest in the hierarchy.
I hope you’ll consider our feelings for the home along with our financial offer.
Fredd graduated from his editing program; I got my BA, Our eldest was off to college, our second son graduated from Jr. High and our daughter from elementary school. If we were ever going to try to make a life in LA, ’99 was the time.
We rented our home in Tacoma to a friend and we set out to achieve our goals in entertainment. We brought two kids and a U-Haul down here with all of our belongings we could stuff into the back compartment.
When we arrived, my husband’s job was given away, the kids were hungry and my friend was still promising to pay the rent. We ate cinnamon French toast on Lankershim Boulevard for breakfast that first day. In typical fashion, the kids weren’t finishing their plates. Fredd and I looked at each other, not sure how our “goals” were going to fill their noon bellies, and pressed, “come on guys, eat up.”
Here we are eleven years later. Our eldest works in IT and loves the music scene in Seattle. Our second son is a computer engineer in San Jose. Our daughter is a personal trainer in Seattle. My husband is an editor at a company he could have only imagined back in ’99. I’ve worked for years as an assistant until now where I’ve got my own office and work as the company’s art director.
Your house is a dream come true for us, our real world Oscar. We’ve worked unbelievably hard, sacrificed so much, and now that quiet, tree-lined street you’ve cared for so long could be our reward. When I walked out on your patio I saw it wrapped in Christmas lights and all our friends around the food table. I could hear the shovel sinking into to healthy, organic soil in the yard where I’d raise vegetable beds. I imagined my new puppy, who was waiting in the car, running and playing safely off-leash.
I can tell by the improvements that you’ve made to your home that you are a creative like us. The sun will glimmer brightly off the stained glass panes I’ll make in the garage and hoist up to the skylights.
We want to finally leave apartment living and go back to having a guest room where family can come and visit. Your place is perfect for us in every way. We’ve been looking for over a year and experienced more than one disappointment. I am proud to be a veteran, having served in Special Ops in the years of Noriega but as VA buyers we are the lowest in the hierarchy.
I hope you’ll consider our feelings for the home along with our financial offer.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Into The Deep End
Re-focused and confident, our search surges with new possibilities. A 3-2 in Northridge is a little too Country. Interesting addresses in Lake Balboa are a little too Rock-n-Roll. Then we see it, glowing like the pool in “Cocoon.”
Kitchen cabinets painted FDIC green, but "that’s just paint." Ebony hardwood throughout all 1100 square feet and a spacious backyard, a blank canvas for my mini farm. All total, nearly 7000 square feet of 4D, customizable, personal-expression space!
Fredd picks me up after work. We’re sharing one car to save money and pay down our debt so we can qualify for more debt than we’ve ever been in?
So, yeah, Fred picks me up and we head west, discussing the PM Monday commute and the feasibility of public transportation. While just above our heads, four choppers point in our direction and a fleet of cop cars streak past, toward Universal City. Turns out it’s the last leg of a high-speed chase that ends with a Burbank PD bullet in the driver/ murder suspect.
Side note: California has more inmates on death row than any state and it costs 90K a year to keep them there. Death cheaper than Life?
The neighborhood is “ridiculously quiet”, Our Agent observes. The cupboards aren’t so bad. Fredd promises to wash dishes for the first year as the place is sans dishwasher. Okay. No air conditioning – no problem – we just get it in the contract. Phew! Good thing ‘cause we’ll sweat our butts off in 114° July and August.
We scan more papers for the Mortgage Broker. Thanks in part our One Car policy, we’re equipped with our best credit score ever. The offer will be ready to sign by EOD Tuesday.
That night, we’re incredulous yet compelled to talk details: we’ll have to buy a fridge, the windows are bare. We don’t even own a shovel and the soil is going to need serious amending. At the table, our life is transported to a garden home in Reseda. Ah yes, Max and a yard. The cats, they could finally set foot on real grass not that stuff we bring home in the 3” square white cartons from PetCo.
Tuesday, 5PM, we sign the offer but only after a finance call where our Broker tells me SHE’S worried about the fact that we don’t have any savings! "Imagine how worried that makes me?" I ask her.
Our Agent, calls before eleven on Wednesday, the offer has been rejected. They got offers over Asking with cash down, and no mysterious VA mess attached.
We’re going to need a strategy.
Kitchen cabinets painted FDIC green, but "that’s just paint." Ebony hardwood throughout all 1100 square feet and a spacious backyard, a blank canvas for my mini farm. All total, nearly 7000 square feet of 4D, customizable, personal-expression space!
Fredd picks me up after work. We’re sharing one car to save money and pay down our debt so we can qualify for more debt than we’ve ever been in?
So, yeah, Fred picks me up and we head west, discussing the PM Monday commute and the feasibility of public transportation. While just above our heads, four choppers point in our direction and a fleet of cop cars streak past, toward Universal City. Turns out it’s the last leg of a high-speed chase that ends with a Burbank PD bullet in the driver/ murder suspect.
Side note: California has more inmates on death row than any state and it costs 90K a year to keep them there. Death cheaper than Life?
The neighborhood is “ridiculously quiet”, Our Agent observes. The cupboards aren’t so bad. Fredd promises to wash dishes for the first year as the place is sans dishwasher. Okay. No air conditioning – no problem – we just get it in the contract. Phew! Good thing ‘cause we’ll sweat our butts off in 114° July and August.
We scan more papers for the Mortgage Broker. Thanks in part our One Car policy, we’re equipped with our best credit score ever. The offer will be ready to sign by EOD Tuesday.
That night, we’re incredulous yet compelled to talk details: we’ll have to buy a fridge, the windows are bare. We don’t even own a shovel and the soil is going to need serious amending. At the table, our life is transported to a garden home in Reseda. Ah yes, Max and a yard. The cats, they could finally set foot on real grass not that stuff we bring home in the 3” square white cartons from PetCo.
Tuesday, 5PM, we sign the offer but only after a finance call where our Broker tells me SHE’S worried about the fact that we don’t have any savings! "Imagine how worried that makes me?" I ask her.
Our Agent, calls before eleven on Wednesday, the offer has been rejected. They got offers over Asking with cash down, and no mysterious VA mess attached.
We’re going to need a strategy.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Twas The Day Before Yesterday
Saturday morning, before 10 o’clock.
Apple fritter and coke, thankful no insulin shock.
Every Lexus stuffed with the next millionaire Lincoln, Honda, Nissan, Miata, Caviler.
One-thirty-four, One-oh-one, and Four-oh-five
Past the “Scubs”pital, Namies, and Sunkist we drive.
With Max on a pillow, asleep in my lap,
Mytouch navigation app: Google Map
Hartland, Archwood, Gaviota, Gault, and Cohasset
The listing: double sink master, stainless kitchen and walk-in closet
Tarzana to NoHo we readied each other’s minds.
“learn[ing]” like Tara, “to love the rind.”
Weeds three-feet-high, iron gates three-feet higher.
Cemented front yards, tagged billboards, and swelling bladders
Van Nuys, California “America’s Suburb,” Marilyn’s old stomping ground
Crammed with bulging dumpsters, and cars broken down
The North Hollywood Shoot Out happened right there!
Phenobarbital and body armor under their knitwear.
All of a sudden, my Liberal blindfold flew-off.
Fredd and I both started a sentence with a cough.
This place is all wrong and I don’t mean the house
It’s the yards and the spray paint and probably the louse
We’ll go back to our desk and re-define that bookmark.
Chatsworth, Reseda, Tarzana, Lake Balboa, Canoga Park
Apple fritter and coke, thankful no insulin shock.
Every Lexus stuffed with the next millionaire Lincoln, Honda, Nissan, Miata, Caviler.
One-thirty-four, One-oh-one, and Four-oh-five
Past the “Scubs”pital, Namies, and Sunkist we drive.
With Max on a pillow, asleep in my lap,
Mytouch navigation app: Google Map
Hartland, Archwood, Gaviota, Gault, and Cohasset
The listing: double sink master, stainless kitchen and walk-in closet
Tarzana to NoHo we readied each other’s minds.
“learn[ing]” like Tara, “to love the rind.”
Weeds three-feet-high, iron gates three-feet higher.
Cemented front yards, tagged billboards, and swelling bladders
Van Nuys, California “America’s Suburb,” Marilyn’s old stomping ground
Crammed with bulging dumpsters, and cars broken down
The North Hollywood Shoot Out happened right there!
Phenobarbital and body armor under their knitwear.
All of a sudden, my Liberal blindfold flew-off.
Fredd and I both started a sentence with a cough.
This place is all wrong and I don’t mean the house
It’s the yards and the spray paint and probably the louse
We’ll go back to our desk and re-define that bookmark.
Chatsworth, Reseda, Tarzana, Lake Balboa, Canoga Park
Friday, March 26, 2010
Too Far North
Attracted by a crown molded kitchen and terrazzo tile back splash, a mini version of my brother’s thoroughly modern mansions, my husband and I drove to the northern tip of North Hollywood to see a house in our price range. I took the fact that it was at the cross street of my friendly co-worker’s first name and his last name as a portent for success. I couldn’t help thinking on the way that we were about to find a gem, hidden from “over Oxnard” denigrators.
It’s been a six-month hiatus from house hunting since the last round nearly broke us up. Our plan, up until now, has been to wait until May. Then, with the typical 90-day escrow for the VA, we’d be just in time for our apartment lease to run out. But, we couldn’t wait. Our neighbors on one side are punk rockers thumping our adjoining walls at all hours. The shrill Chihuahua with separation anxiety on the other side provides extreme vocals and the heating unit above us all punctuates the baseline with an oompapa, oompapa… normally at three and five AM.
At first the street is confusing, house numbers jumping from four to five numbers immediately but we soon worked it out and thanks to handy, dandy Listingbook, I knew what I was looking for. Once we worked out the through street there it was. It was like a glistening orange clitoris atop a mangy pubic mat. The railing on the front porch was exactly as pictured. Perennial Echinacea plants, fresh as the daisy-like flowers they are, shown in the golden-hour light. It was as if the place had been set down out of a hurricane not a leaf out of place in a neighborhood that bore no resemblance to the one it originated in.
“Levels of sophistication vary” a leasing agent once told me when I was complaining about an obnoxious teen at the pool. Such was the case in north, North Hollywood last night. It wasn’t clear at first as there were fathers outside with their kids and nice cars in the driveways. But in the long view if you don’t edge your yard or you fill it with cement and park your four-wheeler on it your likely not to pay attention to your stereo volume.
And so my modern kitchen turned to sand and flowed out between my closely set fingers. Maybe it was my punishment for a false start? Nah, the gods or real estate aren’t that cruel. We didn’t freak out completely but we both had an emotional re-visitation to our six-months-ago selves. The key lesson this night was – tread lightly on each other. You don’t know how the other person might be hoping and praying that this is THE one.
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