Once we had an offer on our townhouse condo in Westchester, what had been a sort of enjoyable weekend hobby became an urgent, all-consuming obsession.
We now actually had to find a house which we could live in.
We conveyed this new urgency to our real estate agent, Nancy, by appearing in her office and freaking out.
“Relax,” she said, holding our file. “Let’s start by going back through the ones you’ve liked so far.”
It turned out that all of those were under contract. This did not calm us down in the slightest.
Things were complicated by the fact that it was February, and it had been snowing continuously pretty much since Thanksgiving, and there were approximately 3,000 inches of blackened, frozen gunk on the ground everywhere you turned. We were afraid to pull into driveways for fear that we’d never be able to turn around and get out. (This phobia was exacerbated by an adventure Barbara had recently had while showing houses in Westchester. I won’t get into it here except to say that it involved a ditch and a winch and a very real suspicion that she would not be seeing her SUV again until spring.)
So we’d park by the curbs and skate to the front doors, where we’d have to remove our boots and YakTraks (basically cleats that attach to whatever shoes you’re wearing). Once we’d done all that, of course, we were reluctant to leave a house, no matter how instantly we knew it wasn’t for us: “We hate your house but do you mind if we just sit here awhile? Do you have any tea?”
After a couple of weeks, we had found a house that, to our utter amazement, we ended up making an offer on.
And then realized, incredibly, that we were buying a home without the benefit of having actually seen the property, because it was still under 5,000 inches of snow, and would likely be that way until mid-July.
See you again soon.