Habitatation

My former neighbor sold several months ago. He told me a woman from Mesa bought his house but, after he had cleared out, no one moved in and a bank notice was posted in the window. All I could surmise was that the deal fell through and the place went back to the bank holding the mortgage. A brief conversation with him confirmed that he had to let the place go at cost. For whatever reasons, I did not inquire.

I had gone to a realty site when the house was listed and saw that the asking price was the same as what I'd paid for my place in 1994! (He must have been in quite a pinch.) Something else totally blowing my mind. Often enough, especially when the temperature spikes, I think about swapping out and going back to Oregon, southern Oregon particularly. Value for value, that could have made for a half and acre and put up a dome, I surmised when the market was buzzing. That's no longer a feasibility - I haven't even bothered to look into it anymore.

So the place sat for months unattended. The lawn grew to several feet in native grasses. The woman had planted iris bulbs. They came on strong, then went tipsy. Last week, the place sold and a crew of relations came to take care of the grounds. The subsequent seeding of the lawn after the cut has made for day long visits from mourning doves. Many squabs. After the wet winter, a great burst of them.

New neighbor means I've got to keep my place up to snuff as well. The lawn mower is down; hope it just needs a spark plug. (In the meantime, I do have a sickle - good exercise, eh?) So much is down; just can't bear it all. No doubt that's why I never stay home except to eat and sleep. The house not a home syndrome, I suppose. Yet the oleanders are thriving.