To blog another day. ‘Nuff said.

The past couple of years have been a bit challenging. Pretty much every major life event that can happen has, either to Mr. V. or me, or to one of our close family members. We aren’t traumatized, exactly, but we are a little dazed.

Renovations on our last house took twice as long as predicted, as did its sale. Staged houses are nice to look at, but not easy to live in for more than a few days.

Our house was on the market for many mysterious befuddling weeks. If it was such a hot sellers’ market, why didn’t anyone want to buy our large and lovely east side character home? Maybe it was because it was listed in the doldrums of July, instead of the planned listing date of May 1.

We knew it had something to do with our realtor and we considered firing him a couple of times. Although selling a house is as close to a pure market play as you can get—the selling price is always the most an available buyer is willing to pay for it—we wanted some proactive action.

Should a realtor shop a house to other realtors in his network who might have motivated purchasers? Marketing is a service one would expect from any other sales “professional.” What exactly is it that realtors do to command those generous commissions if not provide stellar service to their clients?

Miraculously, in late October, we had the best of all situations—multiple offers, a pretty good selling price, and a closing date of January 31.

Finally, we were on to the purchase of our new home. We decided to stick with our realtor, forgiving him for his last-minute, three-week trip to Europe while our house was on the market.

I was prepared to do all the research to find potential properties. All he had to do was drive us around and negotiate the purchase.

Drive us around, he did, but he wanted us to buy almost every house we looked at, continuously nagging us that inventory was low. He wasn’t wrong on that score, but we couldn’t shake the feeling he just wanted to be done with the deal and move on.

Our budget was limited, but we were firm—no suburban bungalows, no townhouses, and absolutely no stainless steel-lined boxes in the sky. In East Vancouver, there were some $600k shacks available, but nothing we could imagine living in.

When we finally found a house we could both live in, we almost lost the deal. Our realtor had been pushing us for an early possession, and he insisted the purchasers’ offer of early possession on our old house was firm. It would mean we would move December 14 instead of January 31.

I knew if the early possession fell through, we’d be looking at bridge financing, which is not cheap, and would add substantially to the cost of the new house.

We weren’t surprised when the early possession did fall through. By then, we were used to a realtor who was mostly asleep at the wheel. But we were dismayed to hear that the bank was not prepared to underwrite the bridge financing, especially since our realtor had gone out of town yet again, this time without putting the deal together with our lawyer, bank, and mortgage broker.

In the end, the realtor who was filling in for the absent amateur came through with an amended offer to change the possession date on our new home to January 15. He also helped organize the bridge financing we needed with the bank. This realtor was supportive and extremely easy to work with, everything the original guy wasn’t. Happily our amended possession date was accepted, though the entire experience was one of the most excoriating I’ve ever had.

We live in Burnaby now, having moved into our new home on January 26. It’s in one of Burnaby’s cheaper ‘hoods, so the price was right. The lot is large, the landscaping is mature, and the location is good—walking distance to Mr. V’s job, and an easy drive or bus ride to both the Brentwood and Metrohell malls and Skytrain stations.

For our money we got a mid-70s split level, solidly built, but a bit run down, essentially a shell waiting to be reborn into something mid-century modernish. We’ll start with the main bathroom, which has a Water Pik shower head not seen by either of us since the 80s, and as a bonus, a heat lamp fan combination, which, when the fan is turned on, sounds as if the Black Ops have landed on our roof.

The kitchen is apartment sized, and we’ve had to bang up a few Ikea shelves for extra storage, but its reno will have to wait till we have the money and the energy. We did buy new appliances, however.

The previous owners disconnected their alarm system and left the house wide open via an unsecured pet door that was big enough for a large dog or medium size human to wiggle through, and wouldn’t you know it, some dog wiggled in and stole the stove.

It was a brand new white Frigidaire with coil elements. Not exciting, but we figured we could work with it for a couple of years. But damn, when we took possession, that brand new stove had mysteriously disappeared. Unfortunately, the nasty 25-year-old fridge hadn’t gone along with it.

We replaced the fridge and stove with LG stainless appliances, which make the kitchen more pleasant if not less crowded. The dishwasher will be next, as it too is on its last legs.

Back in October, when I last posted, I wasn’t sure when I would be able to type without pain. Now I can, though I have carpal tunnel syndrome, and during the break, I’ve been rethinking this blog, but I’ll save that for another post.

On Monday, February 11, I’m headed for surgery. It’s all a bit dizzying. We’re still awash with unpacked cartons and the normal chaos that comes with moving, but it was either now or sometime in March, and in the bigger picture, now is better.

I’ll be in hospital for a few days, then an invalid for a few weeks. No lifting, no driving, nothing strenuous at all, not even, for the first week or so, a shower on my own, though there is not enough room in the tub for Mr. V. to actually join me.

Recovery will be an interesting, if somewhat painful, experience. Once I’m on the mend, I hope to post intermittently.

Be well. .