How We Got To Heaven

Years ago, back in the Early Cretaceous Period when I was just turning 29 years of age, I bought a condo ("condo," not heaven). My digs were being converted into condos. There would be tremendous renovations, a gym with a pool even, all for the  low, low pre-open market pricing. (Can you feel the rug being yanked from under you? I couldn't but then, I was young and younger)

I didn’t want to buy — it flew in the face of my massive fears, phobias even, around commitment. I was looking for every reason not to, while my father and the man I worked for, whose opinion I respected, were talking me into it. Convincing and then helping me get through the buying process.

My close date? Black Monday — Monday October 19, 1987. Of course.

Of the 13 years I owned the joint, the first 6 were spent fighting to get even the barest minimum of what was legally, contractually promised. The developers had engaged in some spectacular dark magic grift, then did a runner to Brazil. No, really... Brazil. A big time, long distance runner. I was just one of many fishies out to legally flay them skinless.

I eventually did get the nice, renovated condo but my life had evolved and it was time to move on and out. The housing market was still utter crap though, especially for a Tom Thumb’s shoe closet sized crib like mine. I rented it out until I could sell for what was left on the mortgage.

My long winded point here is that I never, EVER thought I’d buy property again. NEVAH!

It is perhaps unwise to say “never.”

Up On The Roof

Eight and a half years ago The Amazing Bob and I were living in the Kendall Square section of Cambridge. We lived in a triple decker with The Astounding Jen, her sister and their respective beaus. The set up was more or less ideal.

On the “more” side — the 6 of us loved cohabiting. Incredibly, all our personalities happily meshed and AND, living in a group was full of budget win. On the “less” side — the building was drafty with no central heating and the fire alarms seemed to regularly trip at 2 AM just for shits and giggles. Worst of all, it wasn’t ours. When Kendall Square turned into the next great, stupendous, amazing Must-Move-To neighborhood, we got the heave ho as our landlord decided to make renovations and triple the rent.

View from The Front Yard At Dawn AKA Heaven

We decided to stay together as a living group and buy so that we wouldn’t be at the mercy of a landlord again. I was determined to take what I learned and make a breathtakingly smart purchase this time.

We started the hunt — each of us with a three ring notebook where we kept pics and data on all the houses we viewed. We each focused on one or two aspects (windows, electricity, evidence of leaky roofs, etc.) during the endless round of open houses. Afterward we huddled to discuss our impressions. A more focused, determined party of geeks you have NEVER seen.

Finally, finally, can you believe it finally everyone was utterly, unspeakably worn out. There would be NO house hunting on this bleak early November Saturday. My real estate agent begged me to look at just one more place with him that day. It was a long shot — on a bus line versus the subway, the price looked right but it was on the water. I figured, given the location and the asking price, they had to be terribly sad, soggy shacks.

Nope. We hit a giant, iridescent wall of luck.