Eighty-one years old and ready (or almost) to go on the selling block. My house, that is.
My great uncle taught me that you should never judge a horse until you have seen its rear end. (He may have been talking about politicians, but I think the comparison would be slightly modified). So, here it is from the back. My house. Or what it looked like this spring. There is much more greenery today.
I met with my realtor on Tuesday afternoon, and we had a long talk about the housing market in Oregon. She gave me an estimated listing price. I was not surprised. I have never considered my house to be an investment. And she verified that it is not.
Now, I need to take some steps to add to the house's marketability. Some cosmetic. Some expensive. But it will cost me no more than about a year's worth of house payments.
I will be talking to the same contractor who painted my kitchen, and the trim on the house 15 years ago. It will be nice to work with him again.
When he is done, the house will go on the market. And I will be one step closer to making the move south. If it sells before I leave, I will find a place to rent. If it does not sell before I leave -- Well, I will think about that possibility when it occurs.
For now, I need to keep moving room to room and start dumping out excess clothes and possessions. The Salvation Army may be able to live for a month off of my rummage donations.
