We Found a House!
Alex's days of hiking with us are apparently over. Bobby and I just spent the last ten minutes pulling about a dozen ticks off of his legs. We tried the new trail at Soldier's Delight the other day, and because Soldier's Delight is (unfortunately) not one of the best blazed trails in Maryland, ended up getting off the beaten path onto some sort of maintenance road through tall grass. Those of you living on the East Coast should now hear the ominous dun-dun-duuun music. Yep, we looked down and each had about twenty ticks crawling up our legs. We threw Alex into the tub when we got home with a half-bottle of flea and tick soap, but I've come to the conclusion that anything that claims to kill ticks is bull. Ticks are unkillable. They're like Morgoth. However, you can "thrust them through the Doors of Night" by flushing them down the toilet, which is my preferred modus operandi. The Ellicott City sewer system must be crawling with them by now.
So ... house. Well, Bobby and I went to look at houses on Thursday as planned, two in Westminster and one in Manchester.
The first was the farmhouse that was zoned for horses. What grabbed us about this one was the land: an acre of flat land with a small pasture and fenced backyard. The house didn't look bad from the outside, but we knew it would need some work.
Some work?
Quite a bit more, actually. Upon walking in, we discovered that it was old enough that it was built for people much smaller than Bobby, who is 6'3". He had to duck to get through doorways, and the ceiling fan in the kitchen nearly took off his head. But the basement sealed the deal: Bobby's one wish is for a basement he can make into a game room. (My one wish is for a room I can make into a study/art room.) The basement wasn't just unfinished but actually hazardous. The steps were falling down, the place reeked of mildew, and Joe the real estate agent spotted water damage right away.
So the farmhouse got scratched off of the list.
The next was a rancher in Westminster, the one that had the pool and hot tub. Unfortunately, we discovered that (if this is even possible) the house wasn't all that much bigger than our apartment with next to no storage space. It didn't have a basement. The kitchen was gorgeous and it had hardwood floors (and a pool and a hot tub) but ...
We scratched it off of the list.
So we were both nervous by the time we arrived in Manchester to see the rancher on what we affectionately call "Bart Simpson Road." This was the one we had liked best on Sunday: big, gorgeous, fenced-in yard; decently sized house (we're not looking for anything huge but we'd like to not run out of room to store what we already have upon moving in); and a beautiful, quiet neighborhood. But we prepared to be disappointed.
We weren't.
The upstairs was nice with lots of room, mostly new appliances, hardwood floors again, and a good-sized kitchen. But upon walking down to the basement, I knew that we would, in all likelihood, take it. The basement runs the full length of the house, so it's like having a second level. It's finished with a wood stove, perfect for Bobby's game room. There's a second room down there and two smaller back rooms for storage.
We were in love.
The backyard is huge and fenced in with a grove of trees and a picnic table at its center, perfect for outdoor parties. There are two storage sheds. And the next-door neighbor was outside, and we talked with him for about ten minutes about the neighborhood. He was an older guy and very nice and gave us his name and phone number if we have anything we'd like to ask him. The only downside to the house is that it does not have central air-conditioning, but as I told Bobby, we cool the WAU office with just window units, and it's greener to use as little AC as possible as it is a big contributor to global warming. I am fine with no air-conditioning, as I always tease Bobby that I am meant to be a tropical creature, but he was born first, so I had to be born in Maryland. (Yes, that's completely illogical, but I never should have been born in a state like Maryland or any place that gets snow, and you'd think I'd get used to it ... I don't.) He says that he can likewise adjust, so we're giving it the go-ahead.
So, in a half-hour, we're off to sign a contract making an offer. This is moving very fast, but everyone told us that it would.
The bad thing is that I've crashed from the (hypomania) rush I've been on for the past few weeks. It's a bad time for it, with the house stuff taking up much of our free time and the archive taking up what shreds I have left. If anyone reads this and I'm slow to replying to emails and projects, this is why. Any action necessitates staring into space for ten minutes immediately before and after, which diminishes my productivity a great deal.
Despite it, though, I'm still writing and almost finished with The Book of Lost Tales I, which has been a very rewarding read.
Last night, Bobby and I went to see the Heaven and Hell tour at Merriweather: Machinehead, Megadeath, and Black Sabbath (with Dio). Heavy metal isn't my first choice in music, but Potter had written down the wrong date (or something) and couldn't go, and Bobby's other friends all had other plans, so he was stuck bringing his old lady. I like and can appreciate just about any form of music except for the no-talent three-chord rock that emo teeny-bop wannabes like to pass off as punk, so I wasn't averse to going. I can appreciate a good guitar solo like any ex-guitar player can. But it got cold in Maryland! WTF, May is half over! And as soon as Black Sabbath came on, it started to rain. I was wearing a hoodie and wrapped in two towels and was miserable on top of ... well, just being miserable lately. So it wasn't the best time I've had at a concert, which is a shame, because I think that given different weather and a different mood, I would have enjoyed it much more.
So ... house. Well, Bobby and I went to look at houses on Thursday as planned, two in Westminster and one in Manchester.
The first was the farmhouse that was zoned for horses. What grabbed us about this one was the land: an acre of flat land with a small pasture and fenced backyard. The house didn't look bad from the outside, but we knew it would need some work.
Some work?
Quite a bit more, actually. Upon walking in, we discovered that it was old enough that it was built for people much smaller than Bobby, who is 6'3". He had to duck to get through doorways, and the ceiling fan in the kitchen nearly took off his head. But the basement sealed the deal: Bobby's one wish is for a basement he can make into a game room. (My one wish is for a room I can make into a study/art room.) The basement wasn't just unfinished but actually hazardous. The steps were falling down, the place reeked of mildew, and Joe the real estate agent spotted water damage right away.
So the farmhouse got scratched off of the list.
The next was a rancher in Westminster, the one that had the pool and hot tub. Unfortunately, we discovered that (if this is even possible) the house wasn't all that much bigger than our apartment with next to no storage space. It didn't have a basement. The kitchen was gorgeous and it had hardwood floors (and a pool and a hot tub) but ...
We scratched it off of the list.
So we were both nervous by the time we arrived in Manchester to see the rancher on what we affectionately call "Bart Simpson Road." This was the one we had liked best on Sunday: big, gorgeous, fenced-in yard; decently sized house (we're not looking for anything huge but we'd like to not run out of room to store what we already have upon moving in); and a beautiful, quiet neighborhood. But we prepared to be disappointed.
We weren't.
The upstairs was nice with lots of room, mostly new appliances, hardwood floors again, and a good-sized kitchen. But upon walking down to the basement, I knew that we would, in all likelihood, take it. The basement runs the full length of the house, so it's like having a second level. It's finished with a wood stove, perfect for Bobby's game room. There's a second room down there and two smaller back rooms for storage.
We were in love.
The backyard is huge and fenced in with a grove of trees and a picnic table at its center, perfect for outdoor parties. There are two storage sheds. And the next-door neighbor was outside, and we talked with him for about ten minutes about the neighborhood. He was an older guy and very nice and gave us his name and phone number if we have anything we'd like to ask him. The only downside to the house is that it does not have central air-conditioning, but as I told Bobby, we cool the WAU office with just window units, and it's greener to use as little AC as possible as it is a big contributor to global warming. I am fine with no air-conditioning, as I always tease Bobby that I am meant to be a tropical creature, but he was born first, so I had to be born in Maryland. (Yes, that's completely illogical, but I never should have been born in a state like Maryland or any place that gets snow, and you'd think I'd get used to it ... I don't.) He says that he can likewise adjust, so we're giving it the go-ahead.
So, in a half-hour, we're off to sign a contract making an offer. This is moving very fast, but everyone told us that it would.
The bad thing is that I've crashed from the (hypomania) rush I've been on for the past few weeks. It's a bad time for it, with the house stuff taking up much of our free time and the archive taking up what shreds I have left. If anyone reads this and I'm slow to replying to emails and projects, this is why. Any action necessitates staring into space for ten minutes immediately before and after, which diminishes my productivity a great deal.
Despite it, though, I'm still writing and almost finished with The Book of Lost Tales I, which has been a very rewarding read.
Last night, Bobby and I went to see the Heaven and Hell tour at Merriweather: Machinehead, Megadeath, and Black Sabbath (with Dio). Heavy metal isn't my first choice in music, but Potter had written down the wrong date (or something) and couldn't go, and Bobby's other friends all had other plans, so he was stuck bringing his old lady. I like and can appreciate just about any form of music except for the no-talent three-chord rock that emo teeny-bop wannabes like to pass off as punk, so I wasn't averse to going. I can appreciate a good guitar solo like any ex-guitar player can. But it got cold in Maryland! WTF, May is half over! And as soon as Black Sabbath came on, it started to rain. I was wearing a hoodie and wrapped in two towels and was miserable on top of ... well, just being miserable lately. So it wasn't the best time I've had at a concert, which is a shame, because I think that given different weather and a different mood, I would have enjoyed it much more.