House Hunt
The Internet's a pretty miraculous thing. Between Aileen's original criteria and the realtor ability to put together a website where you can look at houses online, it's pretty neat to be able to narrow down your options for houses with a weekend spent at home, and then go rapid-tour those suckers in person over a couple of days. And with it being a buyer's market right now, you actually have a shot at getting something nice for the money. It's like... an adventure!
First off, though, let me stress that I am in every way aware that we are very fortunate not to have to sell a house in order to buy one. Renting one of my folks' houses for the last nine years has been pretty much a wonderful deal. We're damn lucky to be able to buy without having to suffer through the market as sellers, and I honestly feel sympathy for those who aren't in our position.
But yeah - it's been an adventure. Or at least, the hunting part has been. Some of the houses we looked at were like Manly Wade Wellman's gardinels*, with that feeling that they might chew you up and digest you if you lingered overlong. Maybe it was just the Atlanta climate, muggy and so damnably lowland July, that made us feel like the house was breathing on us all sticky-like. Others were nicer, but there was still the weighing of perils to rewards. What does that ancient air compressor signify? Will that fig tree bear fruit? What's lurking back in this attic crawlspace?
It fascinated me, actually. Your home is familiar, and so is the home of a friend or family member. But when you're prowling through a vacant house, considering how you might hollow it out and wear it yourself, there's an odd feeling of solitude that comes over one. It's the concept of vacancy. People lived here, and now they don't. Why did they leave? What did they leave behind? What did they know that you should, and that they may not be telling you? It's a feeling that doesn't diminish even when the house isn't vacant, but still occupied - the resident(s) just stepped out for a bit to get out of your way. That feels like the Marie Celeste. The dining room tables are set, to entice you to think just how nice it would be to eat a meal with your loved ones in that same room - with your furniture and place settings, of course. Everything's clean but lived-in, welcoming. You see more of the personality of the residents… but they're not there, they "just stepped out." It feels one part archaeology and one part, well, the gardinel again. Lures have been set, like the cute pink tongue of a snapping turtle. They want you to buy the house. They want it to close its teeth around you. In an entirely friendly and consensual way, of course...
I know, I'm basically a kid here, playing pretend. I'm well aware that offers and counter-offers and escrows and contracts and all kinds of Boring Adult Business is going to be up next. I'm very well aware that there will have to be a refrigerator and washing/drying machines and even a lawnmower purchased. Life in suburbia is going to be kind of rapaciously dull, and obviously with less privacy than I am inclined to prefer. But the period of exploration when you're trying to make up your mind - if that doesn't get haunting on some level, well, then you probably aren't plagued with the kind of overactive imagination I have.
Which is probably a good thing. If you start talking about gardinels to your realtor, she is going to give you a very peculiar look.
*Gardinels: If you're familiar with the concept of monsters that disguise themselves as treasure chests or floors or ceilings or whatever from D&D or associated video games, be warned that the gardinel predates them. And it masquerades as an entire cabin, shed or house. No foolin'. Read Wellman's "Come Into My Parlor" sometime and see another great example of how pulp fantasy informed the concept of the roleplaying game.
First off, though, let me stress that I am in every way aware that we are very fortunate not to have to sell a house in order to buy one. Renting one of my folks' houses for the last nine years has been pretty much a wonderful deal. We're damn lucky to be able to buy without having to suffer through the market as sellers, and I honestly feel sympathy for those who aren't in our position.
But yeah - it's been an adventure. Or at least, the hunting part has been. Some of the houses we looked at were like Manly Wade Wellman's gardinels*, with that feeling that they might chew you up and digest you if you lingered overlong. Maybe it was just the Atlanta climate, muggy and so damnably lowland July, that made us feel like the house was breathing on us all sticky-like. Others were nicer, but there was still the weighing of perils to rewards. What does that ancient air compressor signify? Will that fig tree bear fruit? What's lurking back in this attic crawlspace?
It fascinated me, actually. Your home is familiar, and so is the home of a friend or family member. But when you're prowling through a vacant house, considering how you might hollow it out and wear it yourself, there's an odd feeling of solitude that comes over one. It's the concept of vacancy. People lived here, and now they don't. Why did they leave? What did they leave behind? What did they know that you should, and that they may not be telling you? It's a feeling that doesn't diminish even when the house isn't vacant, but still occupied - the resident(s) just stepped out for a bit to get out of your way. That feels like the Marie Celeste. The dining room tables are set, to entice you to think just how nice it would be to eat a meal with your loved ones in that same room - with your furniture and place settings, of course. Everything's clean but lived-in, welcoming. You see more of the personality of the residents… but they're not there, they "just stepped out." It feels one part archaeology and one part, well, the gardinel again. Lures have been set, like the cute pink tongue of a snapping turtle. They want you to buy the house. They want it to close its teeth around you. In an entirely friendly and consensual way, of course...
I know, I'm basically a kid here, playing pretend. I'm well aware that offers and counter-offers and escrows and contracts and all kinds of Boring Adult Business is going to be up next. I'm very well aware that there will have to be a refrigerator and washing/drying machines and even a lawnmower purchased. Life in suburbia is going to be kind of rapaciously dull, and obviously with less privacy than I am inclined to prefer. But the period of exploration when you're trying to make up your mind - if that doesn't get haunting on some level, well, then you probably aren't plagued with the kind of overactive imagination I have.
Which is probably a good thing. If you start talking about gardinels to your realtor, she is going to give you a very peculiar look.
*Gardinels: If you're familiar with the concept of monsters that disguise themselves as treasure chests or floors or ceilings or whatever from D&D or associated video games, be warned that the gardinel predates them. And it masquerades as an entire cabin, shed or house. No foolin'. Read Wellman's "Come Into My Parlor" sometime and see another great example of how pulp fantasy informed the concept of the roleplaying game.