Sitting on the edge of a volcano, toasting a few marshmallows
Well, shipmates ... this is it. Tomorrow is closing day and I become that dreaded thing: A Homeowner.
At 1300 (1:00 p.m., for you civilians) tomorrow, I'll trade a cashier's check of several thousand bucks for a title and set of keys, and become the owner of a 1927 "airplane bungalow," a style similar to a craftsman bungalow, but with a pop-up partial second floor that playfully resembles a cock-pit of an airplane. A style that also might carry the labels of American Craftsman, Prairie Style, Money Pit, or What the Hell is Up With All Those Awnings?
At 1300, I assume a bank mortgage and, at roughly 1310, my wife will have me hard at work tearing up carpet from stairs, changing locks, and offering opinions as to room colors. Electricians will terrorize us with dramatic pronouncements, plumbers will horrify us with inflated estimates, and lumber stores will adore us as we purchase most of their available stock. Sanders will growl, paint will flow, and the economy will flourish.
Looking ahead to tomorrows festivities is a little like waiting for the guard to come back and solemnly announce, "It's time, Tommy." It's a bit like one's last day as a freeman, with a wedding early tomorrow.
A close "friend" of mine smiled into my face today and intoned, "A man doesn't know what true happiness is until he owns his own home ... but then, of course, it's too late."
Tomorrow I become a - shudder - grown-up.
Pity me, shipmates.
At 1300 (1:00 p.m., for you civilians) tomorrow, I'll trade a cashier's check of several thousand bucks for a title and set of keys, and become the owner of a 1927 "airplane bungalow," a style similar to a craftsman bungalow, but with a pop-up partial second floor that playfully resembles a cock-pit of an airplane. A style that also might carry the labels of American Craftsman, Prairie Style, Money Pit, or What the Hell is Up With All Those Awnings?
At 1300, I assume a bank mortgage and, at roughly 1310, my wife will have me hard at work tearing up carpet from stairs, changing locks, and offering opinions as to room colors. Electricians will terrorize us with dramatic pronouncements, plumbers will horrify us with inflated estimates, and lumber stores will adore us as we purchase most of their available stock. Sanders will growl, paint will flow, and the economy will flourish.
Looking ahead to tomorrows festivities is a little like waiting for the guard to come back and solemnly announce, "It's time, Tommy." It's a bit like one's last day as a freeman, with a wedding early tomorrow.
A close "friend" of mine smiled into my face today and intoned, "A man doesn't know what true happiness is until he owns his own home ... but then, of course, it's too late."
Tomorrow I become a - shudder - grown-up.
Pity me, shipmates.