A Blog Radio Interview

For the past several days, I have been working like mad to get this place shaped up for the real estate agent. She’s someone I’ve worked with before and I pretty much know that a really spotless house impresses her and tends to make her appraise higher. My goal is to make this place irresistible to a buyer. It would be so good to sell it quickly. From my experience buying the mountain house, I know the biggest obstacle is going to be financing. It’s just not easy to get a loan in this economic climate.

Seems like we have too many things going against us, too. We’re still battling the mice, and in fact, are finding traces of many, so we’ve declared war and have traps set all over the house. I don’t want to put out poison because of the cat, who is failing rapidly, poor baby, as it is. I really wish we hadn’t needed to come back here. He was doing so well in the mountains.

It’s hot. God, is it hot! We’re breaking temperature records every day, and dry records, as well. I hauled water down to the crepe myrtle we have planted along the driveway, and two days later, we needed to haul more down there. It’s really difficult to do, and I can’t believe we’ve managed to keep them all alive that way for such a long time. The man we hired to water while we were gone has done a fair job of keeping those trees alive, but some of the other stuff I planted in the spring has already died, and more keeps following. It’s just ridiculous how dry it has been, really since we moved in here. It’s one of the reasons I want to leave. There are others as well.

I’ve thought about this -- why I have become so disenchanted with Texas. The heat and the constant drought is just one reason. This place has been overrun with creepy-crawlies, too, and that’s contributed. The last time the dog was bitten by a copperhead sort of capped it for me. She is so much happier in the mountains, as is the cat. I think they both thought we had already moved, and they seem depressed since we’ve been home. They feel repressed, and I have realized I share that feeling. There are so many small-minded people here. I get angry every time I read the local newspapers. Our friends back in the mountains have been e-mailing, inviting to us all sorts of things when we return. It’s nice to have people who want to include you in social situations, who are like-minded, and have experienced more in life than this one little spot. 

I did an interview for blog radio yesterday. It was fun and I felt it went pretty well. I like the internet  for things like this. It’s much more intimate and effortless than actual radio where you have someone poking a microphone in your face, and all the business that’s surrounding you. Television is even worse. This felt much more like a one-on-one conversation. The interviewer also felt like it went very well. Here’s the link to the interview: http://www.blogtalkradio.com/dennistardan/2011/08/01/a-conversation-with-cindy-bonner

Onward ....

Leaving the Mountains

Night before we're leaving to return to Texas. It's been so nice and cool here, highs in the upper 70s, lows in the 50s. We've been sitting outside in the mornings with fleece and jackets on -- heavenly. And yes, I do know how lucky we are.

Took the dog for a walk with a neighbor who was also walking her dog this evening. We talked about the area and she said she will probably be putting her house on the market in about a year. Then she said she didn't know where she would move because she loves it here, loves the mountains, the scenery. So I asked why she would want to move, then, if she loves it so much? I can't come to terms with that.

We're only going to be gone for a bit over 2 weeks, but it feels like a lifetime. Which is one more reason -- or one more indication -- that the time is now to sell the Buffalo Wallow. It will be hard to do. We both love the place, and it holds so many memories of dreams we shared when we moved in there. But dreams change, and so do financial situations. It feels like the right thing to do, financially, to sell the Buffalo Wallow and move here to the mountains full time. I have just been having trouble reconciling myself to living in a smaller -- much smaller -- place. I will have to get rid of loads of old things that have meant so much to me in the past. But I still keep reminding myself that stuff is just stuff and doesn't contribute one iota to a person's level of happiness. Why is this such a hard thing to convince myself of -- has it only to do with that nest-building instinct that most women seem to have? Oh well ..... time to move on.

Part of me will be happy to divest myself of all these leavings. That's what I think of a large part of it -- leavings from another life. People leave things to you and then you're sort of stuck with it all until you can justify yourself to the fact that you have just been chosen to be the one to figure out what the hell to do with these leavings. Antique stores are full of leavings. I'm about to add a bunch more to their inventory.

On another, much more depressing note, the cat has really declined in the last couple of days. We took him to the vet this morning and I'm hoping he can rally one more time -- at least long enough to get him comfortably back to Texas. But for some reason this time does not feeling as positive as other times, and I am just hoping now that he can make it home. I have cried buckets and part of me would like a denouement to this phase. Although, my SO keeps reminding me that we have had him, and been able to enjoy him, far longer than we thought in the beginning. And he has, I truly feel, enjoyed this trip to the mountains. Up until two days ago, he was playing with his toys, chasing the birds on the deck.

For now, I'm taking one day at a time. With high hopes. Still trying to be a realist.

Onward ....

A Buffalo Named Rose

When we first looked at this house, a little over three years ago, there was a buffalo living here. Her name was Rose and she was about half-grown. She scared people. I think she probably scared potential buyers away, much to our good fortune. There are exactly 2.77 acres here, and Rose had decimated all of them. Not a blade of grass grew. Tufts of buffalo fur clung to fences and trees. Buffalo "pies" littered the ground.

Poor Rose was lonely. She was misunderstood. My real estate agent was afraid of her. The owner would have to try to pin Rose up to show the property. Rose didn't like being pinned. She broke down the gate. It was told to us that Rose killed raccoons, that there were often raccoon carcasses lying around. But she also had a little cat-friend. A black and white tuxedo kitty, a stray who climbed trees and hung out around Rose, seemingly without fear.

When we arrived to look at the house, our real estate agent was already inside. She opened the front door and beckoned us to hurry in, that Rose was loose. We had already seen Rose over by the patio. We toured the house. We liked the layout. We liked the geodesic dome in the center, the uniqueness of it. We could see past the dirty pink carpeting and all the needed repairs. Most were cosmetic. But my SO was also interested in the lay of the land. He asked to go out and walk the property. The real estate agent said, "But there's a buffalo out there." My SO said, "OK. You don't have to go with me."

The agent cringed as he exited. She continued to show me interior features, but she kept a close eye on my SO outside walking the perimeters. Finally, I joined her at one of the windows. Out along the high boundary fence, there walked my SO. Close behind him, curious and cautious, was Rose. She followed him like a puppy, keeping about ten feet between herself and the strange man. As I explained that he was born and raised on a farm, had done ranching, been around livestock all his life, the real estate agent clearly delighted in watching Rose following him around as he inspected the grounds. The agent began to call my SO "The Buffalo Whisperer."

Obviously, we liked the place. We came back to look a few more times before an offer was made. We began to call it The Buffalo Wallow, because that's pretty much the way it looked, bare dirt, all those tufts of fur hanging about. There are over 80 trees on this small bit of land. I think more than anything, it was the trees that sold the house. We knew they would be a pain when leaf-shedding time came. There were drifts of leaves everywhere, years of leaves because the house had been sitting empty for at least two years that we knew about. We made the offer. We were shocked when it was accepted. The owner clearly just wanted to be rid of the place. We wondered if we could have offered even less than the low-ball offer we had made. Instant equity. And the economic crisis had not even hit Texas yet.

There are still signs of Rose. Occasionally we come across one of her pies, or a bit of buffalo hair. Mainly, the grass has never recovered completely. It's on the mend, but slowly. There was once a working sprinkler system, and Saint Augustine covered the ground. We have found a few leftover runners and have babied them along through two extended, devastating droughts. It is a little bit of paradise here, but it is hot. And it is a lot of upkeep. We like to travel. We go away for a few weeks and come back to as many weeks worth of work to get the place back into shape.

I fall in love with houses, with spaces, with lawns and porches, with seeing my stuff just the way it suits me. I have to desensitize myself when I began to think of leaving a place. I have to let go of the visions I have, the daydreams of future times. I have to fall out of love. I'm in the midst of that process as I write this. Of giving up on my Buffalo Wallow.

Onward ....