The day before I left for Wisconsin an offer came in on my condo. Perhaps it was because I watered the flower pot on my patio that contained St. Joe within? Okay, for fear that I just sounded like a serial killer, let me explain: I’m referring to the belief that if you bury a statue of St. Joe in the ground or a planter outside your home you will have a better chance of selling it. My brother Peter the Prince and his lovely wife Amy shared this idea with me because it worked for them when they sold their respective condos. They also sent me a tiny plastic replica of the saintly worker, so I summoned up my inner-Catholic and dutifully buried Joe according to the strict instructions given: upside down and facing the front door.
I can’t fault St. Joe for taking seven months to find a buyer for my place. He did bring offers my way. Most of the hold-up was due to my own stubbornness at waiting for the right price. (Hey, Lucy’s dog food ain’t gonna pay for itself!) I’m sure Joe was as frustrated with me as my Realtor was. But, eventually, the planets aligned and the right buyer came forward with the right offer. And I was in escrow again.
Once I returned from my trip back home, I was in full apartment-hunt mode. I saw a number of nice places (and a few soul-crushing ones), but I think it was truly destiny that landed me at my final choice. My landlady – let’s call her Mrs. Roper – is a kindred spirit; not only is she from Wisconsin, but she went to my Alma Mater, Northwestern University, too. She’s an older lady (her first husband served in WWII!), but I suspect she’s a real estate mogul. The place I’m renting from her is one of many she owns in Pasadena. And, oh, what a place it is. I think my favorite part of it is the private balcony. What a perfect location for cocktail hour!
The pets are adjusting for the most part. Lucy has actually been a real superstar. I guess as long as she still has food and chew sticks readily available to her, she’s pretty content.
Sophia was a typical cat. She spent the first two days under either the bed or the treadmill. And when she finally did come out, she mistook my oh-so comfortable comforter (you know, the one she sits on 90% of the time?) for her litter box. Or did she? I sense she was making a very effective point about her disdain for sudden change. But, hey, I got a new comforter out of the deal and Sophia quickly and miraculously figured out where the box was located. (Never have I been so happy to hear the sound of paws scratching and digging.) The new abode has a lot of windows, so I think she’s finally settling in.
Part of the pact you make with St. Joe is that once the sale goes through, you must dig him back up and give him a place of prominence in your new home. Of course, what room is more prominent than the TV room? Now St. Joe is stationed atop a bookcase where he can look down upon me as I watch television. (Emphasis on the “look down” part when I’m watching The Bachelor.) I do owe him a lot, though. The sale of my condo is all part of the master plan for launching Deliberate Productions and finally living my dream.
NEXT UP: Final Reflections on Relocating