click your heels together and repeat

Happy mother's day. We're not moving. The past week was an ordeal neither of us were prepared for. First of all, I had to clean my house. Not my best thing. I had to keep it clean every day, so strangers could wander through and judge my every decorating choice.Pretty soon, it seemed like I was cleaning their house.

We were effectively homeless, albeit with vehicles and money. We couldn't let the relators just show up during the day when the dogs were home but we weren't. So we had to show the house in the evening: come home from work, grab the dogs and leave, eat something somewhere, wait somewhere, and come home. All the while taking calls at work from other agents who wanted to show the property. I know we hear about a slow housing market, but this was not my experience. My phone rang off the hook, people went in and out, all evening long. Every evening.

So finally, the pretty house we made an offer on was no longer available and we looked at lesser models. It was like trying the most expensive bed first: you'll never buy the cheaper one. Will we move one day? Yes. Just not today. We need to squeeze a little more out of this place first, and be able to get further out of town.

So that's the story. But here's what I learned: I like old houses. Ranch houses are made of cardboard. Planting a Japanese maple by the door makes it a well landscaped home. Slapping a granite countertop over existing cabinets is a major upgrade. 20 year carpet wears out in 2. The beauty of paint is in the eye of the painter. And last of all: There's no place like home. There's no place like home. There's no place like home.

We're goin' to the country, baby do you wanna go?

Or something like that.

We are in the process of putting our house on the market (close-in SE, bungalow, highly desirable neighborhood, wanna buy it and help us pay our realtor?) and moving toward Forest Grove, which I'd heard was crackland, but is actually a quiet little university town with a great coffee shop called Maggie's Buns. Now, I've had one of the classic cinnamon rolls and Kurt had a maple bacon roll, and as far as I'm concerned, Maggie has some damned nice buns. We found a bungalow in the historic district and I've had Bungalow Bill stuck in my head since.

So my city-life comes to an end. Or that's the plan. Tomorrow, our house goes live, according to the agent, and streams of people will throw money at us to take over where we left off. Today, Stanley Steamer will try to make it seem like it isn't actually a house that belongs to two stinky dogs.

And it will sell, or not. Either option is fine with me. But being basically lazy, I'd hang out here.