Chapter 4 Selling house

I'm the  kind of person if you ask me to do something, I will probably go to and hang on to the end of a rope for you.  Tell me to do something, and I have a serious problem with that.  My back bone stiffens like an icicle, becomes brittle and can snap like a tiny twig.

So, when my wonderful Realtor asked me to, over the last several days, I've been paring down.  Each room getting more and more sparse, pictures gone, stuffed animals gone, nick-knacks gone.  I've been lumping things together into drawers so I have empty ones to shove things into.  (It is too early to do serious packing, I'll do that if we actually get a serious offer, and papers have been signed.) So, at the moment small jewelry boxes are now in a drawer designed for my summer tees and shorts.  Things from my kitchen shelf and counter are now nestled next to vitamins in another drawer, pictures are stacked on top of one another in the bed-room closet.  Honest, I've been working hard at clearing things up to make the place more presentable.

Then, yesterday I got a feed back from one of the Realtor's who showed the house on Thursday.  When I opened the door and saw the Swanky Realtor and equally Swanky Client, my heart and mind went Uh-oh.

They were here less than 10 minutes...that tells you something, right?

Anyway, here is what she said in her feedback report..."The flow of the home and use of space is very personal and tailored to the seller, and will take a buyer who can see through it, or needs lots of separation of space. (What, they are the rooms that came with the house...I had nothing to do with that.)"  

Now, don't get me wrong, she is right, I've been here 38 years, but I've been working hard...really hard at shaping the place up, and I admit I took offense to this statement.  In my mind she had said..."This house is full of crappy, old lady stuff everywhere, and will never, ever sell."


Man, I stiffened like the above mentioned icicle, the hair on the nape of my neck not only stood up, but curled over.  How dare she...can she not see how hard I've been working at this, while trying to fill orders, and continue to live a normal life at the same time.  Screw you lady, screw you.

I  pouted, I fumed, I drove Frankie crazy.  

Breathe, Sandra, breathe.

So there I was at mid-night paring down again.  Cramming stuff together, puufff, puufff, puufff.  The place is beginning to look  like a new born Blue Jay.  I look around, and wonder have I done enough now?  Is there more I could and should do?  I think I'm doing okay.  My garage on the other hand looks like crap.  It always had a neat though cluttered look, but I have it divided into temporary rooms that serve my purposes nicely.  There's my laundry room, tool room, shelves with gardening supplies, and of course my Harem room that is filling  up with neatly labeled boxes.  It's re-dick-u-less.  

Oh, no!  Here it comes...giggles.  I'm doomed I tell ya, doomed.  It's all so silly, what the hell am I doing...shouldn't I be on a beach somewhere, or walking the streets of Paris with a handsome young fellow  escorting me about.  Shoot, I'd even settle for an old guy with one foot in the grave...provided he had millions of bucks about to come my way.

And...this grand adventure continues...I'm having a ball...and guess what?

Shhhh, this is a secret.

I love my uncluttered house.

Shhhhhhhh!