Picture this -- 1973 -- San Antonio, Texas. Factor in two young people with zero experience in house buying. Sounds like a disaster waiting to happen, right? Not so much.
When we married in July, 1972 we moved to a really cute little apartment with a sunken living room, a miniscule galley kitchen, a nice sized bedroom and several really decent closets. Apartment living wasn't really great for my husband, however. I came home one day to find the closet housing all my wedding gifts emptied, everything piled up in the corner of the dining area and a work bench had been constructed in the closet.
I knew my apartment days were numbered.
So, close to the end of that first years lease, my mother spotted a house in a little local, neighborhood paper -- the Northside Recorder -- and suggested we look at it.
It had a living room/dining room combo, a big eat-in kitchen, three bedrooms and one bathroom. It had new carpeting (gold) and new draw drapes (also gold). It was enormous in our eyes. It was close to our families. And -- it had a garage.
So, we started negotiation if that is what you want to call it. The family that lived there at the time had only been there for six months. The husband was military and they were in and out in a blink of an eye.
Here were the terms and conditions -- $1800 down and assume a 30 year VA loan that still had 29 1/2 years on it. We sat on the living room floor with a piece of notebook paper and wrote a contract that we (Hubs and I) would bring her $1800 by a certain time on a certain date, we would assume the loan and a week later we moved in.
Fast forward to now ---
Not. So. Easy. We have loans and papers and warranty policies and inspections and on and on and on. While moving to this new house was sort of a quick decision, getting there is slow and painful. So much to do, so many people to talk to, so many papers to sign (did I just sell my first born?). Just so much.
I won't be doing this again.
All I want to do is move.
And, my knee hurts again -- seems I moved too much yesterday.