Our two big projects – house hunt, baby preparation – continue at full speed. On Sunday we stumbled into a fantastic house missing only a back yard. Nestled on a tiny dead end street on the edge of Jamaica Plain (very hip) where it borders Roxbury (very un-hip) near some sketchy housing projects, it had been completely redone and looked great. We drove around the neighborhood after seeing the place and noticed a policeman down the street next to the house. We thought we would go ask him about safety and such, and as we approached we noticed that he wasn’t just loitering. He was, in fact, dealing with a lovely late-model Honda missing a few important car parts: the wheels and hood. Who steals a car hood?
But we were undeterred, even when he said, “Pretty safe, but this happens sometimes.” We called some people who lived in the neighborhood and got good reports, so we prepared to make an offer. On Monday we got the papers in order. On Tuesday, we found that the house would not be ours. Sold to a higher bidder? No, rented. But still for sale. We are not real estate experts, but showing your house and then signing a lease does not seem to be a recipe for a quick sale.
I spoke to the seller yesterday to find out what exactly she was thinking. “They were really great tenants,” she said. “I didn’t want to risk losing them.” The tenants, she explained, are a couple of doctors from Minnesota coming to work at a nearby hospital. I am not convinced they will feel…uh…at home in the neighborhood.
Tonight, we begin a class that has potential to make writing class no longer the silliest class I have taken this year: hypnobirthing. “Relaaaaaaaxxxxxx…..you’re getting preggggggnannnnnnnt…..verrrrrrrrrrrrryyyyyy pregggggggnnnnnannnnnt.”