Moving Madness

You’ve heard of March Madness? Well, I’m suffering from Moving Madness, leaving a home I love to begin life anew in a new city.

I’ve moved a lot in my life. So often I attended 22 schools. Yet, somehow, nothing equals the extreme effort associated with this 175-mile trek across the Sierra Nevada Mountains from Berkeley, Ca. to Reno, Nv.

Maybe it’s because I’m older. Maybe it’s because real estate transactions have gone electronic and I’m a Luddite. Or maybe it’s because the real estate market is so competitive. I don’t know, but this move feels more momentous than any other in my life.    

Moving Madness

First, there was “prepping” our house for the move. It’s a process similar to what brides do in the months before the wedding. Homeowners shed unwanted items. Brides-to-be, excess pounds. Then, there’s the touch-up phase: homeowners apply a little spackle here, a new bracket there to fix unwanted sagging, and involves countless trips to the hardware store. For brides, it’s pretty much the same process, only it involves trips to beauty parlors and plastic surgeons.

Mr. Fixit

What made this phase maddening for me is that Handsome Hubby went into warp overdrive, doing all the “honey-do” chores I begged him to attend to FOR YEARS. Suddenly, faster than you can say “money in your pocket,” he’s jolly Mr. Fixit, but now he’s doing it to please Mr. and Ms. Future Homeowner.

Then, there’s the “staging.” I’ve written about that in a previous blog. Check it out here.  The summary: Having a stager enter your home is about ceding ALL control of your life to someone who shares not one iota of your taste and cares not one drop about your feelings. She’s there to create a flashy image for the photographs that will inspire Internet-driven youthful prospective buyers to “like” and “share” your house and make it the coolest one on the homebuying block.

So, shove your ego and heart to the side, cause it’s showtime and YOU are not the star or the producer!

The Hordes Descend

Next up, if you’re lucky — and we were, come the hordes of would-be buyers, who like Genghis Khan thundering across China and the steppes of Russia, march through your home, opening closets and cabinets. In the first three days, 42+ realtors and clients stormed through our home. Then on the fourth day, a bidding war began.

While Handsome Hubby and our realtor saw dollar signs, I saw each offer as proof my beautiful home overlooking the San Francisco Bay was a prize to cherish, not sell. For me, it was about cherished, warm memories, not the red hot real estate market.

Good-bye Beloved House

While awaiting the “Big One” (final offer, not earthquake), I confess to feeling a seismic change of my own — that the ground and my life were shifting much faster than I was prepared for.

Of course, I’m not being exiled to Siberia. I am only moving to “The Biggest Little City in the World,” the beloved hometown of my beloved HH.

Now for just two weeks more, hardly a blink of an eye, I remain in “my” beautiful Berkeley home. Except now, it’s not mine. I’m only a renter here as part of the quick sales agreement.

Reno or Bust

For a few days, we were homeless, at least on paper. We thought we had bought a house in Reno; then, got bogged down in a disagreement with the seller over issues discovered during the home inspection.

So, faster than you can say “bye-bye House Number 1,” we were “On the Road Again” house hunting once more. Happily, we found a wonderful alternative and so, we’re all set! The movers are coming and we’re ready to hitch our wagon up for our trek across the Sierra Nevada Mountains. It’s Reno or bust!

🏠 🏠 🏠

“Historical” Endnote

Given my moving madness travails, I feel “qualified” to comment on the historical record concerning the infamous Donner Party of 1846-47, which resorted to cannibalism while crossing the Sierra Nevada Mountains. I contend the Donner Clan did so not out of hunger but because they were frustrated with how slow their move was progressing. I know on any given day, I’m ready to snap somebody’s head off!