Circuitous Serendipity
Or: How we found a home by following a mile-long spaghetti noodle dipped in a pot of gold at the end of a maddeningly tangled rainbow.
This week I painted for the first time in over two months. So puppy-excited was my soul that it slobbered gouache all over the pages. I came away frustrated and elated. Reuniting can be rusty, if enjoyable. Do you, too, feel like a nincompoop picking up old skills?
I shall not be back to work until we build out a studio in our garage, which means no custom orders yet, and no 2022 calendar. Guhff.
We ended up buying a house through the fairy trio of the Lincoln County Housing Authority, Cheddar Realty, and Inspire Home Loans. If it sounds like we were bloody lucky, we are. We also threw our psychological backs out researching every conceivable shelter, rental, offer and loan for four months.
Midway, we were poised to purchase a place by owner, into which C invested much wooing while riding around on a golf cart, only to have our offer booted. That guilt-ridden seller later sent us an image of the local newspaper (the paper newspaper, folks) which listed 5 homes being sold by the Housing Authority. C and Sunny hopped in the car, drove 8 hours to see them all, and we put our blind offers in. First-time buyers in the median income were preferred, which is why we stood the chance of a hot dog in hell, rather than a popsicle.
While we waited, the first rental reply in four months came back - maintaining a drafty farmhouse in the middle of the national forest 30 minutes from town where wild animals nibble and trains barrel through at 3 am every night, for $1,600/mo. While we like adventure, we don’t like to pay that much to be uncomfortable and to make bear snacks of our children.
Then the phone call came - our offer had been accepted! We bawled, whooped, and shot off weird foam rockets in the street with the boys. Tiny detail - I never saw the house. I actually never set foot in it until 5 weeks later when we received keys. That is how bizarre and desperate housing is. It’s a charmless ranch from 1979 and I love the snot out of it. Because it’s ours. And we can walk to the beach! Is it a dream? Somebody smack me with a switch of kelp.
‘Til the studio is built and the turkeys start roasting, I wish ye all stunning autumn leaves and the softest of scarves. If you’re looking for art as the holidays approach, this is a lovely smorgasbord of small works by other artists curated for the season.
Thanks for all the kindness and encouragement.
