Home Ownership – Ugh

I read a blog post the other day from Mark Morford at SFGate about home ownership being completely overrated. I felt guilty even considering agreeing with him, but I knew he had a point.  Actually, I’ve known it for a long time.  Once I allowed myself to agree with him, I found myself tickled that someone else was finally pointing it out.

Ever since my dear one started looking seriously at lofts a couple of years ago, I found myself completely intrigued with the concept of living that way – all metropolitan-like, with elevators and such. ‘Course now that he’s moved in and had the elevator bust on him, leaving him to trudge up to his 10th floor abode at 11 o’clock at night with two bags of groceries after a full day of work and a visit to him mom in the hospital 45 minutes away . . . :::whew::: well, I can see the down sides, too.  But still . . .

Still, I felt guilty even considering not having a house.  I have CHILDREN, for Gods’ sake!   They like to ride bikes and roller blade . . . which require what??   Aha!  That’s right –  Concrete! Asphalt!   Cool.  Guilt assuaged.  I hate having a yard.  I wish I was one of those nurturing gardener-types, but I can’t even keep the indoor plants alive anymore.  Maybe if I were retired . . . nah, probably not.  Flower boxes on a deck, that I could do.  A yard  - as my friend S. would say, phey.  I weed-whack what little grass I have when it starts to get embarrassing, and once or twice a fall, I rake.  I live in the city, the yard is small and thank the good Lord I don’t have some obnoxious neighborhood association breathing down my neck for having plants out of alignment, or a fence just a hair too high. 

Raking can be satisfying, I admit, but it simply doesn’t balance out the trauma of home maintenance.  Too damned much upkeep when you own stuff, and I am not, admittedly, good at upkeep.  I have enough upkeep on myself, what with this 49-yr.old bod of mine.  Oh, and a car.  See?  That is MORE than enough.  Not to mention cell phones and old TVs and laptops.  It’s not like I can just throw them away and buy new ones when they break – hel-LO!!  I work for a non-profit, in a recession.  ’Nuff said.

I’d sell my house right now if the economy didn’t suck. I figure it’ll be another two or three years before I can sell and get anywhere close to what I put into it,  so for now, I’m stuck.

This came up today because I woke up, as usual, when my alarm clock made its gawd-awful squawk. But NOT as usual, I reached out to smack the snooze button and knew, even through my sleep-fog, that Something Was Not Right. Miss Clavell (of Madeline fame, people – keep up) would probably have had her finger knowingly in the air some hours earlier, but I’d been under my very nice quilt next to my very warm daughter, so I didn’t know it til the alarm. The drop in temperature from under the covers to over the covers was alarming – far more drastic than my normal fairly narrow range of acceptable degrees, all of which hover around 70.

I’ve been sick all week anyway, so my mood was not, um, chipper.  I hauled myself out of bed and the shivers kicked in immediately. The cold stone tile in the hallway was most unpleasant to my feet, hardly warmed at all by the fat dog leaning on my bedroom door. I hopped over to the thermostat only to learn that it was 56 degrees in my dining room. The summit of Everest it’s not, but straight out of bed, let me tell you, that’s COLD.

I called the trusty furnace guys around the corner, the same ones who had come to our rescue when the boiler blew in our old house, pre-divorce.  He told me, apologetically, that he couldn’t get here til afternoon, but promised it would be today.  I stayed in my bedroom with a space heater, long underwear and a coat.  How’s that for pathetic?  I didn’t feel good enough to even drive to the local coffee shop, my office or a friend’s.  But furnace dudes were reliably on my porch at 12:50 and back up from the basement about 7 minutes later, holding what used to be my pilot igniter, dead.  I didn’t even know what the damned thing was, but I’m fairly certain it should have lasted longer than three years, since we don’t exactly live above the Arctic Circle.  Didn’t have one on their truck – used the last one yesterday – but they might have one at the shop.

A phone call 15 minutes later said no, they had to go out to the parts company and get one.  Way the hell out in a sprawling suburban industrial park, of course, and sorry, I’d have to pay for their time.  Or, I could wait til next week when their order comes in . . . Um, no.  Arctic Circle or not, it was COLD IN HERE!  So I said fine.  I growled, but I’m fairly certain I got the phone hung up first.

By the end of the afternoon, I had heat and 197 less dollars in my checking acct.  Perfect.  All for a $38 part.  

If I lived in well-maintained rental, all I’d have had to do is call the landlord, smile at the maintenance guy and make sure the girls made him cookies.  I might even throw in some beer if my apt. stays warm.  

That’s it.  I’m moving as soon as this blasted recession is over.  I’ll put whatever proceeds I get in the bank – or under a mattress or wherever is safe by then, and rent.  I’ll even walk to the tenth floor every now and again, if I have to.

~ by Mindy on December 5, 2008.