I don’t think so.
In one of those odd, Twilight Zone meets ‘Be Careful What You Wish For’ moments, the very same week that I lost my heart to the little house, we received a letter of inquiry from a local Realtor.
Yeah, yeah, form letters. Everybody gets 'em. But this one had our names on it. Spelled correctly even.
In the letter, the Realtor explained that she’d been working with a couple relocating from out of town. Touring around the neighborhood, our house had appealed to them on some level. If we were interested in selling in the near future - would we call her?
Fate. Serendipity. Insert preferred cosmic force here.
Even my beloved husband was intrigued - the letter coming, quite literally, on the heels of the realization that I really meant what I said about downsizing.
In the few weeks between that day and this, first the Realtor toured our house and then - ah, timing - a week later… at the end of a four-day family celebration - a mere hour or two after the last guests were dropped at the airport, she brought the prospective buyers through.
That experience brought us to the conclusion that whether these people were seriously interested or not, all signs pointed to 'Sell’. I gave us a Resale Ready ™ consultation and we got serious.
But it turns out that even the detritus of one of our family parties couldn’t scare the prospective buyers away.
After a second tour, that nice young couple made us an offer. It was accompanied by a lovely letter which made note of the unusual way in which we had arrived at this point. It was quite moving. By the time I reached the closing, I was torn. Until that moment, it hadn’t occurred to me how important it would be to have the new owners feel that this place was home.
Closely followed by the thought that we’d be crazy to leave it.
And yet the siren song of fewer square feet to clean calls, and leave it we shall.
Where we’ll go is another story.