February 4, 2004
House hunt full of 'possibilities'
By
Herald Editor
Blame it on cabin fever or the seven year itch, but our house may no longer be our home. In fact, our new abode could be more than 100 years old.
While we call ourselves strictly storm door kickers, like avocado green stucco, it is only a bad facade. In the world of house hunting, our kind is known as the easy target. Overall, when it comes to savvy shopping, we are the buyer beware poster children.
Whether we dive head first or jump in with both feet, sales people can smell the blood in the water.
Although our Cape Cod home has served us well, the square footage is a bit on the "charming" size. The daily to and fro across the fast food badlands of Chum's Corners is also getting stale. In other words, we need an excuse to utilize those empty banana boxes in the basement. I can even finish off that half-roll of packaging tape left over from 1997; and it will only cost $160,000 at 6.2 percent interest over 30 years.
While our current home is a 21st century turn-key, our next purchase could be turn-of-the-century.
For several weeks, my wife and I have debated the idea of living downtown. We've weighed the proverbial pros (location, location, location) and constant cons (little lots). Surprisingly, we've had second thoughts - even a third and fourth. I'm just floored that we haven't talked ourselves into buying a two-story "sweat equity" special.
Our saving grace might be the constant episodes of "This Old House" my wife endured as a child. While too much Bob Vila might creep anyone out, I'm not talking about PBS programming. Instead, her family became characters on a reality series starring a 120-year-old farm house. Think Amityville Horror meets The Money Pit.
While I am but a neophyte when it comes to the nuances of wreck-it-yourself, my father-in-law has 32 years under his tool belt. His tutelage has been under the callused hands of a difficult task master: an eight bedroom Pandora's box of home repair. Three decades later and the apprenticeship continues with frozen water pipes, crooked door frames and electrical wires likely run by Thomas Edison himself.
This is what gives my wife pause when she reads between the ad copy lines for a large Victorian with "great potential."
Despite my foible for impulsive, illogical purchases (two words: Le Mans), I've stayed away from handyman homes. Enduring childhood experiences also influenced my outlook on older homes - my parents were Realtors. I grew up in a world shaped by square footage and corner lots. Like many kids, I had little interest in taking over the family business; mainly because the bottom line involved math skills.
However, I would have excelled at writing copy for home descriptions. It is only a matter of seeing the world through half-full glasses: cramped becomes "cute," rickety stairs and squeaky floors add "character," lack of running water equals "rustic charm" and "endless possibilities" means empty out your savings account.
For those extreme cases of leaky pipes behind lead paint walls stuffed with asbestos and mummified mice, I've got two words: ceiling fan.
This week, my wife and I are meeting with a real estate agent to look at a few homes. Although the operative word is look, I'll dust off the banana boxes just in case. I only hope the ceiling fan works in our new old abode.
Grand Traverse Herald editor Garret Leiva can be reached at 933-1416 or e-mail gleiva@gtherald.com