My happy place

Ok, we are officially sold. Yep. SOLD SOLD SOLD SOLD. So sold we broke out the champers. So sold the stager lady took back all her stuff (boo hoo).

For a week our humble abode lived up to its potential. Its inner beauty shone out to all the world and said - "this was what I was born to be". Now it is a mere skeleton of what it once was; a mish mash of unrelated objects, and a chasm of echoey space.

Hand over day is October 7. We have a back up plan to move into the skanky motel, if required. Otherwise I am feverishly scanning the postings at craigslist for a reasonably local sublet, short term lease, vacation house or furnished dwelling that allows pets: so far no luck. Just for the record, I will in fact consider it a minor miracle if I do find anything that suits - just being realistic.

Surprisingly we aren't at all panicked. We have plan B, so what could go wrong? The household items will go early; our financial commitment each month should be slightly less, and then we have a free week up our sleeves. We are thinking of using that week, not to pack up the house and have a minor nervous breakdown, but instead, to chuff off after the dogs leave; arrive a week earlier into LA and do the planned Disney trip BEFORE the American thanksgiving. Originally, we had stupidly planned our trip to the happiest place on earth, oblivious to the fact that Thanksgiving week was notorious for being the most crazy weekend of the entire year oops. We are thinking of checking out San Diego or San Fransisco over Thanksgiving week instead, though still leaving for Australia the same day as originally planned. Sounds like a plan to me, don't you think. Its Only the details once BACK in Australia that are entirely vague and sketchy, but then again, we have plenty of time to work through those issues once this debacle...I mean, well hashed plan are home and hosed.

Its a test of faith...remember.

On the prowl

We had the building inspector go through today. It all seemed to go ok; mostly positive. The realtor is confident that the sale will be finalised tomorrow - yay.

I looked into renting the house in the next street, but had no luck. Most places around here seem to be leased for 6 months to a year minimum. I did look into a motel in the next town; it is in a really good location - by the bay, but its a bit of a humpy! I can already imagine the inside of it - one word "skanky"....ah, who cares. We need a place that offers reasonable short term rates and a willingness to accommodate our dogs - such finds are few and far between. This one meets our minimum requirements AND has a kitchenette, so beggars can't be choosers as my Mum would say, we'll live. If we were to go with that motel, it would mean sending our stuff back early, which is actually a good thing. It also means that Ashley could stay in his job a week longer than anticipated (I am sure he will be thrilled with that possibility). It also means a bit more of a run around with the school and pre-school drop offs and pick ups, but I am sure I will manage.

I might hang off booking that motel and wait for the local paper to come out tomorrow. They might have someone looking for a house sitter (sure) or a sub-letter during the exact times we will be needing it (fairyland, I know).

I guess there is always a tent.

Up There, Cazaly

I am re-submitting this post because, for whatever reason, the video I had attached was no longer available...so here it is again, video AND accompanying post....

Yesterday the kids were looking for items to play dress-ups in. I scoured the cupboards to see if there was anything appropriate, for that purpose. All was almost lost until I peered into one of Ashley’s drawers, rummaged around a little I found two Australian Rules football jumpers.

One was black and white, with the Port Adelaide Magpies team emblem emblazoned on the front; the South Australian team of choice for both my husband and I, prior to Port Adelaide forming a national team –The Power, and opting for the colours black white and teal (there was already a national black and white Magpies team - Collingwood boo hiss).

The other jumper was red and white striped, baring the moniker of the Ramblers Football Club or “The Roosters”, as they were known; a jumper Ashley had commandeered from the golden days of his country football playing youth.

For the moment I sat clutching those rough, synthetic knit guernseys, an array of football memories bloomed forth in my mind, like imprisoned buds on a sunny day.

I am not a sport fanatic by any means, but football is so ingrained in my personal history that I have possibly developed or inherited some kind of appreciation gene for the game.

Aussie Rules Football is quintessentially masculine. The game is rough and the culture surrounding it inspires a similar coarseness. I grew up with the passion for the game all around me; both grandfathers were players, as was my father and brother, along with most men in my community. But for me, football was more than a game; it was, and still is, a multi-sensory, multi-layered experience.

Football brought our small community together during the winter months. It brought excitement and activity to the town and surrounding region. To me, as a child, football meant long family drives in the car, as we travelled to remote towns within “the league”, to follow the football.

It meant hanging out with my childhood friends and wandering around the ground to the sound of cars honking their horns on the sidelines, whenever a goal was scored. You could hear the harsh voices of men and women screaming, “come on, get up ya useless bastard”, and other profanities, to umpires, opposition players and supporters, along with their own team players; voices that were hoarse from too much yelling, too much alcohol, too many cigarettes and too many hard knocks.

Then there was a whole other harmony. The sound of thundering feet scrambling after an erratically floundering leather ball; so unnerving was the collective sound of nearby galloping feet, panicked and urgent voices; that it sounded like a herd of screaming, stampeding brumbies were about to hurtle through the sidelining crowds, to trample us wee ones in their frantic, fleeing wake.

There was the thumping sound of leather against damp soil during the centre bounce; the smack and slap of a boot walloping the living daylights out of the ball, and of course, the shrill reverberations of the umpires whistle.

Then there were the smells of the game. Such as the sickening, yeasty pungency that wafted through the air, signalling to all that the bar was open for business, and the amber fluid was flowing abundantly; the suffocation of cigarette smoke catching in our small throats, making us splutter and gag; wet leather; bruised damp grass.

There were other smells too, ones that lured children from the snug quarters of the family car; meat pies and pasties, the hot golden buttery goodness hanging in the air like the sun on a winter’s day. That smell taunted us kids, and we would pester our mothers until we had each managed to secure one of those heavenly pastries in our eager hands, along with a packet of salt and vinegar chips, and an extra 20 cents jangling in our pockets for a white paper bag brimming with an assortment of homemade cupcakes, for later on.

There were also the games – not just the bone crunching, mud bath battering and clash of men on the official ground, but the sidelines games; the climbing in trees, hide and seek in the bamboo forest, the escape into a fantasyland of kings and queens, sisters princesses, “Gone with the Wind”, castles made of bridal creeper and moss, and hanging out in the playground, inventing new tricks on the monkey bars.

Now, as adults, my husband and I would make a habit of cozing up on a winter’s night to watch a game together, whether it is fish and chip Friday with a bottle of wine, or another time when our team was playing. It was the history of our involvement with the game that drew us to it, week in week out, season after season.

Here in Canada we rarely see a game. Occasionally we might see a game telecast on FOX sport, but it isn’t live; the results of those games are already known. I can not watch it, not without the vibe, the hype and expectation, speculation, and subsequent jubilation or commiseration with my fellow country men, living in the moment that is fresh footy lunacy. Consequently, my passion for the game fell into hibernation, and receded into a mere glimmer of its former blazing self, and I told myself that football wasn’t all that important to me.

But when I handed over the football guernseys to my children, they slipping them on and running around in them, the sight made me smile, but I shrugged and happily went back to what I was doing, until they inquired into the history of the “soccer jumpers”.

”Oh! But these are not soccer jumpers. These”, I declare proudly, “are Australian Rules Football guernseys”. And at once the stories of football and my passion for the game unfurl like an exquisite Japanese fan, and my enthusiasm was eaten up and absorbed by two wide eyed children who announced that they would “like to see that”.

And since it is impossible that I take them to a game here in Canada, and there was no telecast showing today, I downloaded a song long regarded as the unofficial Aussie Rules Anthem; a song, that has, for generations, inspired many a young Aussie lad to dream of playing footy on the big grounds, with the big boys and the crowds – that song is Up there Cazaly.

Calling ALL Snowbirds

We are still in the cooling off period of selling our house. The deadline for the buyers to pull out is Wednesday...so fingers crossed that doesn't happen. They are getting the building inspection done on Tuesday. We have only had this house for two years, so I can't imagine that is has suddenly started to crumble under foot during that time; especially considering all the work we have done to the damn thing.

We have just one smidgey-didge of a dilemma in selling this house; we are being turfed out six weeks earlier than we had planned....I know we are fools for accepting such conditions, but the offer was a very good one, so we would have been just as foolish to have turned it down. We have our plane flight back to Oz already in our hot little hands and our dogs are firmly booked for their 30 day stay in the Spotswood quarantine centre in Melbourne (it is supposed to be the best), AND we have family coming to visit us at the end of October, so we can't leave Canada any earlier.

I am not too worried, Muse suggested we rent an RV for 6 weeks and send our stuff back early...might have to do that if we get desperate....Anyone need an honest, reliable and very responsible family to house sit over October and most of November...(preferably located in the Greater Vancouver region?) No? Drat!

Our neighbours across the road gave me a contact for the house behind them. Apparently it is a rental and the current tenants are planning to vacate. If that works out it would be quite a coincidental and wonderful feat. We would love to remain in the area until we leave; especially with the school year about to start next week.

We would have had to have found temporary accommodation anyway, so perhaps we will be able to stay in our temp accommodation until we officially leave. I am choosing to see this minor hurdle as a test of faith...we have a few weeks up our sleeve to find an alternative arrangement anyway. Wish us luck.

Cooling off....

Holy smokes Batman!

Looks like we've already sold the house.

KA-POW!

open house

It has been one of those day, you know. After the realtor took the photos for the website, he casually informed us that we already had our first cabs of the rank, as far as tire kickers and beard pullers go; "6:30pm". "Gee thanks", I replied. It looks like evening showings are going to be the norm; everyone works around here, so I guess they have to come after work or risk leaving it until the weekend, when the place might (HAHAHAHA) already be sold.

As soon as the realtor put the sign up, we had people on the prowl, doing the drive-by, rubber neck style. One couple even parked next door in the car park, got out and cased the joint; peering over the fence and what not. I was making dinner at the time, and it was most disconcerting to have a couple of strangers grinning at me through the kitchen window (now I know how the gorillas at the zoo must feel). I must say, it was a bit exciting to see people interested in the house, but then again, they were probably just sticky beaks agog that the place is on the market so soon. The neighbours have been awfully friendly all of a sudden, coming out for a chin wag and a pry...even got asked to Saturday lunch...that NEVER happens. Boy, am I an old synyc today!

Anyway, after the realtor's look-see at 10am, we had three appointments lined up:6pm, 6:30pm and 7:30 pm. Dinner was screwed. We ended up ordering a pizza and eating it in the park, then letting the kids play in the playground. It was a huge novelty for them.

It would have been great to be able to go to a restaurant and have a nice dinner, but we had the dogs with us. They are quite unbearable to most people- they yap and howl and jump up on people's legs; tearing stockings and planting muddy foot prints on pristine white slacks - no manners whatsoever - so we have to take them away when prospective buyers are on the scene.

Not only the dogs are we carting around town, but also the smelly old dog bedding, as they camp out on the floor of our room. We also have our portable microwave on the front seat. Oh, you didn't know you could get portable microwaves - you can't. We have two microwaves. We bought a cheapie when we moved into a friends house for the month prior to moving into this house. This friend had no mod-cons whatsoever, even his kettle was of the heat on the stove variety. Anyway, when we moved into the house, we found the built-in microwave to be lacking a handle, and of course, that particular size was no longer made by anyone, anywhere in the world. The only way to open the darn thing was to jimmy it open with a steel ruler....no thanks, so the cheapo microwave stayed and took up precious bench space, thus, it must be removed during showings.

Last week, Ashley had a brain wave and took a handle off one of our old cupboard doors and managed to cut up a white light switch surround, and somehow managed to secured the handle good and tight. The microwave opens now, but I am too afraid to use it in case the thing blows up or something equally ironic, and we will have to replace it anyway - at $500...no thanks. So the cheapo, counter hogging microwave, which I quite prefer by the way, stays, and these days gets to go on trips every so often (dear me).

Tonight's three showings went well apparently, though no one made an offer. We have another group coming at 6pm tomorrow. That means we have to stay away from the house all day again - the kids can't make a mess if we aren't there.

We did have a reasonably good day out today though. I had to go into the next town to pick up some shoes, which didn't happen (oh well). Afterwards, I promised to take the kids to the park. The kids played there for about 90 minutes, before we headed off for a walk through the gardens. Mister chucked an enormous hissy fit after playing the entire day and insisted upon sprinting around the 400 metre running track they have alongside the park. He was determined to run the entire 400 metres in lane 5 (because he is 5), and he insisted that missy mopps and I run too, in our own lanes. Missy mopps was tuckered out and wanted to be carried and to be honest, I really couldn't be stuffed, but because we didn't play the game, he chucked a monumental wobbly. Then another after I convinced him that we would just watch him run the final 100 by himself, during which he confused the track lines and veered out of his lane. He was insisting he start the race over again (for about the fifth time) when I managed to lead him to the car, screaming, but not kicking, where more wailing and gnashing of teeth occurred amidst laughable claims that he was "not tired". "suuuUUUuuure!"

Needless to say, it has been a long day - for us all.

the results are in

Okay. Here are the photos after the stager finished her handiwork. Most of house was a mish mash of bits and pieces that were struggling to fill the space provided. The lounge room literally only had a couple of sofas in it and that was it, as you can see from this first picture.

I was quite happy to have a stager come in and do something with the area, since we aren't into buying more stuff mode, what with the move back and all, and the lounge room is the first room one arrives to upon entering the house, so it is important to make a good first impression.

Anyway, the whole point of staging is to draw attention to the house, rather than the things in it, or the ugly wall paper; hideous overly mirrored walls and dog piss stained carpet...as was the case when we bought this house. Yes, the aim is to give it enough that a potential buyer can see themselves living in the space, rather than picking up the owners vibe i.e staring at their wedding photos; checking out the diplomas on the wall and the books in their book case etc. It all has to be inviting, pleasant and reasonably impersonal.

The stager was actually at our place for a good four hours, which surprised me. The other surprise was that she not only did the one room, like she said she would, but she added a couple of bits and pieces to most of the room to tie it all in (I guess so people weren't immediately struck by how one room looked suspiciously lovely while the others looked so so).

The stager used many of our own things, but arranged them in different ways. She mostly added lamps and pictures to our vacant walls, and added a few other decorative pieces.

In the end the changes she made were quite subtle, but made a dramatic impact. She brought in the ottoman for the living room, which gave the room a great grown up look - that room was formally dominated by the kids and their stuff.

She also gave us a kitchen table which is not pictured here. She moved our own table into a space in the lounge room to make it into a formal dining room (pictured here). The kitchen table she gave us is a little rectangle one which gives our kitchen a look of so much more space. She did a really good job.

I think the biggest surprise came from Ashley's reaction. He wasn't sold on the stager idea. In true blokey fashion, he couldn't really see the point and did not appreciate the potential power of soft furnishings and a few well chosen pieces of furniture, but he was suitably impressed.... I am glad, because I just kind of said "we are doing this" and this was it.

To answer Muses query, the kids were great about the new furniture and stuff. The stager didn't touch their rooms, which was good. It is all a bit of a novelty stillm so they are presently respecting the rules about the new things. I do know, the longer the place takes to sell, the harder it will be to maintain the pristine look, so I am praying that it sells quickly so we can give this stuff back and get back to being the uncultured slobs we normally are, ha!