So, we’re happily moving toward an open house on Saturday with a repeat performance on Sunday. My boss bought a new lockbox, and gave me his lockbox key, so I can take it off at night, if we need a little privacy, or if we want to sleep late in the morning some day. (As real estate is not my company’s business, this is not a problem, really.)

BUT…some guy down here from Portland has driven by the house six or seven times in the last few days. He took the original flyer, at the price I felt was too high. (When all else fails, trust your instincts, yeah?) I lowered it ($584,950 – still sick, but less so), and the guy called.

He’s unrepresented, may do the loan through us, and everything. That’s cool. That’s what we want.

BUT, he has to fly back to Portland, OR, and reallyreallyreally wants to see the house.

So, at 5:00 we’re showing it. We’ve tried to make the man understand it won’t be perfect. He says he gets that. We’re racing through things. We won’t have time for the paint touch-ups, and the termite guys are still working on stuff (but so far, no section 1 – YES!!!!!)

And tomorrow, well, we’re kidnapping Jeremy and doing all the painting, and some final touches.

* * *
On another note, Kerry Hamm is the best termite guy on Earth. He’s funny, sweet, smart, and thorough. He’s willing to work with people on getting paid, as long as you’re polite and honest with him. He teaches while he works – claiming, for example, that for the price of a single tube, he can make anyone an expert at caulking. He tells you how to treat stuff so it doesn’t have to be called. And, most importantly, he’s making the ants go away. I *HATE* ants.

The total of the work he’s doing – including the bathroom floor repair: $275 + some Asti Spumanti.

Inch by inch, row by row, gonna make this garden grow
All it takes is a rake and a hoe and a piece of fertile ground
Inch by inch, row by row Someone bless these seeds I sow
Someone warm them from below
Til the rain comes tumbling down.

My hands smell of marigolds and damp earth, and I have dirt under my fingernails, and even though I’m bone tired and my back is killing me, I have words and images racing through my mind. Why is it that one’s muse must visit at only inopportune times?

When I planted the front flower bed a couple weekends ago (was it a couple, or was it only one?) I planted some things improperly, and as a result, I had to replace the cosmos and one of the zinnias. I chose another yellow zinnia, added pink zinnias, bright orange mums, and another bunch of fuschia impatiens, as well as two sixpacks of red salvia, to balance out all the blue and purple. As a result, the front of my house is a riot of color.

Pullin’ weeds and pickin’ stones,
we are made of dreams and bones
I feel the need to grow my own cause the time is close at hand
Grain for grain, sun and rain I’ll find my way in nature’s chain
Tune my body and my brain to the music of the land.

While I was planting, sitting in cool grass in the last of the sunlight, our Brazilian neighbor, Lars, came by to say hello. He’s not really old enough to be my granfather, but he has a grandfatherly manner about him, and he’s funny and sweet. We chatted about the flowers, the weather (we’re having a mild summer, and I’m very grateful), and the various termite companies in town.

He spoke of growing up on a farm in rural Brazil, and washing clothes by hand. He asked if there’d been interest in the house yet (there has not, but it’s only been listed for 5 days, and we haven’t had our open house yet). He said, “Be patient, have open house, you’ll do fine. You’ll make a coupla bucks. That’s a good thing.” His accent reminds me of my grandmother, though she didn’t have an accent, not really, but he says my name the way she used to when she was calling me by Italian pet-names. Meleeeeeeza. I rather like it pronounced that way. It sounds less frumpy.

As I planted flowers, he asked if we were planning a garage sale. I said, “Later, maybe.” He commented that if he ever moved back to Brazil (with hand on heart) “Someday, before I die, God willing,” he would bring only his clothes, and a few photos. “We have too many things, the washer, the dryer, the diswasher.”

And yet, I commented back, we all complain we have no time.

He laughed. “So true. And lemme tell you. In Brazil, every Sunday, we went to church and came home and had sausage and eggs. Every Sunday! We didn’t know from bad. But we were happy. Today. Here. Not so much. Everyone is unhappy, spiritually and just regular.”

He turned to go then, and bade me promise to wave more often, to come say hello. And I went on with my work.

Plant your rows straight and long,
Temper them with prayer and song
Mother earth will keep you strong if you give her love and care
An old crow watching hungrily from his perch in yonder tree
In my garden I’m as free as that feathered thief up there.

I finished planting and checked in with Fuzzy (who, by the way, had inadvertantly locked me out of the house!), who was pulling weeds of a different kind, culling things from the garage for Good Will or Salvation Army or someone to come pick up. Yes, we had planned a garage sale, but neither of us has the patience or time for one, just now, and there are other more pressing needs – like giving Kerry the Termite Guy access to the garage walls, and making room for the boxes of clutter we’re purging from the house.

It’s ten. We’ve got another good two hours of work before us, and then bed. And yet I’m taking ten minutes to write this, to get some of the thoughts out of my head before I lose them, because if I don’t they grow like dandelions, tangled and yellow, but ultimately bitter and useless because I left them untended.

There’s an image, though, that I’m keeping in my head. I wish I’d had the camera to shoot the picture – the moment won’t be the same…just after Lars left, just before twilight became full dark, I looked at the front of my house – saw the light glowing through the panes of the living room window, and the plants hanging from the porch roof, and I thought, “Wow, that’s a cute house.”

And then I thought…we spend all this time making the house pretty to attract buyers, making it so neat that anyone would WANT to live in it, and then we leave, and we never do the same sort of work to the new place until it’s too late to enjoy it.

I hereby resolve that I will do all the special things to my new home early in my time there. I will not let this be a pattern.

Inch by inch, row by row, gonna make this garden grow
All it takes is a rake and a hoe and a piece of fertile ground
Inch by inch, row by row Someone bless these seeds I sow
Someone warm them from below
Til the rain comes tumbling down.

Note: Lyrics are from The Garden Song, as performed by numerous folk singers, and was originally written by Davie Mallett.

I read fanfic.

I’m particular about what I read.

In the Potterverse, I don’t, for example, like Snape/Harry slash, though sometimes I like Harry/Draco slash. And sometimes I like Snape/Hermione stories. It’s not that I have a problem with slash, in general, its that I have to be willing to buy into the ‘ship, and I can’t buy into Snape/Harry.

My first attempt at publically shared fanfic, as an AUTHOR, was in the Potterverse, actually.

I like BuffyFic, generally speaking. I’ve seen a few really good Buffy/Harry Potter crossovers. No, really. And I was a regular reader of BuffyGiles.com before it went to being an eFiction site. (I like the eFiction interface, btw, it’s nifty.)

But my first ever fanfic experience was with Star Trek. If that dates me, well, tough. I’m not old enough to have seen classic Trek in first run, but I’m old enough to have had it as my first Trek experience. I liked TNG, but I’d have liked it better if they’d done arc-based storytelling instead of episodic. DS9, from a writing POV was my favorite. I didn’t even start watching Voyager until it’s last year, because of work schedules. I went to a special showing, complete with live Klingons, of the premiere episode of Enterprise, but didn’t stay with the show…

My favorite TrekFics ever are Wildcat’s Spock/Uhura series, and Zakhad’s Captain and Counsellor series. Go read them

I don’t really PARTICIPATE in fandom. Once in a while I’ll send an email if I really loved a story, but I don’t play the read and review game, because I don’t have the time or patience for it…

And I’m bringing this up, because while I was munching on cereal yesterday morning, I found some TNGFic I hadn’t read. And I liked it. And it inspired me, so I’m writing a post-Nemesis a/u fanfic thing.

When it gets to a point where I’m willing to post it, it’ll go on fanfiction.net, and Girasole. Maybe.

Until then, I’ve confessed enough for one night.

7/13 – 1:59 PM PDT: Edited to include links. Right-click to open in new window.

So on Friday, we got the realtor sign for our front lawn. Because my boss is really listing my house as a favor, and I’m not paying a full commission, we did the cheapest sign possible.

The stand comes with these instructions (paraphrased, but not much):
– Hammer at least 13 inches into ground
– Slide plastic piece over metal stand.
– To clean, use Windex and a rag.

Step 1: Take a metal stake and pound it into the earth, without hitting sprinkler lines or tree roots, but in such a position in the yard, that a sign hanging from the stake can be seen from the street. This step involved three or four false starts, as the earth refused to cooperate, and the borrowing of a sledgehammer from a neighbor.

It should be noted that there’s a knobby thing on top of the stake. It serves no apparent purpose, other than to make the use of said sledgehammer more difficut, since one must aim at the knobby thing, and not and the whole top of the stake.

2) Step 2: Slide vertical plactic signpost over metal stake. Easy enough. Except that the weight of the plastic made the post lean. Oh, and, did I mention no pre-drilled holes for hanging a feature-sheet box? Yay, Fuzzy got to use Power Tools!

3) Step 3: Attach horizontal sign-holder. Attach sign to sign-holder. Easy enough, except that the hooks snapped, so Fuzzy had to go to OSH and buy s-hooks, and such, and then come home and drill more holes in the plastic.

4) Step 4: Admire handiwork.
Well, it’s standing, and the sign can be seen, and people are grabbing the flyers, so…nifty.

Other items of note:
We lowered the sale price to $584,950, because I want the house to sell quickly.

We scheduled the open house: 1-4 PM Saturday and Sunday.

We have a Realtor in Texas.

We have a dresser, a rolling file box (letter sized) a printer stand, and two computer desks that we need to purge from our collection of stuff we don’t use. If you’re local, and want them, they’re FREE, but must be claimed by Friday at 6:00 PM.

Also, could someone please teach the ppl at Home Depot how to measure? Fuzzy had to make three or four trips there to get the new blind for the front window, cut to the correct length.

So, my mother is yelling at me over IM that she’s pissed. I asked why. She explains, “There’s a hurricane developing 600 miles south of us.” (My mother lives near La Paz, BCS, Mexico.)

I ask why she’s yelling at ME.

She has no answer.

Apparently, I’m responsible for the weather patterns in the entire northern hemisphere, today.

Also, the a/c in my office is set to subzero. My fingers are BLUE.

Yeah, such a Monday.

I spent the afternoon cleaning out my dresser, consolidating the clothing I actually wear a lot, and boxes most of the rest, so that Fuzzy could use half my dresser, and his old chest of drawers can be removed from the dressing room.

Half of staging a house for sale is getting rid of excess clutter.
Sometimes, this can include furniture. Also, less furniture makes the room seem bigger.

On a more personal note, I restored my writing blog to existence. I don’t update it very often, and right now it’s really playing host to some stuff I’ve also posted to my page on fanfiction.net, but once in a while I plan to add other stuff.

And on that note, I have some laundry to do, so I’m calling it a night.

People in my parents’ generation have “senior” moments, but I’m far too young for that sort of thing. Instead, I have “stupid” moments.

Twice yesterday, once at work, and once at home, while working with people who are far more graphics-savvy than I am, I forgot that I own a copy of Photoshop 5.5. No, it’s not the latest and greatest. Still, it would have done what we needed it to do.

Yeah, I have working braincells.
No, really.

The number in the title is the MLS ID number for my house here in San Jose, the one I listed for sale last night. This makes it official, and everything. The sign won’t go up til tomorrow – Jeremy designed a logo for the quasi-company my boss is using to list my house, and the sign won’t be READY til tomorrow – but the feature sheet is done, and the outside work is complete.

Beginning today, we work on the inside, in preparation for an open house on July 17th.

The scan of the feature sheet is at 440Halsey.Biz

The actual MLS listing is here..

Click image above for larger picture.

It’s not up on MLS yet, and my boss is waiting for signs to come in to stick in the front yard, but this is my house, which we’re selling.

You can’t tell that I spent $200 filling the front flower box, but my friend Clay is altering the images some, to make the flowers pop and clean up some of the rough edges.

It’ll be listed @ $599,000
San Jose prices are sick. Yes. We know this.

Click image above for larger picture.

Saw this in Lisa‘s blog.

Name That Candy Bar