One lovely, quiet San Diego morning, my lovely wife has this lovely idea. Let's buy a house.
"WHAT?"
She picks all of our pets and why not? After being a trained vet tech with a certificate in animal husbandry and becoming an animal control officer, she has knowledge I'll never have and a realistic philosophy about them. There's really no reason to get involved. Besides, if she wants something that bad, she usually finds a way to get it.
"OK. If you want it, go ahead and look. Bring me into the picture when you find the right one." Simple enough.
So ... where to look? We're not wealthy but carry no debt. Love San Diego County but with the band traveling hither and yon, and the kids older and on their own, what's to tie us to Poway? The Padres? Please, don't make me laugh. Technology has made the world even smaller than yesterday.
A dozen frustrating trips to south Temecula, a central location where we can get a deal in our price range, yielded nothing but negatives. Then cut to the heavens parting, white light beaming down on 'the one' as in "Honey, I found The One."
And the angels sing "AHHHHHHHHHHHH". Apparently, the lender called our realtor and said that our finances are, and I quote, "a slam dunk". I still hear the words of my hero of malapropisms, Yogi Berra, when he uttered "It ain't over 'til it's over". 'Nuff said!
My first trip to see the house was a bit surreal. It feels like the Beverly Hillbillies actually moving into Beverly Hills! All I know is - this better be the last darn time that I move. The next move? Six Feet Under.
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