Nine Circles

Dante,  in his master work "The Inferno", proposed nine circles of hell. I forget exactly what the names and conditions of those divisions were, but I can be fairly sure that they are replicated in the world of real estate transactions, and might even be amplified by current technology.

Let me stipulate from the start that we (beginning in March of 2016) initiated a ridiculous trifecta in realty world: we contracted for, and were keeping tabs on, an addition to one house in California; we were preparing for the sale of another house in Virginia--and launching it on the market after serious decluttering; and we were shopping for yet another house in Alexandria in our spare time. Add to that that these efforts were all linked in time and sequence in a variety of ways--involving financial considerations, timelines, and our locations-- and you have the realty equivalent of a bicoastal 15 puzzle, with a few storage spaces thrown in to make things a bit more complex.

We are nearing the end of this nightmare of a year. The addition to the San Diego house is complete, and we are currently mopping up details, like a re-do of our back yard and decisions as to where pictures and maps will hang. The Virginia house is under contract, after several repair issues and and things look good for a final closing in the next week. We put in a contract on another house, and that closing is within 15 days, if all goes well. There will no doubt be some additional wrinkles making their appearance before all is said and done--as both sales involve rent-backs. BUT, I am hopeful that we have descended into the ninth circle and are gradually working our way back up again to our normal state of existence. In other words, once you hit bottom, the only way left to go is up.

I will not bore you with the ins and outs and ups and downs of construction, sale, or purchase. Let me simply throw out in this paragraph a short--and unfortunately, incomplete--list of things we did, some of which went wrong in semi-spectacular ways.

1. Moves to storage spaces on the west and east coasts (arranging a storage space, scheduling movers to remove excess stuff to make room for furniture from back east--or removing stuff from east coast house to ready it for sale)
2. A move of some stuff from the east coast (and keeping track of where the truck is)
3. Finding, ordering, waiting for delivery of rugs in the west--then laying them!
4. Deciding where things go on each coast: what goes west, what stays east, what gets donated, what gets disposed of.
5. Emptying the room behind the (San Diego) garage so that it might be refurbished.
6. Shop for, order, measure, wait for delivery, prep the room and install flooring in that room
7. Replace the (San Diego) garage roof (not planned, but necessitated by big leak.)
8. Replace the gutter and downspout on the garage (still working on that one)
9. Revamp garden; tear up pavers, install concrete walkway (in progress)
10. Get broken leg on hunt board repaired and returned and placed.
11. Have dining room table refinished. (Beautiful. Our big success story.)
12. Replace blinds in front of house and in garage room.
13. Hang pictures and maps throughout house (in progress)
14. Replace (SD) garage door motor and springs (unplanned, but sort of necessary...)
15. Convert alcove in new room to a closet (shop, choose, measure, order, install) (nope--not done)
16. And at the same time, read, fill out, send, amend, sign, fax, scan, send, text all the paperwork and documents relative to the sale of one house and the purchase of another on the east coast,
17. And--to complicate things further--the buyers' agent is certifiable , which, at one point forced us  to threaten withdrawal from both deals on the basis of four holes in the drywall that will need repair when our Murphy bed is removed. That she insisted we do the day before the walkthrough. While we were in California.

But aside from the sturm und drang of all this, we are emerging, more or less unscathed, with maybe an extra gray hair or two for our efforts. We are hopeful that the subsequent rewards will turn all this into a vague memory--or at least a funny story or two to be told over dinner someday.