Blog #1
Hello, World.
Selling the house was my aim, and using a blog was my game. Have you ever sold a house? Most of us haven't. I'd sold 4 (5 now) and every one was a world apart from all the rest. Only one thing ties all the sales together … in every case I was so very happy when it was all over and done with. The picture above is the house my wife and I retired to in Rindge, New Hampshire. Sold, now. And Mary Alice has gone to God. My new wife and I live elsewhere.
Talking about selling houses, I particularly remember the brownstone in New York City. That was really different. Grandma had left it to my Mom and so when Mom passed we 3 brothers found ourselves owning a house that none of us wanted. I handled the process and it was not that hard. That's because everybody wanted it to work. The buyer was an old acquaintance of Grandma's, a heating oil guy in the neighborhood. We offered; he accepted.
My brothers were fine with it going, of course; we all had lives away from Manhattan by then and didn't need to worry about being landlords to 10 tenants on 5 stories, all with inevitable complaints as things inevitably didn't work the way they desired, whether the heat not coming up, or the water coming down, or the noise upstairs, or … it never stops. These were all good people. It's just the nature of the relationship that makes tenants seem like ogres. Consider that Grandma had 5 of these buildings under her belt, and kept everybody in line. What a gal!
Grandma came, age 17, from Italy to join her 3 brothers in the Bronx. She was at their beck and call and got many a slap and unkind word while being the obedient younger sister. But, that's the culture they brought with them from “the old country.” That changed, little by little, year by year. By the time Grandma left us she was stronger, and better off money-wise, than all of them. Those 5 brownstones were all in what is now considered “yuppieland” in the mid 70's of the West side of Manhattan. Grandma's will specified the funeral entourage travel through the neighborhood passing in front of every one of those brownstones. Somewhere, up above, I do believe, she grimaced down upon us. “See. See. I did it. I worked hard, and slaved, and mopped the floors, and raised my kids, and improved the houses, and all without my dead husband, and I did it.” At least, that's how I imagine her. Loved her, the tough old gal. Miss her still.
So, with Grandma's house as my first venture into realty, today I'm selling, or trying to sell, as my final real estate act, my own house. My own home in Southern New Hampshire. The home where my beloved wife, now gone, and I moved in 2002. It was to be our last home, and so it was for her. We loved it, and it's hard to let go, even now, even knowing I've got a good situation ahead in a good community with good services, and even with a good new wife to be my friend and companion, day by day. It's still hard to let go. Memory is sometimes good, sometimes not so good.
Blogging is still a new thing to me. As brand new programmers used to say, I've never did one; now I is one. Well, now that the house is long sold, I'll continue to try blogging from time to time, as the spirit moves. If anybody reads them, that would be a plus.
Tony D'Ambrosio
Hello, World.
Selling the house was my aim, and using a blog was my game. Have you ever sold a house? Most of us haven't. I'd sold 4 (5 now) and every one was a world apart from all the rest. Only one thing ties all the sales together … in every case I was so very happy when it was all over and done with. The picture above is the house my wife and I retired to in Rindge, New Hampshire. Sold, now. And Mary Alice has gone to God. My new wife and I live elsewhere.
Talking about selling houses, I particularly remember the brownstone in New York City. That was really different. Grandma had left it to my Mom and so when Mom passed we 3 brothers found ourselves owning a house that none of us wanted. I handled the process and it was not that hard. That's because everybody wanted it to work. The buyer was an old acquaintance of Grandma's, a heating oil guy in the neighborhood. We offered; he accepted.
My brothers were fine with it going, of course; we all had lives away from Manhattan by then and didn't need to worry about being landlords to 10 tenants on 5 stories, all with inevitable complaints as things inevitably didn't work the way they desired, whether the heat not coming up, or the water coming down, or the noise upstairs, or … it never stops. These were all good people. It's just the nature of the relationship that makes tenants seem like ogres. Consider that Grandma had 5 of these buildings under her belt, and kept everybody in line. What a gal!
Grandma came, age 17, from Italy to join her 3 brothers in the Bronx. She was at their beck and call and got many a slap and unkind word while being the obedient younger sister. But, that's the culture they brought with them from “the old country.” That changed, little by little, year by year. By the time Grandma left us she was stronger, and better off money-wise, than all of them. Those 5 brownstones were all in what is now considered “yuppieland” in the mid 70's of the West side of Manhattan. Grandma's will specified the funeral entourage travel through the neighborhood passing in front of every one of those brownstones. Somewhere, up above, I do believe, she grimaced down upon us. “See. See. I did it. I worked hard, and slaved, and mopped the floors, and raised my kids, and improved the houses, and all without my dead husband, and I did it.” At least, that's how I imagine her. Loved her, the tough old gal. Miss her still.
So, with Grandma's house as my first venture into realty, today I'm selling, or trying to sell, as my final real estate act, my own house. My own home in Southern New Hampshire. The home where my beloved wife, now gone, and I moved in 2002. It was to be our last home, and so it was for her. We loved it, and it's hard to let go, even now, even knowing I've got a good situation ahead in a good community with good services, and even with a good new wife to be my friend and companion, day by day. It's still hard to let go. Memory is sometimes good, sometimes not so good.
Blogging is still a new thing to me. As brand new programmers used to say, I've never did one; now I is one. Well, now that the house is long sold, I'll continue to try blogging from time to time, as the spirit moves. If anybody reads them, that would be a plus.
Tony D'Ambrosio