May 1, 2019 – It snowed again. It’s May 1st. I look out my window at the snow-covered ground. I spent an hour shovelling snow on Sunday morning. The undercarriage of my car was coated in snow and ice. It finally melted off yesterday. I woke up to a light dusting of snow on my car this morning. I repeat: it’s May 1st.
A year ago, I wanted to sell my home. I told my mom that I was tired. I was tired of shovelling. I was tired of mowing. I didn’t want to spend my time on upkeep. I didn’t have any money for upkeep. If something went wrong then I’d be in trouble. I wanted to sell. I approached our property management. I explained that I wanted to give them the “first option” to purchase my home. By the time I factor in commission and legal fees, I knew what I would be left with. Did they want to take my home off of my hands? It would save me the headache and they’d be purchasing a home at a really great price. To my astonishment, they said “yes”. I signed the paperwork, including a confidentiality agreement, and we began the search for our new home. We had to vacate by the end of July.
We came up with our list of what we were looking for. We had a budget and specific requirements: single level, pet friendly and, preferably, two washrooms – one with a walk in shower. Mom wanted to stay in our neighbourhood. That worked for me because I wanted a short commute.
The rental market was pretty lean. A lot of places only require one month notice. So we were finding apartments that were available for May/June. Nothing for July. I was told to call back in June for July availability. I felt that was too risky. So it looked like we were going to end up overlapping – paying rent and lot fees.
The search was painful. To say that some places were not as advertised would be an understatement. I was surprised at the condition of some of the places. At one place the property manager saw the look on our faces and she boasted proudly that it had just been painted. As if that was supposed to distract us from the kitchen cupboard doors that were hanging off of the hinges and the stained carpets. When I asked if these things would be fixed before we moved in, she said she’d have to check.
It became obvious that this was not going to be easy. We found a place that ticked all of the boxes and had some other plusses: heated underground parking, secure building, and the utilities were included. Mom thought it was too small. She wondered where we would put all of our furniture. There was no room for a kitchen table (which we didn’t eat at anyway). I said maybe it was time to evaluate what we use and what we need. It was similar to my sister wanting a “formal living room for guests” – a room that nobody used because there were never any guests to entertain. In my mind – a wasted room.
So after much discussion, I came to realize that Mom just didn’t want to move. Plain and simple. So I backed out of the agreement. I said that we were excited to see that the new property management wanted to create a real community and we wanted to see what they did. So we stayed. A few months later, we received notice that they were changing internet providers to some third party company. 3 months after that, we received a notice that our lot fees were going up.
Fast forward to literally a year later. I’ve listed my home for sale and now we’re hoping that somebody will decide they want to live in a modular home community (the fancy way of saying “trailer park”).
Mom and I had the same conversation we had a year ago. I explained I didn’t want to spend my summer mowing the lawn and I was tired of shoveling. I wanted to be sure she was okay with moving. Did it matter to her? Did she really like living here? She complained a lot about our neighbours. Was that enough to want to move or was it just something to talk about? We’d have to find a place to live that worked for all of us. Was she okay with having to pack up and move at her age?
I could tell there was something. Finally, she said “Well, I don’t want you to lose money.” Finally, the reason for her dragging her feet a year ago. I had to be very blunt with her. I was going to lose money. I was never going to get what I paid for it. It was the reality of a very soft market. I had to explain that I was prepared for this and it shouldn’t be her reason for not moving. I explained that I was probably going to end up with less than what I would have made a year ago.
I felt like our roles had reversed. I became the parent. I took charge of the situation and made the decision. We were moving and that was “final”. We won’t be having the same conversation next year.
Diary of a DOW 