Real Estate, Last Part

We are in our new house as of Monday, June 1. I got it into my head on May 22 to ask the maintenance man (actually the building contractor) at our old place if he could find us a painter. He came over to look at it that day, and said he could do it himself the next day. I ran out to the big box store and picked out colors for the two bedrooms and the kitchen. While we were looking at the room, a mover I had called called back, and we were set. Meanwhile, Joe and I checked out the discount flooring place recommended by a friend. They sent someone out to look at the basement and the carpets. He suggested we just clean the carpets. We went back to the store to figure out what we would do with the basement floor. We are going with carpeting. The locksmith also has a carpet cleaning business, so that got done before we moved in.The basement floor will be done next week.

We are still living with boxes and clutter, unable to locate things or maneuver around. There are no curtains or blinds on the master bedroom window. Still, it's a relief to be in. Joe has set up shop in the basement, which will be much more comfortable when it is carpeted and decorated. We put our living room couch in the additional room in the back of the house, and Joe likes to read there. The second bedroom is now my office. I like the color I picked out, and I feel I have a room of my own, which I didn't in the old place. We sleep better without the ambulances to and from the two hospitals and the helicopters to Ruby Memorial. We've spoken to six of our eleven neighbors, more than we spoke to in three years in the old house.

Tappuz was traumatized by the move. We took her to the new house on moving day at seven A.M., and locked her in the bathroom upstairs with her litter box and food. I looked in on her when we showed up with the movers around noon. She was curled up behind the toilet, petrified. She's better now. We have a glass storm door out front. She can stand there all day and look out, but when we decided to let her go out, she took one step, then turned and ran back in the house.

We still have things that need to be done to make this house completely work, but so far Joe, Tappuz and I are happy to be in our new home.

Real Estate, Part Something

After some drama, we closed on the house Tuesday May 12. We were promised the HUD-1 statement, which lays out exactly what your costs will be at closing, by Thursday or Friday, with closing scheduled for Monday afternoon. When we didn't have it by Friday noon, I called the agent and the mortgage broker. Neither of them picked up, nor did they return my call. I could feel my chest tightening. I couldn't read, couldn't nap. Joe was out. I thought the whole deal would fall through. Then I called Sarah, the young assistant mortgage person, and got her on the line. I told her we couldn't close Monday if we didn't have our HUD-1 by Friday afternoon. She said she would check on it.

Then everyone called me back. The lawyer writes up the HUD-1 and he had other closings, leaving him with no time to finish our report. We could get it at closing. "No," I said. "We were promised it for Thursday or Friday. We need twenty-four hours to make sure it is correct and get the cashier's check from the bank. "

They were all angry. The sellers live out of town and were planning to come in for the day Monday, they whined at me. The lawyer is supposed to be away Tuesday.

"Oh, well," I said. Their problem. We got the report Monday, declined our title insurance, and got the check from the bank. Our closing cost was 14.9% over the "good faith estimate." It can't be over 15% higher. The extra cost was because the appraiser charged an extra hundred dollars because the house is semi-detached and she had to walk an extra fifteen feet around the other house to find the meters.

It all went smoothly, ultimately. They shoved lots of documents under our noses to sign, and acted impatient when I wanted to know what they were. I don't get why we couldn't have had all these documents a month before to look over. Neither of us really know what we signed. They gave us back $1200 because there was a mistake. I told the mortgage lady, Sandra, that I was sorry for giving her so much grief, but that her industry has a horrible reputation, and no one can be trusted. She said she was trying to correct that.

In the last ten days, we have most of the last packing done, and the locksmith came and changed the locks. The tile people are coming Tuesday to look at the basement floor. The tile that was there was pulled up, leaving dry black glue on the floor. They will look at it and give us options. We want to paint the bedrooms, but can't find an available painter. We haven't looked for a mover. People ask if we'll get a U-Haul and have friends help. We are sixty-five and fifty-eight. That's not going to happen.

I thought we could take a few things, get sleeping bags and camp out on the floor until everything is done. I'm ready to be out of our current house. I see more and more the advantages of the new place: Entering on the main floor instead of a flight of steps below, a tree in front of the house instead of a dying bush, our closest major intersection (because we will be in Morgantown proper) having a four-way "walk" light, fewer students who don't speak to us living on the block and a lower density and more space. I want to be away from the two hospitals with the ambulances and helicopters all night, away from the Christian commune where they use power tools all day Saturday right behind our kitchen. We will still be too close to the football stadium, although far enough away that we won't be able to hear the fans, and will be able to get in and out of our street before and after the games.

 Tappuz is freaked about all the boxes in the house. She knows something is up, but we don't have a way to explain it to her. She will miss her two second-floor balconies, but hopefully, she will take to our fenced back yard.

Limbo is not a fun place to live. I hope we are out soon. I'll update.

Three Short Pieces: The House, The Legislature, The Lecture

1. The House

 The inspector found all kinds of problems: a leak in the addition, rigged up wiring, possible asbestos on the floor in the basement. We also got an estimate of closing costs from the bank. It seemed a lot higher than we talked about.  We are to close on May 11, but the tenant is a student and graduation is May 15. We were ready to back out of the whole deal.

We met with Jonathan, the agent. He tried to calm me down. They hired a contractor to make repairs; then there will be another inspection. He explained some of the expenses, and said he would speak to the bank and get back to me about some of the others. The tenant is to move out on May 9.

So I'm feeling a little better. We have packed nothing, and we still haven't had the reinspection. I took thirty books to a charity book sale. I tried to recycle probably a hundred magazines, mostly New Yorker, The Economist ( Joe's) and Rolling Stone (mine). Mon County has recycling only every other Saturday at  Walmart south of town. During the week, the City of Westover (five miles from our house, west over the Monongahela River) has recycling. I took our magazines there Monday, but they were closed to repave the parking lot. The magazines went out with the trash yesterday morning.
Where we are moving, in the City of Morgantown, there is curbside recycling.

Joe went out and bought boxes yesterday, and our friends Dan and Daya have given us used boxes from their recent move.

I arranged for homeowner's insurance yesterday.

Somehow, this is going to happen.

II. The Legislature

I haven't been shy about hating on our state legislators. They eliminated penalties for mine owners who flout safety regulations, made it nearly impossible for miners who are injured on the job to sue, proposed many anti-gay bills, tried to fight Federal air-quality regulations, and tried to make it possible for anyone over eighteen to carry a concealed weapon with no training or permit.

OLLI, the Osher Life-Long Learning Institute, cosponsored a "wrap-up" of the last legislative session with the Democratic and Republican Central Committees and the League of Women Voters. All delegates and senators were invited.  Four of our five legislators, one of our two Senators and two from neighboring districts showed up. I couldn't wait to ask some pointed questions. I wrote out five or six cards. A woman I know from The League of Women Voters was to pick from the questions submitted those she would ask the legislators.

I wanted to know from Joe Statler and Cindy Frich (who didn't come) why they endorsed Resolution 99 which called for a national constitutional convention to disallow any recognition of same-gender relationships. All three of the Senators sponsored a "religious freedom" bill almost identical to Indiana's controversial bill. It didn't pass. I asked if they have had a change of heart from the fallout in Indiana. Delegate Amanda Pasdon opposed Common Core standards for schools because they don't reflect "West Virginia values." I asked which values she was talking about. Delegate Brian Kurcaba offered a voter ID bill, requiring a driver license or military ID to vote. We live in a college town, but Kurcaba didn't include student IDs as acceptable. I wrote a question about that.

Cindy O'Brien, who picked the questions to be asked, didn't ask any of my questions. She asked one gay rights question- "Why do we not have a state-wide nondiscrimination bill?" Ms. Pasdon and Mr Statler said they couldn't get a majority to vote for it. Mr. Statler said "I don't believe anyone should be discriminated against."  A lie. We were not given an opportunity to contradict our delegates. The three senators who came, Roman Prezioso from our district and a Democrat, Kent Leonhardt and Dave Sypolt, Republicans from adjoining districts, were upset that Governor Tomblin vetoed the bill to allow concealed carry by anyone, without training or a permit. Barbara Fleishauer, the one liberal Democratic legislator from our district was polite, but disagreed about the gun law.

That was it. O'Brien asked them a question about a bottle bill, allowing the officials to talk about when they were poor and collected bottles for the deposit, or brag about their recycling habits.

I was livid. Seems to happen often now. I did confront Brian Kurcaba about the voter ID after the formal program. He acted like he didn't know what I was talking about. He's the one who said about not allowing exceptions for rape to the 20-week abortion ban, which passed, that at least a woman who was raped would be left with a beautiful baby.

Joe was with me. He thought I should write to all the parties involved and complain. I apologized to him for wasting his time.

III. The Holocaust Speaker

I was invited to dinner with Rabbi Joe at the home of E. Gordon Gee, West Virginia University's president, before the last "Festival of Ideas" speaker, Marcel Drimer, a child survivor of The Holocaust. Drimer volunteers for The United States Holocaust Memorial Museum. I was proud that Joe was invited, and better, that we were invited as a couple. The other guests were the professor who teaches Slavic and Eastern European History,who arranged this lecture, and her boyfriend, who chairs the creative writing department at WVU. I've met both of them before.

We mostly asked The Drimers about their lives. Marcel often said "I'm covering that in my talk." Mrs. Drimer was born during World War II. Both of them were educated in post-war Poland, came to the United States in the early 1960s, and live in Northern Virginia.

At the program, Mr. Drimer spoke about his experience as a child in the Holocaust. Where he was born in Poland was invaded by Russia in 1939, then by the Germans in 1941. I won't go into the details, but he, his sister, mother and father survived because of his father's persistence, the aid of a Christian family, and luck (or as I would say, blessings). His family went through unspeakable cruelty and horror. That he came out of it as a cheerful, well-adjusted man is amazing.

 My pride went away during this lecture. We all sit around and gripe about our childhoods, or a pizza parlor that doesn't want to cater a same-gender wedding. None of us have any idea what a bad childhood is, or how real hatred as a government policy can affect us. Mr. Drimer shares his story, but he is not bitter and angry. I could take lessons.

Mr. Drimer had difficulty with words. He was in his late twenties when he came to the United States, knowing very little English (three hundred words, he said). He confessed at dinner, that at 81, he is having trouble remembering English words. He was only eleven at the end of World War II. There are fewer and fewer people to speak to us about their experience in those years.

Real Estate, Part IV

We didn't get the house we first looked at. We offered them lots less than they were asking. They had another offer they didn't like and asked both of us if we could come up with more money. We upped our bid as much as we could; the other party offered more.

We ultimately looked at eleven houses, including a  two-bedroom, two-bath apartment overlooking the Monongahela River. It would have been perfect, if we could have gotten rid of ninety-percent of our belongings, and lived a minimalist life. We finally settled on a small townhouse with a basement and a giant addition on the first floor. It's in Suncrest, a mile west of where we are now, still too close to the hospitals and between the basketball coliseum and the football stadium, three miles across campus to Tree of Life. We are in the City of Morgantown, which means we will have curbside recycling, and better local representation than we have now in an unincorporated part of Monongalia County.

There have been distractions the last few weeks. We had the Jewish holiday of Purim. It's become traditional to perform a play based on the book of Esther, with costumes and funny characters. Joe writes parodies of famous musicals, writing new lyrics to the familiar songs. This year, it was "Little Orphan Esther" base on the musical "Annie." I played King Ahasuerus, in a crown I made as part of the Purim carnival that preceded the play, and an old royal blue bathrobe with white stripes and Joe played Mordechai. He spent hours working on his play, and we had a few nights of rehearsals.

The weather this February was Minnesota-like, often below zero or snowing. Just last week, after bitter cold weather for weeks, it warmed up. Then it rained like in the days of Noah. The rain turned to snow as temperatures dropped, until we were left with more than eight inches of snow, and one day in early March, a low of -3, setting a record for the month.

This isn't an easy place to live. Two of our five delegates to the West Virginia Legislature signed on to a resolution to the United States Congress to call a Constitutional Convention to ban any recognition of same-gender relationships in the entire country. This sixty-day term, which ends this week, the Republican-led legislature passed bills to overturn mine-safety regulations, to allow anyone to carry a concealed weapon without a permit, to delete the state requirement, after last year's disastrous Elk River chemical spill, which left all of metropolitan Charleston with no water for weeks, to have all chemical tanks in the state examined annually. Many people have expressed disgust with the whole state, and threatened to move away.

I credit Barbara Evans Fleischauer with our decision to stay and put down roots. She is the one liberal from Morgantown in the legislature, and the fact that she has support made me think we can find more people to hang with. West Virginia University's new president, E. Gordon Gee, has expressed unflinching support for gay rights. We are dining with him April 1. Joe says "We are winning the gay rights battle, even here." I have to go with his optimism.

So despite living in a politically hostile town, with below-zero weather and terrible storms in winter, we are taking the leap and buying a house. We will try to make this place work for us, even if I have to run against the legislative troglodytes myself in 2016. We're already talking about taking Joe's vacation in February next year. Meanwhile, we are nervous and excited. We move the second week in May. Here's a pic of our house. It's semi-detached, so we only have the left side.  We met with the inspector today, who found some small wiring and plumbing issues. We hope the current owners will correct these issues.

Real Estate, Part III

One thing I wanted to do in 2015 is move. We live in a firetrap townhouse (the insulation on the lower floor says "Flammable: Do not leave uncovered." It is, next to the furnace, hot water heater, and dryer. We are also in a three-story house, where it's a full flight up to get the groceries to the kitchen. Our next oldest neighbor in the other  twelve townhouses is twenty-eight. We don't go to football games, but we are close enough to the stadium to have to plan our movements on football day to avoid the messed-up traffic and noise.

We talked about owning, but there was a voice in our heads that said "Morgantown is not home." If that's true, then we don't have a home. I'm five years out of Los Angeles, Joe is ten years out of San Francisco. We have people in New York, Washington, Memphis, Buffalo and various places in Florida. We are not really planning on moving to those places.

On Sundays, I typically check out the real estate section of the local paper. I learned from my unfinished graduate work in urban studies that the easiest places to move are the middle of a city and the outer edges. Tree of Life, where Joe is the rabbi, is two blocks across  Decker's Creek from downtown Morgantown. There are three historic districts on The National Register (Chancery Hill, South Park and Greenmont) in that part of town. Many of the members of the congregation live in that part of town. Prior to the 1960s, Jews didn't live anywhere else in town. There are new townhouses being built around the edge of the city. The problem with the old houses is that while they are beautiful, they are expensive if remodeled, and unlivable if not.The new houses tend to be ugly and far from just about anything.

I look for more modern houses within five miles of the synagogue. Our townhouse is only 2.8 miles away, but through the University, meaning the traffic on the ancient streets is always backed up, and when classes are in session, one has to drive miles out of the way to avoid students walking to class.

Last Sunday, I saw a listing for a typical Liberty Road-style 1950s split-level house in South Park. An anomaly in that neighborhood. I called the agent for the house Monday and Joe and I went to see it Tuesday. It's only slightly bigger than the house I grew up in in Baltimore, and from the same time period. That house was cramped, but we were four. Two of us should be able to handle it. At sixty years old it can also be part of the historic district it is in, although most of the neighborhood is from the early twentieth century.

Yesterday we were pre-approved for a loan. I have enough cash for a down payment and the monthly payments will not likely be more than we pay in rent. The price seems too high. Of course, a similar house in Los Angeles would be in a rough Valley neighborhood and cost twice as much; in New York, it would be thirty miles out from Manhattan and cost a million dollars.

There may be other, nicer houses for less money, but not in South Park, which is where we really belong. It is the one liberal neighborhood in this otherwise troglodyte conservative part of the world. It's probably the only neighborhood in the 300 miles between Pittsburgh and Charleston where you might see an old "Obama" sticker on a car. This isn't an easy state to live in.

Buying a house might be the kind of "leap of faith" Joe took when he quit his job at Wells Fargo at forty-seven to start a five-year program to become a rabbi. Looking at a fifteen or thirty year loan at our age is daunting. And buying means we plan to stay here in Morgantown.

Still, it would be great to have a mid-century house, a flat yard, a finished basement to put our stuff in, a back deck to entertain in the summer, and neighbors who are already our friends. We might finally be in a home.

We still have work to do before this house is ours. We have inspections, price negotiations, dealing with banks, and then the logistics of moving to deal with. I'm hopeful.

I called this post "Real Estate, Part III" because Parts I and II were about our venture into real estate in Crescent City, California, described in my previous blog, "Barry's Excellent Adventure." It also appears in my book, Barry's Crescent City Blog: A Jewish Gay Man On California's North Coast.

I've spent a half-hour trying to upload pics from my phone and correcting the extra capital letter in the "Labels" section a dozen times. I'm so frustrated with how poorly this format works, I could strangle Sergei Brin (founder of Google) myself.