Round Peg in a Square Hole

In 2008 I sold a house. I had remodeled the house back to its original character, pulling out 70s carpet and mobile home wallboard, and installing built-ins and woodworking true to the house’s 1920’s charm. After the sale, I realized I had forgotten a little ceramic sun, a smiling cherub made by a local artist. I went to the house and asked the buyers if they had the sun. They told me they had thrown it away. Shocked and hurt, I said goodbye and left. Over the next several months, I heard from neighbors I remained in touch with that they had ripped out the built-in bookshelves, torn out all the shrubs in the back yard, and cut down the giant tree in the front yard. After hearing this I vowed never to return to this place into which I had poured literally years of my life making beautiful. I did not want to see how it had been ruined.

Five years ago I bought another bungalow, my first after the sale of the house in 2008. Built in 1941, it had been a rental for over 20 years. The seller chose mine from several offers based on the letter I wrote to her telling her about my two daughters and my desire to make a home for them. I loved this little house. It was darling and sweet, with an arch between the dining and living room, and tiny arches over the door bell on the wall and the phone nook. This little place was simply lovely.

The seller had installed new windows and had some plumbing done before the sale. She installed a new sewer line, which tore up the front yard. She covered the wound with sod to spruce things up. Upon move in, I set out to create a habitat for birds and bees. I covered the sod with native plants in varying sizes. I installed a watering system to keep everyone happy in the summer. I nurtured and watered and pulled the grass out by hand. No poisons touched this place. I planted small trees that grew tall, fluffy medium bushes, and flowers–so many flowers! Every spring and summer the yard hummed with the life of pollinators and birds, flitting among the plant life, which grew prolifically.

In spite of my love for this adorable house, I gradually grew to despise the city in which it was located. Thousands upon thousands of people were moving into Portland, and it was changing, and not in a good way. It stopped being friendly. Traffic became unbearable. Costs skyrocketed. I decided I needed to live somewhere less obnoxious, plus our whole family wanted to be closer to the land and away from cement and fuel exhaust and noise. After nearly two years of consideration I put my little house on the market, vowing that this time I would find a buyer who loved the house as much as I had. Someone who would care for the plants and gardens. Someone who cared about the character of the place and would not rip out the built-ins in the kitchen to replace with ugly granite counters and steel appliances.

Immediately after listing, someone stole four blueberry bushes out of the backyard. They dug them up, filled in the holes, and covered them with mulch. This broke my heart. I cried and cried, hoping that whomever had taken them would care for them as much as I had. I could only hope that they would show as much care for these plants as they had for hiding the evidence of their thievery.

I received a couple of offers, but both were much below asking price. Two weeks after listing, I received an offer that was below what I was asking, but not by much. As part of the offer, the prospective buyers wrote me a letter telling me how lovely the plants and landscaping were, and how they had seen the yard grow and change over the years, and how this made the house special to them. Oh wonderful! I thought. These are the kind of people I’m talking about. These people will take care of my house. I counter offered to a higher price and they accepted.

I have often in my life discovered that I can be quite naive when it comes to treachery. I don’t see it coming and when it happens, I am shocked and angered at my own naivete. In spite of my efforts to try and make this house sale different, I stupidly did not ask the right questions and made assumptions based on this letter that the people actually wanted to live there and leave the plants alone.

Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. They have been gutting it and have a for rent sign out front and are planning to “thin” the trees and plants. Even worse, the neighbors discovered they are turning my darling bungalow into a duplex! (Although I guess I can’t call it mine anymore, now can I?) And unfortunately, since I let the guy know I was upset about this, he isn’t letting me come and remove the plants he is planning to kill at the end of the week. When I told the guy that I felt like I had been misled, he told me that he should never have talked to me because I am “too emotional.” Basically, Mr. Lack of Empathy turned his being a lying asshole into my problem because I had an emotional reaction to his destruction and dishonesty. What is really remarkable to me is that I had not really expressed much when he said this.

I’ve spoken to the neighbor, begged him to get in there and rescue things before they are killed. I don’t know if he will do it. He is one of the few people I know who loves plants as much as I do, but his yard is full and his husband has told him no more plants. I asked him just to take them out and I’ll come get them. The most frustrating part of this is the powerlessness that I feel. If I lived just a little bit closer, I would be there now with buckets and a shovel bringing those plants here with me. Getting further away from that city makes it that much harder to get there if I have some need to. I am going to complain about the realtor who brokered this deal, the realtor who allowed these people to lie to me and lead me to believe they were going to live in this house and take care of the plants when they were planning otherwise. I had many conversations with him about my desires. He knew what I wanted. He may have represented them and had a duty to them, but he also had a duty to be honest, and giving me a letter that implied other than their intentions was dishonest. At the very least, I am going to post reviews of him everywhere I can.

I don’t fit in this death culture. Most people, when they hear this story, ask me, “What’s the big deal? They’re just plants.” But why should it matter less because they are plants? Why are their lives worth less? Plus even more than that, what about the fact that habitat I created that was teeming with life? Why don’t those lives matter? For whatever reason, these liars want to destroy this mini ecosystem. No reason they could offer is justification for misleading me or for doing any of it. They want to gut the house and remodel? Fine, whatever. I’ve lived that. But to take out the plant life and destroy it, too is simply wrong. And telling me that this was what made the house so beautiful and special, just so that I would accept their offer is just plain evil.

This is the review I wrote onĀ  the agent who represented the buyers: Mr. Michalowski represented the buyers when I sold my house. As part of their offer, the buyers wrote me a nice letter stating how much they loved the landscaping and beauty of my charming little home, and how they had enjoyed watching in change during the years that I owned it. In the course of negotiations, I explained to Mr. Michalowski that I was excited to have someone interested who wanted to live in and take care of my house. I told him that I didn’t want someone who was just going to rent it out. He never once insinuated that the buyer’s letter was a complete lie and that they intended to gut the house, kill the plants I had spent years nurturing, and turn the thing into a duplex. He did well by his clients, letting them lie to me so that the sale would go through. Now the sale is done, his pockets are lined, and the neighbors I promised would have a family next door will be subject to living with renters who don’t give a damn about the house or anything associated with it. I offered to take any plants the buyers wouldn’t want, but Mr. Michalowski said the sellers could make these arrangements once the sale was done. Landscapers are coming this week to “thin” including taking out trees I spent a fortune on and spent years nurturing to ensure they would grow. Devious and void of any integrity, that is how I would describe both these buyers and Mr. Michalowski. If you want an agent who will do the devil’s bidding, if you want a smooth operator who will skillfully lie and evade, he’s your man. If you want honesty and above-board negotiations and information, run.

May Update

So it’s been a while since I wrote because I was in San Diego having a BLAST. It was so much fun. Unfortunately, on top of the blast, I had the worst sore throat I have ever had in my entire life. It lasted from the day I arrived until yesterday. I finally scheduled an appointment and went to the doctor today, but I was already feeling improved. The doctor did a strep swab and found nothing. He said I had a really nasty virus. I knew that. It still kind of hurts to swallow, but not like before.

I started a new part time job today. I enjoy the work. The attorney I’m working for is really cool. He’s totally down to earth and laid back, but does a great job and gets the work done. I’m liking the part time thing. I came home today with enough energy to write, which is saying a lot. I used to come home from my day job too whipped to write even a note. This will be good.

We changed my house listing today and dropped the price again. It is now $25,000 less than when we started and $26,000 less than the appraisal from this winter. This sucks, but I can’t pay for it now, so better to get what I can than lose it.

That’s all the news there is to update. Nothing much else exciting going on in my life other than the conference I attended. It was given by Steven Forrest, an astrologer whose work I see as changing the entire field from one of bullshit fortune telling into something that can be useful in people’s lives. I learned SO much. I came home wanting to work with all the charts I’ve done and talk to people about it. I love being able to offer some insight into a soul’s evolutionary journey. Plus I made some amazing friends and had some unbelievable experiences. Like the ghost.

Two nights after arriving, my roomie and I were awakened at 2:10 a.m. to three succinct, LOUD bangs on the wall. I had earplugs in and the bangs still sounded loud. I took out my earplugs and lay there in the dark. I finally asked my roommate if she was awake and heard the sounds. She said she had. We could see the light around our hotel room door. There was no one outside. We were also on the second floor so footfalls outside the door rattled our room. There were none. The room behind us was empty and no one was above us. The sounds seemed to come from the wall behind my bed. Since I had had the wretched sore throat, I turned on the light to get up and get some Ibuprofen. I went to the bathroom counter and the Ibuprofen was no where to be found. It was completely and utterly gone. We searched high and low, all the bags, on the floor, behind the refrigerator. It was simply not there. Through this experience, I felt a heaviness in the room and kept “seeing” in my mind a woman in the bathroom standing in the bathtub. She was wearing a long black dress with a high neck and long sleeves. It was of heavy material, like wool. Her hair was brown and pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck. She appeared to be in her thirties. The next day we told everyone about our experience. People looked at us slightly askance, but it was what it was. We were not joking. One person said we should try and tell the ghost to leave. That night, the two of us imagined sending the ghost on her journey. We told her she needed to move on to her place.

That night when I returned to my room, the energy there felt much less oppressive. My roommate and I both slept more soundly than we had since arriving. The next morning, I arose to get ready for the day. My roommate was in the shower. As I began sifting through my toiletries, there on the top of my bag was the Ibuprofen bottle. It was so weird. I think we sent the ghost on her journey and she left the bottle she could not take with her. I know it sounds bizarre, but this story is true.

Last Thursday was Milla’s birthday. It’s true. My baby is nine. She’s not a baby anymore. She is a full grown girl. She’s amazing. It blows my mind I made this new human. She is such a delight right now. She has been FANTASTIC in the mornings. She gets up, takes her shower, gets dressed, combs her hair, eats her breakfast, brushes her teeth, and is all ready to go. I get up, pack her lunch, drive her to school, and come back home, all in about ten minutes. I love it. We’ve been on time every day for months now. I hope this doesn’t jinx it! Next Saturday is Milla’s party. She was in Colorado with her dad on her actual birthday. It was the first birthday in her life I did not spend with her but I figure since her dad has missed the last four, he was entitled to have her for one. She loves it, she gets two parties. What kid could want more than that?