Mi Casa es Su Casa…or Somebody’s Casa…I Hope

So far, the most stressful part of building a new house has been the process of trying to get rid of the old one. My condo, which I purchased new in 2004, is now officially For Sale, and besides knowing that strangers are going to be peering into my closets and cupboards and snooping around my bookshelves and refrigerator (so many condiments! so little fruit!) there are a host of other nerve-rattling issues at hand.

For one thing, I have to keep the place perpetually and unnaturally clean—no more stand-up snacking in the kitchen and leaving a puddle of crumbs on the floor. No more avoiding the cat box for 5-7 days. My kitchen smells like bleach. My sinks are toothpaste-globless. I can sanitarily lick the bathroom floor (not that I’d want to). I can see through the shower door. If I need something to wear, I actually have to look in the closet, since I’m no longer maintaining what Urban Dictionary.com calls a “floordrobe.” Most extraordinarily, I arise each day, make my bed, and daintily arrange the throw pillows in an eye-pleasing pattern (stripes/solids/stripes/solids). It’s almost like they planted the For Sale sign in my front yard and I turned into my mother.

Prepping to sell the condo, I did some research about “staging” it for sale—which is pretty much what it sounds like. “Stop thinking of your house as your home; think ‘this is a product to be sold, like a box of cereal on the grocery store shelf’” one site advised. The same web page suggested that I arrange all my coffee mugs with the handles facing the same direction and alphabetize my spice jars. WTF?! People see that, and they’re going to think the place is possessed by the ghost of Julia Roberts’ husband from Sleeping with the Enemy. I’ll spring for the expensive cat litter that clumps together and makes poo smell like pinecones, but I am NOT alphabetizing kitchen supplies.

The Bellingham real estate market is a little saturated right now, but my place has a lot to offer. Even if it weren’t my house and it was a box of cereal, I’d still think it was more Kellogg’s than Food Club. The location is prime—a two-minute walk to stores and restaurants, Padden Creek trail, and Fairhaven Park—and my neighborhood is clean. There’s even a nice woman named Joanie who walks around collecting cans and bottles, and the bi-monthly 4 a.m. street-sweeping keeps Old Fairhaven Parkway sparkly. It’s generally pretty quiet here, except on Sunday mornings when the church across the street is blasting its live Jesus rock. Forgiveness and eternal joy have never sounded so unappealing.

I also have an attached garage (a cozy home for the Vanbulance), a fireplace, and gorgeous custom-made built-ins created by James Bradbury of Sycamore Woodworking and Building. My books and pets and craft supplies have always felt safe and warm here. If the site on 17th and Donovan hadn’t become available when it did, I would be staying in this condo much longer. But one home is enough, and this one will be perfect for someone else. Throw pillows not included.