Wednesday, February 04, 2004
Earlier this week, the "Sale Pending" sticker went up on the realtor's sign next door. Yippee.
Just about every day some progress is made, even though the closing date isn't for a few weeks yet. Last week I met with the lawyers on the easement issue. It sounds like they might not need a survey, which makes me happy. Of course, I may end up having to get a survey later down the road anyway, but I'll pay that bill when I come to it.
Then, on Saturday, the Grok God -- my graphic designer savior -- plotted the driveway in Adobe Illustrator. It's so cool to see it there, on paper, and how it neatly covers every single corner of the four properties. Call it the driveway that binds. Of course, I aim to social-engineer the hell out of it so in no way can an RV get back there or an SUV.
Today I was reminded of how small Portland is. I was on the phone asking the guy at the Bureau of Environmental Services about sewer hookup. When I gave him the address of the property, he blurted out, "Hey, that's a friend of mine! I spent a lot of time over there, and we talked about his back lots all the time."
Speaking of my neighbor, I pulled the permits on his house, which go all the way back to excavation in 1929 and lo, here's a permit in 1989 for "oil to gas furnace." But then I remembered in the disclosures how he'd said there was no oil tank on the property, the bane of many Portland homeowners. So my realtor and I call my neighbor's realtor, who calls my neighbor, who says he was using coal to heat his house up until 1989. I wish I had a recording of my realtor saying, "Where was he buying coal in the city of Portland in 1989?" For now, I've got to believe him. Or I can track him down in Idaho later. Right.
Still, it occurs to me the coal thing fits right in with the primitive-ness of this whole deal. There was a permit, I noticed, issued to Mabel Bailey for a cesspool in 1967, the year I was born. Who knows what gadgets I plan to put in my house that will be considered antique in a few decades?
What kind of name is Galusha anyway?
Just about every day some progress is made, even though the closing date isn't for a few weeks yet. Last week I met with the lawyers on the easement issue. It sounds like they might not need a survey, which makes me happy. Of course, I may end up having to get a survey later down the road anyway, but I'll pay that bill when I come to it.
Then, on Saturday, the Grok God -- my graphic designer savior -- plotted the driveway in Adobe Illustrator. It's so cool to see it there, on paper, and how it neatly covers every single corner of the four properties. Call it the driveway that binds. Of course, I aim to social-engineer the hell out of it so in no way can an RV get back there or an SUV.
Today I was reminded of how small Portland is. I was on the phone asking the guy at the Bureau of Environmental Services about sewer hookup. When I gave him the address of the property, he blurted out, "Hey, that's a friend of mine! I spent a lot of time over there, and we talked about his back lots all the time."
Speaking of my neighbor, I pulled the permits on his house, which go all the way back to excavation in 1929 and lo, here's a permit in 1989 for "oil to gas furnace." But then I remembered in the disclosures how he'd said there was no oil tank on the property, the bane of many Portland homeowners. So my realtor and I call my neighbor's realtor, who calls my neighbor, who says he was using coal to heat his house up until 1989. I wish I had a recording of my realtor saying, "Where was he buying coal in the city of Portland in 1989?" For now, I've got to believe him. Or I can track him down in Idaho later. Right.
Still, it occurs to me the coal thing fits right in with the primitive-ness of this whole deal. There was a permit, I noticed, issued to Mabel Bailey for a cesspool in 1967, the year I was born. Who knows what gadgets I plan to put in my house that will be considered antique in a few decades?
What kind of name is Galusha anyway?
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