My realtor tells me the market has been incredibly soft for the last two months, and that with the summer coming to a close, he expects things to pick up. I have a showing tomorrow (perhaps they’ll be charmed into offering by the flowering clematis), then house stuff is on hiatus until Labor Day.
I’ll be in North Carolina for a week to assist in Christopher Schwarz’s tool chest class at The Woodwright’s School. I’m the saw bitch (my term; not his). While everyone else is inside the air-conditioned shop merrily chopping dovetails, I’ll likely be outside on the front stoop in the August heat crosscutting stock. I will look bedraggled – but my triceps will look awesome after a few days of hard (but fun) labor.
The intern in my attic will be in the house (she’s staying through mid-October), but I can’t (or at least don’t) expect her to have to deal with keeping things in tip-top shape, or to rush home with just an hour’s notice to clean cat boxes, whip the sheets off the couch (defense against the dark arts of cat hair) and weed the garden.
But when I return, I’ll have less competition; the house a few blocks away that is similar to mine in style, size and price is under contract. I’m simultaneously glad it is (probably) no longer available and hurt that whomever offered on it didn’t like mine more. Maybe “my” “feral” cats scared them away?