April 30, 2007, long awaited, began in chaos. After receiving a quick contract on the house, requiring settlement within 3 weeks, I was ready to move on. The movers, however, were not. Scheduled to appear at 8:30 a.m., is anybody surprised that they showed at 10:30? Numerous phone calls and rising anxiety were not productive. Of course, walk through was for 11 a.m. and settlement at noon. Not happening. I couldn't locate my realtor, his assistant's phone was permanently parked on voice mail; somebody help me, please!
I finally located the number for the buyer's agent and informed her of the dilemma. The buyers were on their way and there was complete hysteria and recriminations on her part. Having sold real estate in a previous life, I knew these things happened and, with cool heads, could be managed. While we're "chatting," up walks the husband. The movers felt they would be finished by 1:30 and the walk through and settlement could be done after that. Not.
Up comes the selling agent in his white Benz, the Lone Ranger on Tonto, to save the day. He had contacted the settlement person who was on her way. I would sign the papers and get on the road. The buyers would sign after the walk through at their lender's office. Sounds good? Not.
1:30 p.m--The moving company has sent 3 additional workers to get me out of there. Keep in mind that over half of my belongings had been in storage for 6 months. Where did all this stuff come from? Thank God for the two James; brother and friend. They had arrived on Sunday to help pack and store things like tools, etc. It's walk through time and the house is not empty nor in broom-clean condition. I've signed the papers though. Then, the first piece of bad news: they can't get the washer/dryer and refrigerator out of the basement. Not through the basement door or up the steps. I'd measured, my brother measured, my friend measured. It would be tight but could be done. What to do? I need to get out; the buyers are back and chomping at the bit. So, the washer/dryer and refrigerator stayed. For FREE! The second piece of bad news: the movers chipped a section of the upstairs wall, that angles into the hallway, while moving my desk. Holy ***! And did I mention that I couldn't find the keys to turn over to the new owners? Up and down the stairs, everybody has joined in the search, and where were they? On the counter, under my dress bag.
My friend, Gladys, had come over and was busy dusting as I ran haywire all over the place, trying to be in more than one place at a time. Thank you, Gladys. Finally, we're finished. It is 3:30 p.m. The movers are pulling away from the curb, Gladys and I give a last look around and close the door. We're sure that the buyers are somewhere near. Sure enough, as we are getting into the car, here they come. Must have been parked on the corner.
Pulled away from 723 without looking back. No regrets. A quick, last meal with Gladys (Lord, have we had our share of meals) at the McDonald's on Barry Place and I'm off. Teary-eyed. Not a tear shed for Gresham Place but for all the good friends left behind. I'm bone-tired but have to be in Roanoke that night because I have a reservation at the Wyndham. Oh, and there was no disbursement that day, so I'm traveling on faith.