We arrived too early and sat nervously in the car for about fifteen minutes, waiting until the clock moved closer to our pre-arranged meeting time. We didn't want to appear too eager, like your stereotypical first time homebuyers, although we were eager. Eager to get the papers signed, eager to hold the key that unlocked the front door, eager to start our lives in our house.
The seller's realtor told us how close we came to losing this house, how our realtor messed up paperwork and missed deadlines. Clay and I looked at each other in shock; we had no idea. Now the three extensions of our closing date made sense.
We met the seller who asked if it'd be alright if he followed us to our new house, his old house, to pick up a couple of items he had remaining in the garage. Once there, he showed us the tree in the backyard that he planted when he and his wife first moved in 35 years ago. He told us tidbits on our new neighbors and took us into the basement where we learned that the lone cupboard there is a remnant of the original kitchen before the remodel. He gave us some pointers on maintaining the flowers his wife planted by the front porch and warned about the bee problem they created. He was going to miss this house, he said; he and his wife are retired now and are moving to where is stays summer all year. My eyes teared up a bit at the wistfulness in his voice.
I'm thankful for this tour. I'm thankful to be buying a house full of stories and memories. And I'm eager to create new memories and stories, here in our home.
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