KShe was my neighbor. She lived at the foot of the hill with her husband in a 2,200-square-foot home that is shaded by two massive old living oak trees. Kylie is in her early 20s, although I became poor at guessing people’s ages as I got older. Just the other day, I handed the car keys to a 10-year-old boy outside the restaurant, thinking that he was a valet. Be that as it may, Kylie’s morning run often ended when my dog walk began. We’ve been getting to know each other at five-minute intervals over the course of several years. I liked Kylie. She smiled easily and was always prone to gossip from neighbors. She baked cookies.
Then something tragic happened: Kylie got pregnant and moved to Frisco.
Oh, relax. I’m just kidding. Frisco isn’t that bad. And babies are fine too. But with one en route, Kylie and her husband decided they needed more space. Their job would still allow them to work from home. By selling their East Dallas home, along with lower interest rates, they were able to afford larger space with a pool and home office rooms. The day the sign appeared in her yard, I told Kylie that I understood and that now she was dead to me.
When my wife and I bought our first (and so far only) home, we never talked about how long we planned to stay. That was 21 years ago. We were about Kylie’s age. Our son is 1 year old. While the ink on his college diploma was still wet, he returned home, worked his first proper job, and saved money for the first lease he’d sign without our help. His sister, with whom he shares a bathroom with Jack and Jill, is 15 years old. He told me that one of his goals this summer is to spend more time with her, which almost made me cry. Another symptom of older age: cloudy eyes.
Thus, in the next few months, our humble abode will be crowded. But very soon, too early, the children will leave us, and I know that my wife will fill the void with her evil plans and the workers who will carry them out. My tears will be of a different shade. And she and I will end up being Connie and Vel from the block, senior statesmen, keepers of the neighborhood’s history, and the phone numbers of trusted plumbers. Connie and Vel live in their house next door to our 48 years old. They raised four children under their roof – and you can add four more from under ours. Such is the duty and pleasure to stay put.
So to all buyers and sellers in this crazy market, I say good luck folks. I hope that you will find something useful or at least interesting in these stories from our July issue that go online today. Here is Joseph Guinto’s exploration of the craziest market in history.… As well as here is a snapshot of the market in early 2021, showing you what was available and at what price.
And to our real estate agent who helped us buy a house over two decades ago: I’m so sorry that I was the worst client ever.