Sunday, April 23, 2006

Yesterday we drove around looking at rental homes. Yikes. Have I ever complained about the Treehouse? I take it all back, 'cause it's slim pickings out there people. We looked at one place that sits in the middle of a postcard neighborhood, but it's surrounded by light industry and growers, and the steady hum of the freeway is the constant soundtrack. Further south we were in the Navy Bachelor's Taj Mahal. "We figured we don't need a dining room, so we just built this wet bar instead. And outside we want to keep this permanent keg set up." They also need the tenant to keep an eye on the engine block they're storing in the garage. The rest are too small or too, too funky and a great many of them are homes that are not selling; as a last resort desperate owners decide to rent out their lovely, overpriced homes, and hope that some poor tenant will be smitten enough to eventually buy.

How small is too small? No one seems to know. A lot of the houses we go to see are advertised as one size, like 2,200 sq. ft, but in truth are only 1,600 sq. ft. Cozy.

Okay. Time to shower. Time to rouse the children, and convince them to join us on our quest. "Life is an adventure. Isn't this great! Hey, let's see if there's a yard. It could be worse. We think this might be the one. Because I said so..." They're team players. They're wonderful. We're going to find them someplace nice.

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