[Update - 27 June/2053 hours local - just got a note from my property manager. The tenant needs one more month. So, I don't get to do my walk-through next week. I'm somewhat happy to help, but I'm ready to break camp. Let's wrap this thing up!]
I rode by my house Thursday, to get a quick glimpse of how things looked. My tenant's lease expires this weekend, and I anticipate going over there in the days to come to get things ready for the sale.
I used the phrase "low pass" because the phrase "drive-by" has unpleasant connotations. I certainly don't want that popping up on a Google search near my name, with the possibility of being required to explain to anyone what I meant.
(A "low pass" in aviation [paraphrasing here] is a scenario where an aircraft goes low enough near an aerodrome to allow the pilot or pilots to get a glimpse of the local aerodrome environment. Local control tower operatives would grant this permission, taking into account possible obstructions to controlled flight. Depending on the location, the actual altitude from one place to another may vary.)
Anyway, looking at my house from that emotional distance felt weird. My first wife and I bought it seventeen years ago, when other houses on the street were still under construction. It was the first house we'd ever bought, after years of back-and-forth (and not a small amount of trepidation on my part). We were blessed to acquire it, and my wife did a superb job of finding it.
Back in 1997, my part of the neighborhood was pretty much the north edge of the city. My across-the-street neighbors had cow pastures adjacent to their back yards. I remember many a morning waking to the placid mooing of cows that were in no particular hurry to get anywhere.
I'll admit, it's one part of the neighborhood that cracks me up to this day. I encounter plenty of folk on this end of town who seem surprised that a person of color lives in this area. I watched the neighborhood grow year by year (and ended up with stray construction nails in my car tires as a result). In the vast majority of cases, I arrived before most of the others did. But, how would they know, without actually asking?
Regarding the house itself, it looked in relatively good shape. The paint job I had done in the summer of 2011 appears to be in good shape. The parts of the roof I had repaired that same summer are also decent. There don't appear to be any gaping holes in the exterior. The fencing will need some work, but pickets at that size aren't hard to come by.
I have never met nor conversed with the tenant since she moved in two years ago. My property manager/realtor advised me to keep my distance. I'm satisfied with how he took care of things. I would recommend him to others in the area. In addition, since he and I are fraternity brothers, I do take some measure of satisfaction knowing the two of us could enter a mutually satisfying business arrangement. I felt from the start he'd protect my interests while earning enough to make it worth his while.
I'm not his only client, so I won't badger him for hourly updates or similar nonsense. But come Monday, I will feel a sense of excitement and anticipation I hadn't felt in years. It's one thing to talk about change, pray for change. It's another thing to be on the precipice of such change. I'm blessed and grateful that the years of waiting for this transition are coming to a close, and the time for action is at hand.
In a matter of weeks, I'll be on a highway towards Memphis. If you see me, please say hi. The first cheeseburger is on me...
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