Have I Got a Deal For You!

We, the family, and this time it's the extended family, have made an offer on a piece of property. We looked at the listing price, the qualities of the property, and thought hey, let's make an offer.

The goal is a place that the family can enjoy. Deanna, Quinn and I will eventually live ther full-time, and there will be a classy small garage apartment, that will never be called that out of respect for the governing municipality, for the grandparents. And that leads me to the interesting point about real estate dealings. Essentially this. They are all about bullshit!

The spot is a dream. Walking distance to Sound and Ocean. Potential views of both considering that the structures will be raised to be out of flood-harm's way. But this is not about hopes and dreams. It's about making offers.

So we want to make an offer. Obviously we want the property, or we would have spent our evening watching a movie. But, we have to act like we could care less, all the while promising to pony up a hundreds of thousands of dollars. So, after a nerver wracking few days of phone calls to mortgage lenders, all of the family members involved, and several waking moments in the night. I email the agent, and act disinterested. Like it would be a favor to the owner if I took the property off of his hands.

Then the owner, who's had the property listed for five years with as many realtors acts like he doesn't need to sell the thing. Like he couldn't care less. And the charade continues. The problem here is that no one pays full price. So the price isn't actually a price, and the offers aren't actually offers. Sometimes, it's a war of atrician. We banter about, until someone breaks down. Other times, it's more like the war on terror. We all think we are getting somewhere, and then some jack-ass from Jersey rolls up and pays full price.

The bottom line is that the negotiation creates more negotiation. No one has a number because the age old question of What can your afford? has no real answer. Hell, ask the government. We're all, accept for devout Quakers, playing a game of hot potatoe. Debt gets thrown around like the hot potatoe, and when the music stops, who's holding the bag. Who knows, but I can tell you this seller and I could care less! Shit, it's just money. We don't let bullshit like money bother us. Right !?

Of Canda Geese and People

Every Fall the Outerbanks becomes host to flocks of migratory birds. Like other moderately temperate Mid-Atlantic locales, our estuary is overrun by variouse species of waterfowl. It's pretty impressive, and a substaintial, yet gentle, reminder of the natural course of things.

Why might you ask am I remided of such a definitively winter occurrence? Not all of the geese return to their summer breeding grounds. Some stay, year-round. They seldom breed, but sometimes do. There has to be a pair, and they mate for life, I'm told. Chicks born to these staggling pairs are up against substantial odds. Food is pletiful, but so are predators. Most of them are singles. Maybe they are older, or injured, or just lazy. They create impromptu flocks, and pretty much just hang out. They aren't out of place, because this is their home away from home.

They are however, not inspiring. They do not fly in majestic formation, flaunting their endurance and single mindedness. They are in a sense counterfeit geese. Yet, by all technical parameters, they are geese. Through and through.

People migrate to the Outerbanks too. Some for weeks at a time, some for years. People are different from geese, in that they do not all operate on the same biological clock. Entry and exit to and from this humble beach region is not set in stone. However, on the same day that I spotted the motley flock of subgeese. I noticed a hitchhiking aquaintance of mine, that is in many ways subhuman.

I'm not sure that he always was. I know from several trips down Colington road, and an odd visit to my yard from time to time, that the indivudual in question has some kids roaming around the beach, by several mothers roaming around the beach. He is a carpenter by trade, but lots of us are. I'm not sure that is significant. The fact is, he has gone to work before, and at times there was enough money flying around a job-site to make him feel like he was getting ahead. Really establishing a foothold. Maybe not, maybe there was just enough cash to get some beer and coke and have a great couple of nights.

I've seen him in better shape, and worse shape. Sometimes he looks completely fine, but he's not. He's got issues with booze and poor planning. If you asked him, I'm sure he can't tell you where it all went wrong. Even as an observer, if his whole life were layed out before you. I doubt you could pick out a moment.

Likewise, the geese. They either get out of here on time, or they don't get out of here. Is it the moment that their flock takes off, and they are left behind. Or, is it earlier in the season, when their partner is lost or hit by a car. Or is it when they decide to go out for tacos the night before they know they are suppose to leave. People are similar when it comes to living a the beach. Some are made for the place, and are never home until they get here. Some don't stay longe enough. Some come and go as the mood suits them, and live richer lives for it. Some stay too long. And when they do, you can spot them. You may not know what exactly is amiss, but you know something is.

I say all of this to coin a phrase. Nobody wants to be rude or judgmental. And so, I'll try to keep it scientific. I've not named my associate, and I don't have to. He's a stray goose. Others like him are stray geese. No value judgement neede, just a statement of the facts.