Sleeping Buddha Poster from Zazzle.com

Sleeping Buddha Poster from Zazzle.com

Our Song--Matthew Sweet's "Waiting"

So I'm still waiting for some kind of official notice that we really and truly have a loan, and that we therefore will really and truly have a house that we have a right to call our own next week. Supposedly next Monday. So far all I have is what my husband says the broker's assistant says the bank says, which is apparently "yes." Not exactly sure when, but yes. Don't get me wrong. In my book that means the house is moving closer, rather than farther away like it was three days ago. But as a lawyer (by training if not by current practice, or even current mindset), all this hearsay doesn't really do it for me. So I'm still waiting for confirmation and a little more peace of mind. The song "Sitting Here in Limbo" keeps running through my mind. But then what came through much more clearly, and so much more sweetly, was my husband's and my "our song": Waiting by Matthew Sweet.

I've had a bunch of relationships in my day, several of them very sweet and/or committed, but most of them a total nightmare even to remember. The latter largely because I never knew how to value myself and so kept picking men who didn't, either. John, my beloved spouse, is emblematic of the traditional complaint that girls always fall for assholes instead of the guys who can really love us for who we are. My long road to John is a story for another day, but suffice it to say he was the nicest of nice guys, and therefor scared the hell out of me. I couldn't be responsible for that! But he knew what he wanted, and he never changed his mind in the course of the eight years it took us to come together--even if he would have liked to, and frequently had to separate himself from me for years at a time until I figured it out. Somewhere in there, he introduced me to Matthew Sweet's album, "Girlfriend." "Girlfriend" itself is a great, rocking song. Wonderful to sing at the top of your lungs riding along the beach with the top down or the windows open, or both. But "Waiting" --oh. My heart lifts and twists at the same time. Sweet's voice is clear and pure on this one. And the voice and the music and the lyrics are all so full of that early summer of gentle longing, a yearning but with a feeling that there is real hope that this dream will come true. When I hear it I feel that exquisite sensation of just beginning to suspect that the one you love might actually love you back. It hasn't happened yet for sure, but you think it's about to, and the waiting is worth it. In fact, the waiting makes it better. Its maybe even its own separate form of pleasure. I've never really had an "our song" with anyone else. I'm not even sure that John thinks of it exactly that way, but I know he associates it inextricably with me, and I with him, and that it belongs to us.

It makes me smile to think of that song. I think I'll go play it. And you won't believe this, but honest to God, when I started writing this I didn't think that the song had any parallels to the house other than the title. But maybe it does. That would be cool.

I'll leave you with pictures of the yard today, and picture of the boxes I'm tackling downstairs. You couldn't see the back door before, so there's some progress.

Doing the Math, and My New Favorite Bank

Note to self: one day plus four hours is 28 hours, not 32. So it was at 32 hours and about ten minutes (not 36) that John called to say that Lender Number Two "said yes." He says it's a done deal, and that we will likely close next Monday, maybe Tuesday. Enormous relief all around. But since I haven't seen anything in writing from anybody yet, I have only exhaled about halfway. I'm like that. When it actually happens, I will shout to the rooftops the name of this paragon of banking. In the meantime I will note that our mortgage broker/relocation lender is nearly as p-o'd at "BOSA" as we are. And, interestingly, yesterday morning BOSA pulled all of the credit lines of its "Countywise" mortgage customers, claiming financial difficulties. So it seems that perhaps if our loan sale had been in front of any other bank but this one, the fact that our 2008 tax return was filed late might have been no biggy, rather than potential financial meltdown.

I do remember that I said I'd feel silly for all this gloom and doom and angst if Lender Number Two said yes yesterday. And I do. Eight days of worry, and I fall apart and start spilling my guts (and sort-of online, no less, even if this still isn't live) on day two. But the anxiety and anger had to go somewhere, and infinitely better that it went here than on my sweet, relieved husband, or on our hardworking mortgage broker. John and I came through it as a team, provided one discounts my literary incontinence, and the broker got us this new loan so fast, she says, because she felt she owed it to us for how nice and constructive we were when things went bad. Thank John for that. I was polite, but I was not-so-subtly playing bad cop to John's good with both the broker and our incredibly patient, calm and cooperative sellers--for whom the lack of loan was nearly as bad a fact as it was for us.

And "the lesson" is not so illusory after all. We aren't entitled to this just because we've experienced loss. We were foolish and self-indulgent and it nearly cost us hugely. We're lucky--knocking on wood--and we won't forget it. And we won't forget that as long as we hang together, everything else is gravy. Given that this started to be a blog about decorating a new house, I suspect I'll be reminding myself of that frequently as I repeatedly defer buying "the" perfect rug for the living room (it really is...!) until we get our financial house in order and have some savings again.

My stomach still hasn't unclenched. I think it's going to take keys in hand, maybe even my son tucked into his bed in his "for keeps" room, to do that. That's probably okay. I need to lose some weight anyway.

The Here and Now

No word yet from Lender Number Two. In fact, no word yet from our mortgage broker or her colleague. For, let's see--going on 32 hours now. We put together our letters explaining why our 2008 tax filing was so late (in sum: documents still in boxes, our bank --we'll call them BOSA--holding up our safe deposit box in LA, and, since we didn't owe but rather had a sizable refund coming we just plain didn't focus as soon as we should have on getting it together), and why we missed mortgage payments on the ski condo we ecstatically bought three weeks before the relocation was announced. On that one, something interesting: we figured that when our mortgage lender, we'll call them Countywise, was acquired by BOSA, they messed up our billing the first month. Correct: we have no statement for that month. We couldn't figure out how we managed to miss another payment later on, though, and figured we must have somehow missed a bill in the course of the move. Not so correct. On reviewing all of our records and BOSAs transcripts of the loan, it turns out BOSA adopts a billing system pretty much designed to result in default if you miss a payment.

In our case, our payment was due on the 5th of the month. BOSA sent its statement on the 2nd of month one --and on the 28th! of month two. So we'd get a statement either day before or on the day that our payment was due, and the next statement nearly TWO MONTHS later! No 15 or 30 days past due notice if you miss a payment: your next statement comes a day or two before you are in 60 day default. In our case, our attempts to set up automatic payments through our bank (would you believe, also BOSA?) had failed, but we didn't know that. We got a statement on July 2 that we thought we paid online. Then we moved to Virginia. The very next statement was dated August 28--so it came while we were on vacation in the first week of September. When we got back after Labor Day, we picked up a stack of mail at the post office that contained not only the first statement that showed a missed payment, but a notice of default and acceleration. Credit rating trashed. Thank you so very much, BOSA, our bank of 20 years.

Oh--did I mention the name of Lender Number One who backed out on our loan three days before closing last week? Why, yes, yes it was BOSA. Really hope Lender Number Two says yes so we can move our accounts there immediately--otherwise we may have to spend a week thinking about where to put the money we're definitely taking out of BOSA.

OK--so enough of anger, spite and self-justification. The fact remains that we can only blame BOSA/Countywise for the fact that they trashed our credit rating and made our loan rate higher, and even then we can really only partially blame them. We missed the payments; they set up the system to make that likely, but not necessarily inevitable. We're in this position of having NO loan (rather than just an overpriced one) not because of mortgage payments, but because we didn't get our act together and file our tax return anywhere close to the deadline. A completely self-inflicted wound. Lender Number Two may be willing to close without the tax transcript that won't be available for a month if our explanations are clear enough. We've explained. They'll read, they'll decide. Nothing to do now but wait.

So, how to wait productively and without driving my friends crazy? (Going on 33 hours of silence now.) I should say up front that the laundry is done and I can't bring myself to cook, because my stomach still hurts and because I don't like being a housewife to begin with and it isn't improving my mood one bit. So what to do that helps somehow? Writing, obviously, a given whether it helps anybody or not.

Well, forward planning/design daydreaming/furniture shopping on Craigslist is right out. Can't imagine tempting fate any further with that stuff. Rehashing is done and, reading it over, boring as well as unproductive. So, what is there to do in the here and now, that acknowledges the lesson from yesterday that it's us and not the house that counts in the end? One, go out on the deck and admire the backyard. It's gorgeous at the rental house right now--the trees have fully leafed and what was a bunch of gray sticks in the air three weeks ago is a complete canopy of green. Azaleas are busting out all over in pink and fuchsia and red and white, and something pale lavender that is maybe rhododendron? Beautiful, sunny, temperate spring day. Ah.

Two, what if anything can I do to make sure that nothing further goes wrong? Pay bills. Check. Three, go through all the crap downstairs and sort it for sale, donation, trash and "actually to be moved with us whenever and wherever that may be." Doesn't count as planning for moving to THE house, because the downstairs is overwhelmed with junk we move to get to stuff we need, and at the very least this has to be done before our lease here is up, house or no house. Sounds mindless and time-consuming. In fact, sounds perfect.

Okay. Three and a half hours of sorting and I feel like I've done something worthwhile for our current comfort (more space), for society (lots of donations and recycling), and for whatever comes next (five boxes eliminated, only 24 more to sort). I can wait; I now have a mission. I'm so lame, and I'm such a liar. 36 hours? Can that possibly not be bad news?

I'm Sure There's a Lesson Here

Just for the record, yesterday's post really wasn't supposed to be so melodramatic. My husband came in to bed just as I was starting a post, and I found that I really didn't want him to see that I was blogging about this--even if not for publication. I'm trying hard not to hurt him with anger and recriminations and be a team player and loving partner and all that while we try to figure out what to do about this mess. I've SAID I'm angry, which is true, but I've also said that it will be okay. Which is true about us, ultimately, but I am honestly not at all sure that it is true about the house or our finances. And if those things wind up not being okay, it is going to take a lot more work and probably counselling (marital and financial) to ensure that our family stays okay.

And it occurs to me over and over again that I'm going to feel pretty damned silly if the lender says "okay" tomorrow and gives us a loan. What does it mean about me that, if the loan comes through, all of this upset and sense of doom and inevitability will go away, and suddenly everything will be great and all our decisions perfectly justified? Surely if there is a lesson to be learned if it all goes wrong, the lesson should still be thee if it only nearly goes wrong but ultimately comes right? And if not, is that because the "lesson" is only a morbid figment of my imagination (more than possible given my particular psyche), or because we (and everybody) so want to believe that being lucky means the same thing as having done right?

Of course, the first lender, the one that was supposed to give us a loan last week, did not say "okay." They said "no." And although John was pleased to hear that this second lender was willing to look at the loan, they actually had MORE things they wanted explained than the first lender did. So I doubt they'll say yes. And if they don't, every other scenario costs us considerable delay and either (a) a lot more money, or (b) literally ALL of our money. And I can't shake the feeling that God, or the universe, strongly felt that we needed a reminder that we were never entitled to anything, and wants us to really consider just how much we are willing to sacrifice for the symbolism of "Safety, warmth, security" of this house. A question that's been nagging at me ever since we decided to buy this perfect house, for a LOT more money than we had ever intended, and a lot more than we would have had to pay for a "very nice" house.

Also for the record, this blog was never supposed to be about whining about how my life is going to be ruined if I can't get a loan to buy the ridiculously expensive house in the D.C. area that we committed to buy while we were grieving over the loss of our ridiculously beautifully situated (if tiny and badly outdated and under-maintained) '50s rancher near the Pacific Ocean. It was supposed to be about the transformation we had worked on our old house, and its tiny lawn with the huge view, before we had to leave it; and about the very different house we're moving to and how it and the design changes we made to it reflects a different set of social and emotional needs; and what became essential even for a very short time to do to our rental house so we could feel at home here while we waited for the new "real" home; and all the things I'm finding on Craigslist and at flea markets to furnish the new house because we've spent all our money on built-ins and porches; and what geography and landscape and architecture and community all mean for identity, and how what we need from our homes can change based on all of that--and maybe even how we integrate ourselves into our new surroundings first by making our mark on our homes. But right now it seems absurd to talk about decorating this new house, and a bit maudlin to be looking back at our first house. Right now, it seems, I need to be focusing on the essentials. Which, it occurs to me, is not the same thing is obsessing about the current problem.

And so I think maybe the lesson here is that we convinced ourselves that our emotional needs are greater than they are, and that they could only be met by having this perfect house that would somehow take care of us. When in fact, reality consists in the lesson that we learned seven and a half years ago, and perhaps--incredibly-- managed to lose sight of: John and I, and now Nathan, can endure anything, live or be anywhere, as long as we have each other. Conversely, without that, no shelter--no matter how well proportioned, well-heated or well-lit--will ever console us. So I guess that's really why I didn't want John to see the blog yet. He's infinitely more necessary to me than a house.

Loanless, and Sleepless, in DC

Excedrin PM is saving my marriage right now. It may be quite some time before this blog goes live.

The Closing "Glitch"

It’s so ironic. From the moment we committed to build the house I’ve had an overwhelming, even suffocating sense of karmic dread--that we were getting too far above ourselves, or maybe that we were just putting too many eggs in one basket. We wanted to make it up to ourselves for all we'd lost by building a house that could give us a warm hug in the cold grey winters here. And something in me said "hubris" at the same time I said "yes, that's what we need." The dread didn’t abate until the paint colors I'd agonized over went up about a month ago; then it eased a bit. I hadn't ruined the house. It came back with the ridiculous landscaping costs two weeks ago that I no longer had the energy, this close to closing, to hammer back down as far as it really should go. But for the last week, finally, I haven’t been feeling dread but have finally admitted to some feelings of pride, longing, excitement and maybe only a little apprehension of the drudgery of the move. The house is done, it looks good, barring a few paint colors, and I was done making changes and costly, lifesavings-depleting decisions. No more guilt and worry, no more dread of financial disaster. In a couple more days we could finally have a real home, and really begin life again after 17 wasting months of loss and limbo.

And then, today, I think it all may have started down the hill to the calamity I feared. We didn’t manage to get our 2008 tax return filed until our loan documents were already pending. Today the lender found out that there is no 2008 tax receipt, and everything on our loan stopped. So it looks like we have no loan, at least not until our rate lock has already expired, and well after our contract requires us to close. But we have put a fifth of our net worth the house already, and we have no loan contingency in the contract. All of the scenarios for what to do now are going to wind up costing even more money, which makes my stomach hurt. But what really scares me is this thought--worse, it feels like recognition-- that's been swimming around in my stomach all day and has finally surfaced in my head: “I always knew deep down it would end in disaster, in complete and total loss. I somehow never could believe we’d all live there together. Losing Dodger and Mammoth and the Palisades house and Nathan’s school wasn’t the end of the losing. That was just the beginning. "

Of course, I’m an under-medicated (manic?) depressive with (some say) post-traumatic stress disorder. So we can always hope that this is just my crazy talking.

It has just occurred to me, horribly, that the last time were were this smug and joyous and full of plans about an anticipated event, the outcome was so devastating that we--or maybe just I--have never recovered. Oh, God. Please, I mean really please, let me be wrong about this one.

It’s so ironic. From the moment we committed to build the house I’ve had an overwhelming, even suffocating sense of karmic dread--that we were getting too far above ourselves, or maybe that we were just putting too many eggs in one basket. We wanted to make it up to ourselves for all we'd lost by building a house that could give us a warm hug in the cold grey winters here. And something in me said "hubris" at the same time I said "yes, that's what we need." The dread didn’t abate until the paint colors I'd agonized over went up about a month ago; then it eased a bit. I hadn't ruined the house. It came back with the ridiculous landscaping costs two weeks ago that I no longer had the energy, this close to closing, to hammer back down as far as ithey really should go. But for the last week I haven’t been feeling dread but rather have finally permitted some feelings of pride, longing, and excitement along with a little apprehensiveness of the drudgery of moving house again. The house is done, it looks good, barring a few paint colors that didn't quite work, and I was done making changes and costly, retirement savings-depleting decisions. No more guilt and worry, no more dread of financial disaster. In a couple more days we would finally have a real home, and really begin life again, after 17 wasting months of loss and limbo.

And then, today, I think it all may have started down the hill to the calamity I feared. We didn’t manage to get our 2008 tax return filed until our loan documents were already pending. Today the lender found out that there is no 2008 tax receipt, and everything on our loan stopped. So it looks like we have no loan, at least not until our rate lock has already expired, and well after our contract requires us to close. But we have put a fifth of our net worth into the house already, and we have no loan contingency in the contract. All of the scenarios for what to do now are going to wind up costing even more money, which makes my stomach hurt. But what really scares me is this thought--worse, it feels like recognition-- that has been swimming around in my stomach all day and has finally surfaced in my head: “I always knew deep down it would end in disaster, in complete and total loss. I somehow never could believe we’d all live there together. Losing Dodger and Mammoth and the Palisades house and Nathan’s school wasn’t the end of the losing. That was just the middle.”

Of course, I’m an under-medicated (manic?) depressive with (some say) post-traumatic stress disorder. So we can always hope that this is just my crazy talking.

It has just occurred to me, horribly, that the last time were were this smug and joyous and full of plans about an anticipated event, the outcome was so devastating that we--or maybe just I--have never recovered. Oh, God. Please, I mean really please, let me be wrong about this one.