My wife exclaimed, “Wick, I think I found our house!”
“When did it go missing?” I queried.
My wife was propped up in bed with a computer on her lap; a rather common Saturday morning occurrence. I was sitting in my recliner with a book in hand, periodically glancing at the lake that had finally given up its frozen cover. With a few exceptions, we come home to Moose Lake every weekend, and have for the past four years. Although we bought a second home in the Cities shortly after my wife took on her dream job as a big shot at a small publishing company, we still consider Moose Lake our real home. The fact that our renter commutes on the exact opposite days and direction as we do makes for an ideal setup to live the dual life of yuppies in the Cities and weekenders up at the lake. It really is the best of both worlds.
Our original plan was to buy a nice lake home in the Cities to replace our wonderful home on Sand Lake that was no longer home to our children. There is something about the San Diego and Phoenix weather that seems to keep them permanently away. Not that our children have any distaste for Minnesota. They are still huge Vikings and Twins fans, and they always speak proudly of growing up and going to school in Moose Lake. But they generally make it back home only once or twice a year. Conversely, we love making several trips out west every year.
After four years of a weekly 250-mile round trip, a Cities home that better met our weekday needs was becoming more attractive than ever. The only problem was finding the perfect home.Finding just the right lake that wasn’t too crowded became a real problem. Prices were great, but to try to replicate the idyllic home we had on Sand Lake with something similar seemed almost impossible.
Then Don Quixote appeared in the impossible dream on my wife’s computer screen when she exclaimed. “Wick, I think I found our house!”
The house was listed at 9 a.m. Saturday morning. Before the day was over, someone had put in an offer. On Memorial Day Monday, our realtor gave us the tour.
As we checked out this beautiful lake home, another offer came in. It appeared that a bidding war had begun. We went home, crossed our fingers, and put in what we felt was a very reasonable offer — one that at least gave us a chance of getting this perfect house. Then our realtor suggested something I had never heard before. She advised us to sit down and write a letter to the sellers. We gave them our most eloquent, heartfelt plea.
“We should hear by six o’clock,” our realtor advised. By midnight, we went to bed. It looked like the dream we wanted to dream that night was not to be.
At six o’clock the following evening, the call came through.
“They accepted your offer.”
“Could you say that again?” my wife asked. By then, I had picked up the other telephone to hear the repeat message, “They accepted your offer.” My wife let out a yell loud enough to pierce the realtor’s eardrum. She will spend her hard-earned commission having ear surgery.
Seriously, I think the realtor was just as happy as we were about the purchase of the house. She not only got the commission for this sale, she will also be selling our other home in Eagan. Whatever amount she gets, she will have certainly earned it. Over a four year period, she showed us over 120 homes. I had felt so guilty about her spending so many hours with us that I jokingly told her I had added her to my will just to repay her for all that unprofitable time.
“Well, you certainly became the most knowledgeable clients I ever had in real estate,” was all she could reply.