The Force is with me . . .

I began the process of moving south a couple weeks ago. First step: contact a realtor. I tried to locate the woman I’d bought my place from, but she wasn’t listed under her name. A friend forwarded another name for consideration. Still mulling my options, I opened a section of the local paper and there she was! She and her husband had started their own firm shortly after I met her in 2007.

I left a message for her on Friday, February 8th. By Monday morning, no response. I fussed. Should I call again? Go to their office? Something told me to wait.

As I left the house to meet with friends at noon, key still in the door, my phone clanged. A youthful voice chirped a happy greeting. She and her partner had been assigned to represent me, if I wanted. I did. We made an appointment for Thursday.

On Thursday, the sun shone bright. The agent toured my place, snapping photos before settling details for the listing. On Friday, she brought the window sign. Then, under fog-filled skies, I left for a writer’s conference in Gold Beach.

At Winston, the mists cleared. Sun warmed the weekend, temperatures reaching the mid-sixties. Perhaps the brightness opened space for me to participate, to feel I belonged in this group of talented writers, and inspired the poetry I scribbled on scraps of paper.

Sunday, on the way back, my realtor called. I pulled over to listen to her message, then called her back.

“You’re not going to believe this,” she said. On Saturday, she had tried to create a video walk-through for the listing, but the camera hadn’t worked. On Sunday, her partner tried, but somehow locked herself out of the house!

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m just south of Cottage Grove. I’ll be there in thirty or forty minutes.”

As I approached the entrance to my manufactured home park, my phone rang. I picked up, expecting it to be my agent. Wrong. Another agent had showed the unit across the street from me. They’d seen my sign and wanted to get in.

“I’m almost there,” I said.

“We could just run across and look before you get here,” she said.

“No, no. You can’t. I’ll explain. Be there in a minute,” I replied as I rounded the curve and saw five people standing in my neighbor’s driveway.

They toured the house while I walked around the neighborhood. As she left, their realtor hinted there might be an offer.

There was. Is. OMG! Stay tuned for the woo-woo rest of the story!