Tag Archives: home sales

Mr. (Not) Right

Welcome to Team Henneke, where everybody not only wants to be right, but needs to be right.

No way will we give into the other person because that would be — wrong.

We have to be right about everything, it seems. Including the exact date when dad first reached puberty, the number of times he posts on Facebook each day, who did the last load of towels and the proper location for toothpaste on the bathroom counter. mr-right

At our house, folks exercise their right to be right in practically any instance. It could be during a blessing on the food, during a football game or in a room full of VIPs.

As for me, I can’t say here if I am right or not, because somebody might take issue with it. Because it’s my blog, just pretend that I speak the truth for the next 30 seconds.

It doesn’t matter to me as much if I win a debate. I don’t care to defend any allegations that somebody does more housework than me. Or that nobody believes me when I deny any responsibility for using the milk jug as a doorstop.

Actually, it’s quite entertaining to purposely mess with those who have to be right. It shakes them up, makes them question the very reason for their existence.

The key is to calmly state any of the retorts listed below and walk away.

1. The sun won’t come up tomorrow.

2. I don’t owe you any money. If it’s not on Facebook, it didn’t happen.

3. Yes, I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. I’m not at my best under general anesthesia.

4. I firmly believe Congress will do the right thing.

5. Nobody has shown any conclusive evidence that leaving mayo out for six hours can be harmful to you.

6. That Billy character on Family Circus should do stand-up. He’s that funny.

Now that I know my place, I don’t always need to have the last word. Unless you disagree with me, then I will have speak up.

Because, let’s be honest. It’s the right thing to do.

The magic chair

I love this chair.

It doesn’t look like a magic chair when you see it at first.

It’s the one with the comfortable cushion seat, a high back complete with the buttons and rust-colored fabric straight from Goodwill central casting.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s not a bad thing to be associated with Goodwill. That’s where my wife gets her best inspiration, revelations from on high about that hidden soap carving of Tom Selleck’s 70s mustache, waiting to purchased.

I have nothing but love for my chair right next to my nightstand, consisting of two gray Rubbermaid containers. On top of the two plastic bins sits a borrowed black desk lamp.This is the night stand that Home & Shack wants a cover story on.

At this moment, a laundry basket sits in the middle of the narrow living room with dingy white walls. Four (clean) black socks hang on the side of the basket where they’ve rested for at least a week.

I’m grateful for my borrowed chair because it’s so comfortable. It brings some life to a colorless place filled mostly with silence.

But that’s not entirely the reason for magic chair status. The real reason is that I’ve nearly read a complete book in that chair.

A book with pages.

It didn’t come with an app or a request to put it on my Google reader. Nor was it downloaded.

It was just me in the chair, illuminated by the light of a 60-watt bulb, learning about faith.

I can’t tell the last time I read a real book. Probably more than a year since it happened. There always something to watch, brainless websites to scan, Netflix shows to watch.

I can’t say for sure if I would have started to read again without the chair. But I know it felt good sitting there, turning real pages like the old days. I forgot what an escape it was to read with no TV or any other sound.

If you’ll excuse me, I have some reading to do.

In the chair. Depending on the book, I bet it might even be magical.

At least one Realtor cared

First you should know how much I distrust Realtors. In the Great Circle of Life, they fall somewhere below journalists and above car dealers and lawyers.

On Tuesday, I welcomed two real estate types who promptly handed me their cards, as all good Realtors do. They were cordial and professional, despite the fact that I had stumbled out of bed from my mid-morning nap without a shower.

After briefly walking through my house, their first advice to me was how to figure their commission. When I called them, I told them I was looking for help, somebody to advise on where to go next with our home. One other piece of advice: Consider a short sale. Thinking about it later, they looked as excited as watching Harry Reid read the phone book on C-SPAN.

And they were gone.

Aleya Murphy, a broker with Town & Country Realty, arrived Wednesday for her appointment, carrying her company’s marketing plan and detailed information I could use to potentially sell our home. In the back room, the dog vocally registered her dismay for being barred from sniffing our guest. 

Like my Realtor guests from Tuesday, I told Aleya I was not committing to a real estate expert. I told her my quandary, how I suspected the current housing crunch would leave upside down with our home.

That didn’t stop her. She still went through exhaustive work for me, knowing that we most likely wouldn’t be in a position to sell our house for several months. In fact, until she walked in, we had given her zero commitment to hire her to sell our house.

Not only did she patiently explain the numbers to me, Aleya offered some specific advice on what we could do to get our house ready.

By the time, she was done, I told her I would commit to her if I had anything to say about it.. Several months from now when we are ready to sell our house, I won’t call the Realtors who seemed bored and disinterested.

I will be calling the person who showed interest in my house and my situation. And you if you need her to help you in the mid-Willamette Valley in Oregon, you should call Aleya as well.