Gabriel and Danielle have given notice they are moving out of my Portland house; the end of an era! That sweet little family has lived there longer than I ever did.
And note: despite long-distance pressure from real estate developers and lascivious locals, I will not be selling.
I bought a derelict but promising property in a crack corridor in 1996. I made it habitable, and then resisted touching the equity as the neighborhood gentrified to become what is arguably the niftiest on the west coast.
Passerby and even the occasional neighbor have tried to buy it off me at a deep discount because they think, as the only shabby holdover from olden times, the owner doesn’t understand the market. This is a category error. I might be far away but I’m not stupid.
The house is both beloved and my only strategic concession to saving for the future. I have no pension, but I also have no debt. My mortgage can’t go underwater; in this way and perhaps no other, I was quite a clever kitten. And regardless of the antics of the economy, I will always have a place to live if I want to go back.
I couldn’t otherwise afford to buy there now, for sure – the area is painfully perfect and priced to match.
Though I do admit the house needs work. I am going to paint it in tribute to the constructivism movement (because I can’t afford to cover it in mirrors), and I will be looking for new tenants soon. Friends only as per usual.