Captain Pike's Ship Log II

It's really getting crazy around here. Things are happening, more or less according to a wild-*** prediction of mine; but to see it thus unfolding is still hard to believe!

Housing prices falling tens of percent overnight. The places which seemed to be impervious to the rest of America's plight; the arrogant aristocracy's perchs, pompously out of reach of the clawing demise of the po' folks thrashing tentacles, now tumble tenfold into this sea of foreclosure. I can't believe we bob and pitch about like pieces of broken Styrofoam, worthless yet buoyant in our debt-less life raft of reasonable credit rating on an over-leveraged, equity-less ocean of failed personal-finance. Our meager little salary trickles in, paying our trimmed down expenses while castles fall all around us. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

And if that weren't enough, that needed commodities are getting cheaper, interest rates are falling too. It's almost like one of those doomsday stories, where 99% of the population is wiped out by some hellish virus. The survivors can loot the dead of their worthless cash, or, jump in a new vehicle and drive it till it runs out of gas, then jump in another one, continuing on.

Our new paradigm runs something like this. Search the net for houses with prices listed at just about twice what we could afford. Clicking for more details, more often then not, we are seeing properties in "short sale" status -- people working with their bank, trying to get just about anything offered for their overmortgaged homes, as they proceed toward foreclosure. Sometimes it seems sad, the rapid exit folks have taken, still obvious when we view their homes. Family portraits still hanging on the walls, little stuffed toys, dogeared by love, found behind appliances or on closet shelving.


It reminds me of the hasty retreat I once beat from the first house I ever bought. My mother was dying of cancer, my then-girlfriend (the LMW) had moved into mom and dad's house -- vowing to nurse my mother through her last days. We realized, Dad would not be okay left alone, so we relocated, suddenly (here) to the sparsely populated north country bringing only kid and accoutrements. That was when I got the fool-notion in my head that I would make a good landlord. That all went pretty well, till I broke my neck -- but that's another story.


Here's the place were looking at now. It's basically another ranch, the lay of the land allowing for an attached garage which is essentially downstairs from the master bedroom. This place is not very ready-accessible -- we are contemplating adding an elevator! Can you imagine that? If we don't get something pretty soon, the LMW's chagrin over living under her parents will probably constitute a tipping of her hand at the closing-haggle -- the seller's people will be on to us. This sure is a fun game to play, especially when you have an extra house to live in on a beautiful lake, which happens to be 13 minutes from my most trusty CNA.



My boy is still refusing to come home. At first I was stunned, and then I entered into a pretty lengthy self-abusing period. All my unhealthy self-criticism was only exacerbated by living life in a wheelchair -- I can't even go around town, literally knocking on doors. Poor me, boo-hoo. Now I'm getting pissed. He left me in the lurch and shirked what little responsibility he had. I hope nothing goes wrong with the little bugger, I love him so much, it's like a piece of me has broken off and has become lost in a dark forest.