When I go astray

back on the crack

I looked for a house to downsize to from 2018-2019 obsessively, all day, every day. My too big farm/homestead was on the market and being aggressively marketed and was getting lots of interest. It was below market, it was fully renovated with organic land and a few outbuildings and I was what they call a “motivated seller” (aka missing a couple mortgage payments and thinking about stealing a goat to cut the lawn to get out of the $400 twice monthly trims.) After 14 years, I was out of cash and vigor. At that time, there was no inventory.

The Martha Stewart in the 90s vision I had for myself in my 40s was not something I could keep up with in my 50s. The Airbnb suites, the chickens, the wedding caterings, the cleaning, the tenants, the landscape, the marketing, the renovations between guests, the composting, the keeping my lawn wild for pollinators but “tidy” for people who think that looks like weeds. The rising insurance (for no reason) and utilities on a 5000 sq ft block home in colder than you’d think North GA winters…enough. Single, only weekend helpers occasionally I was just flattened.

I shoulda sold it in 2015 but I was in Florida with a dying mother and doing Grief + Estate Sales for a year. Florida seems like a good idea until I do it, again, and I run out screaming. Finally a solid offer on the farmhouse from people I liked and could see living there with an elder parent and a college aged daughter and a bunch of Australian Shepherds. Yes. Sold. I had sold my last piece of property, all my furnishings, trucks, tools and couldn’t find anything to downsize into so I went cross country in a minivan with my good old dog Brady and Mr. Ribs, her then companion. I had exhausted my search on Zillow porn for too long. I just decided to van camp, hotel hop, Airbnb, travel and see where else I could live.

Nowhere, it turns out.

Houses half the size with none of the renovations were selling for twice the price and at some point you just have to turn your head away from real estate. I hated the agents, the photographers, the appraisers, the banks, the “market” and Lowe’s. I took a very long break. I even rented a couple places. A sorta cute place in a gross town that seemed like it could work (sorry, Tulsa, but you’ve got NO swerve) and a second story apartment in Florida where twenty somethings got hammered on a daily and beat the crap out of each other every night and banged on their ceiling/my floor like an exorcism. I left forever after that and just came to Mexico. I never looked at another Zillow page again. Everyone said the border would be closed because of the Rona. We’ll just see about that.

Ah-dee-oss.

Last night after exhausting myself looking at Mexican real estate which is a miserable affair of horrible photos, dark dank rooms and photos of toilets without seats in random neighborhoods, miscategorized prices, daily vacation homes listed under monthly, houses with no contact person, bait and switch pricing and more black pleather furniture than I’ve seen since 1982. Broken front doors, no green space. And no, I don’t want to live in Lake Chapala with all the other geriatrics and day drinkers for an Eternal Spring. Jalisco at lakeside is hot and humid, hard pass. Yea, everyone goes to Oaxaca, Queretaro or San Miguel de Allende. I’m ambivalent about the former and can’t afford the latter, plus I hate the steep hills and cobblestone ankle busting streets and no sidewalks wider than 12 inches. But that high desert clime gets dusty donkey streets and the wide boulevards and sky gets sticky sweaty mosquito Veracruz muggy but it’s kinda fun there.

My urge to move the pack and myself to someplace where we can call a vet, buy fresh food, go to a vitamin shop, buy a tshirt…is strong but it’s not clicking here. I thought well, what if I’m supposed to go back to the US? Just take a peek. See what’s going on.

“Walk to the market and the new vitamin shop on the corner, near the walking trail and several parks, center of it all but a small town vibe. Near the Mill Antiques and new BBQ restaurant.” I knew exactly where it was and it was nice to just sift through drone photos, pics of relevant things like breaker boxes, the date of water heater installation, age of roof, a clear down payment calculator, flood risk and insurance quotes. All I need is $50,000 and a ride and we’re home free!

Walking to the Ingles with the bakery and fish department, a mile from a giant thrift store, my favorite hardware store, a paint store, more DIY crafty fun and Lowe’s garden center. Plants! Two miles from Walmart which sounds like no big deal and for the last 50 years of my life wasn’t. Until I couldn’t find a cotton tshirt that didn’t have glitter on it for 2 years. Or socks. You hate a Dollar Store until you just want to buy some tupperware, dog bowls, plain water glasses and a spiral notebook and maybe some tape. Then you’re all about a Dollar Store.

Those 3d walk throughs and staged houses with curb appeal and front doors kept me up until midnight. Not to disparage all of Mexico there are some lovely places with tons of nature and even fabulous shopping. But I’m about 4 days away driving to any of those (and by that I mean riding, my van is gone) and I’ve had to make peace with the idea that I can’t sit here in the desert and rot because I decided to rescue dogs in this town 2 years ago. I may need a dentist or a doctor or a haircut or a pair of sneakers or an address or a friend one day. So the dogs will come with. We found this, we’ll find another. Yes, it’s a giant pain in the ass, but I must figure it out. Must.

Thinking about going to the post office again and the DMV that’s always empty and the city hall where people answer the phone and answer questions. It’s all making my heart race. Thinking about buying a used car and knowing how to register it, is exciting. Speaking English holds appeal too although I mostly worked with Guatemalans in that part of Georgia it’s like 80% Hispanic. But it was friendly and professional and here I’m an interloper. I’m the only foreigner in this town and they have zero incentive to be nice. The tienda owner, the taco guy and my landlord are predictably nice but most will tell me that everyone else hates Americans. Cool. I’m not so fond of them either sometimes but I’d love to be disliked for something more inventive…not just being from El Otro Lado.

So I owe it to myself to look around in some of the nicest areas in Mexico and make a graph of Most Likely Places to Get Shot and cross that with Making Friends and Good Food in a walkable area that is dog friendly-ish. It’s a big ask. And they don’t have Zillow here. So it’s tricky remotely.

So if nothing pans out I’ll sell a kidney and move back to the US and I’m bringing these hounds with me. If anyone has a lead send me a message. I’m totally serious. Wyoming to Wilmington.