one that got away

Late this afternoon I was doing a spot of sewing while Grace watched videos (spot's party, gumby and more elmo) and thinking about the post I was going to write tonight. As you do. I was all hyped up about the auction this morning, so proud that I bid and that I didn't melt into the ground. That I was a contender, if only for a few moments. Still confident that there is something else, maybe even something better just around the corner. Now I've had a few glasses of wine, looked at realestate online and cruised blogland to cheer myself up. And I'm still a bit maudlin.

It's nothing serious. Just that I really liked that house. I could see it, could see us living a happy life there. I'd polished the floors and obsessed about fixing the chipped soap holder in the bathroom. I'd gotten really fit walking up the hill from the station (and never ever complained about that hill, oh no, because this is a dream). I'd planted trees and used the mysterious concrete tubs to grow lettuce. And I knew that this house was a good buy; appreciating area, close to transport and amenties et cetera. Practical sensible considerations. But it was the parts of the house that someone else may well tear down and that probably aren't worth anythig much in a financial sense that I really liked. Like the linen press in the hall, the crazy ceiling in the lounge and the greenhouse. And the shed, you wouldn't buy a house for the shed, but I loved that shed. We looked at another house on the way home from the auction, but you know, I just wasn't ready. I need a few days, I think. Anyway. Here, have a look at some tritella from my garden. The one in the here and now.

I woke up this morning feeling, oh dear, oh heck, we might buy a house today. Halfway between what if we do get it and it's not the best one and then what if we don't get it but it's the only one. But I did feel mostly that it would be a good day to buy a house. Grace was saying, house, house as I buckled her into her carseat. All the family turned out and we hung out under the blossom tree. With Dad on one side and Nina on the other, everyone else milling around behind, I did bid. It was very, very exciting. Especially knowing the house had passed the reserve, which was lower than I expected. But I got to our limit. Then another bidder fell away. Then it was between the last two in excrutiateingly (sp?) small bids. Down to that fierce competition to see who has the most money to spend and who wants it the most. Afterwards, the auctioneer came and told us what the reserve was. He seemed surprised that it had been so low. No doubt we'll be bumping into him again.

This afternoon as I was fixing the wrap top I made last week, I was thinking about auctions and how efficient they are at reaching that intersection between money and desire. It's really quite crass. As a rule, I would rather not talk or even think about money. I like living within our means but I like the mechanics of it all to stay in the background. I don't even like to think too hard about the connection between work and being paid. Although we do need the money to live and I proably wouldn't do it for free, the work is worth doing well in itself. But I did rather like the feeling of going off in the morning to buy a house, maybe. I also thought about being in the vortex of the auction, and the feeling that it would be really easy to get caught up and keep bidding. Which I guess is why you have to decide whether or not you really want the house before deciding to bid. Which probably means falling in love with a house and then having to let go if you don't get it. I knew all this. But it's differerent living it.

And mad property prices. A kind of spring fever. Oh well, the streets are full of houses. We're moving on. Really we are.  Expect more pictures of houses in the coming weeks. I might have another glass of wine. And try and catch up on my photo sorting, time to archive winter's photos and make some new directory folders for spring. And maybe clean up my hard disk. Or go to bed. Or something.


  1. Oops, just sent you an email before checking here. Bummer that you missed out. Auctions are so bloody traumatising.
    But as you say, there will be more houses.

  2. Sorry to hear you were left in the wake of the other bidders. You're right- prices are mad. Spring fever has hit. Good thing that it comes with flowers too.

  3. It's a mighty difficult time for housing that you're trying to buy in.
    I'm sorry you missed out. Was this the place in Pascoe Vale?

  4. I'm so excited for you re the whole house hunting thing. Considering we will never have a deposit for a house in Sydney can I live vicariously through you?

  5. I'm like Kim, watching this process, wondering what it would be like. Good luck with the next one(s?)...

  6. Oh man. Sorry you missed out. I was in shock when we didn't even get a bid in at the auction of the home I was already (in my mind) living in. They quoted high 200s and it went for 580. Yup. I thought we wouldn't come back from that and look how it turned out. I'm hoping the right one comes to you soon.

  7. It's all so disenheartening sometimes. When we were looking a few years ago, houses went in a day. There was no time to think, you either made an offer at the open home or moved on. We missed out on a few 'perfect' homes before finding this one - not perfect but right for us. As you say, the streets are full of them, and here's hoping you stumble across something that's good and easy and makes you happy.

  8. Oh Janet, it was almost agonising reading this, let alone being the one bidding in the auction. Buying houses is not nearly as fun as it ought to be. Good luck with the continued hunt.

  9. oh honey, i am so sorry ... but that just means that your house has yet to find you :) happy house hunting ~ you will find 'the one' ... i just know it ...

  10. Wine helps.
    I could have written this. I buy with my heart, and add the 'sensibilities' in later.
    The ones you miss can be heartbreaking.
    And I liked this one too. It felt good, and it felt like you.
    Wine helps.