After looking at over seventy houses and fifteen apartments I have been able to translate real estate language.

Hidden Gem = house is located in a terrible neighborhood

Quaint Bungalow = no updates have been made since the thirties and you’ll be lucky to fit your couch in the living room

Bring your tool belt = $50,000 worth of repairs are needed to make it livable

Opportunity Knocks = the house is a tear-down

Newly Updated = some cheap new linoleum has been slapped down and it kind of fits the space

Ready to move-in = the house has been vacant for a long time

Desirable mother-in-law suite = ummm… no (This is what Emily would refer to as her section of the house)

Ample off-street parking = there’s a yard

I have to say some realtors have a way with words and are talented photographers. Reading and seeing a house on the internet is a vastly different it’s real life counterpart.

Our temporary housing has cable, some hundred channels, and two TVs. This is a huge change from our one Indiana TV that always had perfect PBS reception and occasionally three other channels.  Since I have made house hunting my mission I have had the TV permanently on HGTV. I thought of it as a way of doing my homework and figuring out the real estate market.  After three weeks of HGTV and house hunting I now have a bitter resentment for station. I have targeted my disillusionment toward three shows.

1) Holmes Inspection       I watched many episodes of Holmes Inspection and like to think it taught me to have a special eye for catching faults in houses that a realtor might overlook. I’m beginning to think that my realtor is getting frustrated at my constant mention of cracks, feeling the floors sloping, looking for multiple layers of shingles, correct plumbing connections, inspecting for tube and knob electrics, and smelling for mold.

2) House Hunters      Unlike House Hunters one does not find the perfect house after looking at three options. Also, rarely do the husband and wife agree on the perfect house. For example, the cuteness of a 1910 Tudor trumps practicality in my mind; poorly insulated windows, a bathtub located off the living room and a closet sized kitchen trump cuteness in Steven’s mind. (Steven won).

3) Property Brothers   I now know that when I have found the perfect house an interior decorator will not graciously decorate the entire thing nor will a contractor make all of the improvements needed to create a dream home, much less for free.

After looking at seventy some houses and having my hopes crushed three times as I thought I had found our Seattle nest I am moving on. My options are limited, I can’t find a house and my dear mother in law will not allow me to live under the Fremont Bridge, although it seems to be a popular location and allows dogs. I have exactly 20 days until Steven, Baker and I are kicked out of our apartment. I am now starting the apartment hunt. I am looking for an apartment that will accept an energetic dog with a mild bark problem and has room for a bit of storage for our hobbies; which includes nine bikes, camping equipment for all seasons, art supplies, and sewing necessities.

This Sunday started our first Sunday of the church hunt. Having searched in Fort Wayne for a church where we felt like we belonged gave us a chance to try out different congregations. I was really hoping to find a group of welcoming people to make the sting of missing home a little less painful. The church was promising and I won’t go into length but it wasn’t a fit for us. Communion is a sacred time but I could hardly contain my laughter because in my church handout in bold was written, “Please partake in communion by taking a piece of gluten-free bread.” We will continue the search.

The Sunday continued with me having a hankering for a little crafting. Having packed my sewing machine in deep storage so as to focus on relocating in Seattle and adjusting to a new job I found myself having missing my newfound hobby. Online I located what seemed to be a “quaint” sewing shop near Pike Street where the ferry terminal was located. I knew Steven’s excitement over taking a ferry would allow him to overlook the agony of going to a fabric shop. As we approached the city block this side of town had a very different feel; the kind of anything goes sort of feel. According to the GPS we had found the store but I had trouble locating it because of the glowing sign next door. Still excited I leapt out of the car and through the front door of Stitches. A man behind the counter was gluing googly eyes on a giant peacock feather and smiled at me when I entered. As a former elementary art teacher I can appreciate the fun of googly eyes but I cannot think of a project that would involve a peacock feather. Keeping to myself I ventured further in with Steven in tow behind. After a brief glance at bolts of fabrics I saw rows of sewing patterns. As I flipped through I noticed many different underwear styles for men and women. It is about this time in a fabric store that I brace myself for groans coming from Steven. I thought I heard a chuckle. I decided to ask the guy working about the class schedule. Excitedly he explained the small class sizes and pointed up to the wall where a bag and a pair of undies were hanging demonstrating what the classes taught. I stayed long enough to not be rude, muttered something about “ooh wow… I’ll have to check my schedule and call back” and left the store completely deflated to the muffled snickers of Steven. I am starting to learn how websites can really oversell a company. Now in a grumpy mood I put on my best happy face because Steven had been non stop talking about taking a ferry ride. We drove to where we should park and spent the next twenty minutes or so circling around looking for a parking spot before giving up for a parking garage. I stayed outside the car while Steven went to the kiosk to get the ticket. Apparently my frantic screams and hand waving was not enough to hurry the process as it took sometime for Steven to return with the ticket. As soon as the ticket was on the windshield I bolted for the exit. It was the smelliest garage ever. I could describe the smell but won’t. I am definitely found out this isn’t the cleanest city. It is all about being green but picking up after oneself is a different story. We made it to the terminal, bought our tickets, and were standing in the departure line when out of the blue Steven said, “I am really tired, these tickets are good for a month. Why don’t we go home and watch the Olympics?” I couldn’t have agreed more. It was a long and painful day of feeling out of place and figuring things out. The ferry ride could wait another day.

Being known for cute coffee shops I thought I would spend part of the day sipping a latte and reading. I had vowed to find the cutest coffee café this area of Seattle has to offer. Our apartment is located at the bottom of an enormous hill called Queen Anne. Very little is located at the bottom of the hill but I have found the further up the hill directly correlates with the cuteness of the shops. I huffed it part way up the hill, out of breath and legs burning when an oasis appeared before me and I could travel no further. At the Starbucks counter I was ordering my usual grande vanilla latte.  Defeat.

I tried again the next morning. Making it further up the hill I settled on Café Ladro; a place I’m certain is not a chain and will offer some latte foam art to boot.  It was all I had hoped for; cute yet slightly weird (it’s the west coast), a little foam art on top of the latte and a steady stream of regular customers. As I munched on a bagel and enjoyed a coffee that is fair-trade, organic, and shade-grown I tried to figure out which waste bin to use: the food product, compost, paper or recycling bin. The paper bag for the bagel had a wax lining so I thought that would take it out of the paper category and it did have cream cheese on it which might make it go in the food bin as food soiled products go there. I gave up on not offending the Seattlites and shoved everything in the trash.  I chalked up one success for the day, finding a coffee spot.

Baker and I are struggling through the move together. With Steven at work all day the two of us are left to make our way.  Baker’s biggest disappointment is the lack of green grass. He was sure Steven and I kept talking about how lush and green Seattle is and all we’ve been able to offer are cigarette laden one square foot patches, which is clearly inadequate as useable space.

Baker is a spirited, loud dog and has now moved into a high rise. His bark is something we have been working relentlessly on. I understand there are reasons that a dog barks and it seems cruel to put him in a shock collar when he could be barking for a very good reason.  I have focused the training on his barking at people. My general rule of thumb with Baker is that if it were socially acceptable for me to bark at someone in public and I would then Baker is allowed to bark. For instance, when he insistently barked at the man wearing navy blue tights with white anchors and vinyl military boots, I allowed him.

The stairwell and elevator are very confusing for Baker. If the elevator doors open and someone is standing there it scares the lights out of my dear dog. After a nice stroll outside we entered the lobby and the elevator doors opened to reveal a man traveling up from the underneath parking garage. Baker let out an alert bark which caused a high pitch screech and hand flailing from the dramatic elevator man, which caused Baker to jump into my arms while barking wildly. I simultaneously yelled for the guy to just keep going, close the doors and keep going. I waited for the next elevator hoping that the doors would open to reveal an empty car.  I have to admit I was laughing.

Sometimes animals have a better sense of things then we do. Their instinct is pretty much still intact while ours only kicks in at certain times. Since Baker has boycotted drinking the apartment water I trust his instinct and will be boycotting the water as well.

Baker and I are relying on each other to figure out the city and make the best of our situation during the day. We both leap for joy when Steven comes home from work.

I knew I was in a deep rut in Fort Wayne and it was only getting deeper.  I had a great life going but I was not running at a sustainable pace. I had completely burnt out at work and was bringing Steven and others down with me. A change was necessary. I hope the next couple of entries don’t sound negative I was aiming for hopeful but I’m sure they will relate that it has been a painful process. Change is often quite painful.  With my loyal dog Baker and my number one adventure buddy Steven we are bound to make this work out because although it’s a hard process we are hoping that it will be rewarding.