Florida trip (January 2^nd – January 12th).

Stay tuned… (Or as it turned out, twenty-five days or more, and counting).

On January 2^nd, 2004 I left Geneva New York driving Uncle Mort’s Cadillac, and heading southeast through Pennsylvania (the never ending state) and finding myself at the Holiday Inn (Express) in beautiful downtown Stevens City Virginia, I slept the sleep of a man possessed towards Florida. On a Burger King double whopper with cheese and large coffee I slept the night away and early (dawn), drove off towards route sixty six, and seventeen, and finally, ninety five south, and south, and south some more until Savannah, Georgia with only one stop on the way, just outside that Georgia city, for about an hours wait on the turnpike. We went from eighty miles an hour to ALL STOP for what seemed to be a military convoy of some sort that had pulled off the road as we, the column that now spewed five or six miles pulled along side and picking up speed, passed. I pulled up at yet another Holiday Inn (Express) and this time was awarded a “suite”, as that’s all they had, and me in my three rooms flopped down and wondered at the wonder of being just outside Savannah, Georgia. It’s about 190 miles from Savannah to Jacksonville, Florida and I made it mid morning with the only driving disturbance along the way, a sharp, SHARP left turn to stay on 95 south, with me in the inside lane (going eighty buy the way) and a young girl in a baseball cap, convertible, passing me to the “ramp”, and as I tried to get over she sent me that old time favorite driving salute that only requires one finger. I made it, she made it and it was about eighty degrees and it was Florida and frankly it didn’t matter that much to me but she seemed to upset to even notice what a beautiful day it was. I pressed on towards Cocoa Beach, passed Ormond and Daytona and made to, you guessed it, the Holiday Inn at the beach just passed noon on Sunday, January 4^th, same year I left. It was a glorious trip and as I lay ensconced in my “Kiddies Suite” (no shit), more football games could not keep me from a short walk on the beach, yep beach on January 4^th, and a short nap.

Later that evening the second purpose of my trip unfolded as I found myself at Cindy and Jim’s, on the verge of my second, my real, real estate trip to Cocoa Beach, Florida. The rest (stay tuned), THEY SAY, is history.

Part Two, Day Five:

On Monday I found my way around and Tuesday, early, Cindy and I shoved off with a pile of listings, accompanying those I’d brought but not really read, in Cindy’s white Jaguar automobile, across and back and forth and through, in and around Cocoa Beach until we found ourselves, after a “can we come and see it” permission phone call, looking at a woman standing in the sun in her driveway. She invited us to just come on in, and we did. The house at 203 AND 205 Holman was, and is a triple that had been miss-listed and we were, I think, the first to see it and as we started through the largest of the three units I had a peace come over me I hadn’t felt since we bought Rugby Avenue. Down the hall, past an original water closet type toilet, down the half large tile, half parquet floor, past the spare room and past the master bedroom and into, but then through what would become an office, television, fold out sofa and chairs, rugs and just “stuff”. When we got through the back door of the larger of the three units and were standing on a patio in the middle of a “mature tropical garden”, well I hugged the owner Linda, probably twice, and whispered to Cindy “Let’s make them an offer, this is it”.

We saw the rest, a smaller but functional rental in the back, middle, that’s perfect for Barb and Mort and visiting children or weekly rentals on short term stays from, say, transition people, key words, functional, and it’s just on the back with that same access to that same garden and did I mention, the hot tub? My God, the third unit was bigger that the second, but not as large as the first with, again, kitchen and bath, bedroom and small living room AND a large, beautiful, I’d call it a solarium, currently being used as a sewing room, which reminded me of Rugby Avenue in Rochester.

I mean we went off, wrote an offer and submitted it that night (FAX, of course) and drove by, and again through, with Barb and Mort and Jim, Cindy’s husband (a somebody whom I’d say I could add to my extensive list of what I’d call friend, the list now stands at two). Ah, but I digress.

Our offer was accepted and the rest of the week I learned to eat oysters, walked on the beach and lived with Barb and Mort in this wonderful condominium at 420 Tyler, not Taylor. I flew back first class for an extra $35 upgrade, thus avoiding and possible overcrowding on the return journey, in seat 1A, first class, thank you very much. It was Monday, day eleven, 5:30 PM and I’d done the drive, found a house, made an offer that had been accepted and became a citizen of Cape Canaveral, Florida in something less than ten days.

I arrived back in the tundra with snow and zero temperatures with a house in need of cleaning up, painting, fixing and selling and little time to get it done to come even close to a February 14^th, Valentines day closing in Florida.

We got a 2000 pound dumpster and I carried out “the basement” and, in throwing “it” in, along with the garage crap that had, shall we say built up over fifteen years, and with the crap from the attic ensconced in the now full dumpster, which was covered by an old guy, Uncle Snuffy I believe, it, the contents of our dumpster departed the premises. I set in on the basement walls with that thick, water proofing paint required to fix up a wall stained with a kind of blackish substance that came off with a wire brush (WIRE BRUSH) and Clorox. As Dennis Chachelli’s would say his Grandmother would say at times like these, “ma rone”. Ma rone, what an effort so far and it was only day twelve or thirteen.

We painted the kitchen, we painted the living room and we painted and disassembled my studio, my studio, and turned it into another bedroom. We fixed, well almost at this writing the bathroom tub “problem”, the ceiling in our bedroom, and painted it as well. We hired a contractor to fix the floor ($267.04).

We sold stocks and waited for our broker to move the dough into our grasp so we could pay off all debts and get ready to close, on Valentine’s Day of 2004.

Oh yea, I forgot to mention we had the house listed and there have been three “groups” through, one twice and an open house is scheduled for, I believe, Super Bowl Sunday, next Sunday, or a week later, February 8^th, 2004.

We sit now, ready to go and awaiting a proper offer to set us on our way, to set us on our way and its day twenty-four, or maybe twenty-five by now.

On Tuesday January 27^th, 2004 it was twenty five days into our Florida journey and by the end of the week we’d almost moved all the money and finished the bathroom and the downstairs steps and only had to finish the bathroom (painting) and do the kitchen floor before all would be done. We had had several “visitations” from prospective buyers, but NO offers and at this point, Friday afternoon (12:49pm) the floor guy’s just finishing and our first open house is scheduled for a week from Sunday, February 8^th.

We are awaiting offers and on the verge of closing in Florida. “It’s a challenging moment”, he was overheard to say to no one in particular, say himself.

1/30/2004

Bridgett Essley called last night to say she and three of her friends would be staying with us in our new Florida house for “spring break”, starting March 13^th or so, so I guess we’ll go with that and just make plans to meet ‘em there.

1/01/2004