Sunday Scribblings: I Knew Instantly...

She told us we would. Know instantly, that is. We'd be able to see it in each other's eyes. And that would be that.

We didn't believe her.

She chuckled warm-heartedly and asked us where we wanted to begin. We gave her a number with which we thought we felt comfortable. And thus the search began.

'She' was our real estate agent, Vanessa. And 'we' were the happy couple who wanted to find our first home.

The search began one Sunday during the winter of 2005. We collectively packed ourselves into Vanessa's sizeable SUV and made for the northern reaches of Seattle. We visited a few houses - all rather well-kept and any a distinct possibility for our next home. Joseph fell in love with one in particular. Two stories. A beautiful kitchen. Hardwood floors. Aesthetically amazing...

Note: We had no idea for what we were looking. We didn't know the right questions to ask. We were simply wowed by aesthetics. Thank God for Vanessa.

When we left that house, we thought we had found the one. But both of us - Joseph and I - felt an odd reluctance to discuss it. Until we exited Vanessa's SUV and entered our Mitsubishi Galant. I began to do some rough estimation in my head and threw out a number. It silenced us. We didn't make nearly enough even to consider that house. Joseph sat dejectedly as I tried to figure out a way to make a round peg fit into a square hole.

Suffice it to say, we contacted Vanessa and told her it was a no go. We had to try for something significantly cheaper. In a kind, compassionate way, Vanessa told us that we should not, then, be searching up north. The south, she said, would have much better bargains. And so we went south.

For I don't know how many months...

Each Sunday, we'd meet up with Vanessa and ride in her SUV to the southern reaches of Seattle. To Tukwila. To Burien. To White Center. To Renton. I remember houses in which I couldn't stand up straight. Houses that had decks on the verge of sliding down steep back hills. Town houses built in the midst of questionable neighborhoods. And houses into which we wouldn't allow Vanessa to step for fear of contamination of some kind.

Then came a house in an unincorporated area known as Skyway. A nice house. Secluded. A beautifully redone kitchen. An impressive master bedroom with bath. A breakfast nook. And a huge yard. In fact, the yard's size was somewhere in the range of 10,000 square feet, unheard of in the Seattle area. There was just one small issue. A large, awkward black furnace that looked as though it had been transported from a blacksmith's shop circa 1876 Dodge City. Around this 'thing' the previous owners had made a half-hearted attempt to erect wallboard that separated the basement into four very odd rooms.

But it was within the price range. We asked if we could think about it. And so we thought. Joseph and I mused that this house was not the 'one' but that it would be hard to bypass it after such an exhaustive search. We were convinced that we would have to widen the diameter in which we were searching if we didn't take that house.

We thought.

And thought.

And we were on the verge of taking it, when...

We continued our house search for what we were convinced would be the final Sunday. We rode up to the house adjacent to the substation. We entered. Joseph took a right and walked through the kitchen and living room. I turned left and viewed the bathrooms and bedrooms. We then swapped. And met each other back in the front hallway.

I knew instantly by the look on his face that we were home...