Things are happening so fast around my house that my head in spinning.  Yesterday Mr. Lucky told me that he intentionally took our beagle on a longer walk than usual, just to check out what looked like a vacant house he had observed from his boat.  A house on the water.  On the water.   

Although we live in a community that is built around a series of canals that come off a large river that leads to the Intracoastal Waterway (that leads to the Ocean that leads to a world full of exotic ports of call, I like to think) our own home is landlocked. 

Mr. Lucky is a boater and has been all his life.  He loves his boat almost as much as he loves me.  And sometimes I wonder about who’s really in first place.  We are not in the market for a new home.  We are happy where we are.  But a house with a boat dock, with a for sale sign that says “Bank Owned” was too tempting not to investigate.  We looked it up online.  It was priced at about what we thought our house would sell for.  But it’s on the water!

We drive over.  It’s yellow, the perfect color for a house on the market.  We stroll to the back yard, and are greeted by an expanse of lawn surrounded by tall wax myrtle and oleander shrubs, some palms and cypress trees.  The view across the water is of grassy slopes and manicured yards, not houses.  The shrubbery on both sides blocks the view of neighboring yards.  Love that. 

I’m hearing myself repeat, “I can’t believe this!”  As my eyes take in the yard, I envision beds of ferns, hostas, astillbes, and heuchera, in the shady spots.  I glance around the deck and imagine pots of hanging geraniums, pansies, and alyssum.  The high deck wraps around the entire house.  Pressing my nose to one of the three double sliding double patio doors, I picture – although the rooms are bare – couches, paintings, coffee tables, lamps.  The living room has a pitched ceiling, fireplace, and open floor plan.  The kitchen is small but updated.  The flooring looks to be ceramic tile and hardwood.  There’s a full basement, something rare in waterfront towns like ours.

Meanwhile, Mr. Lucky is drooling over the bulkhead, dock, boat lift, and water depth. 

We call Ms. Speedy.  She agrees to gather what information she can about the property.  We ask what she could sell our home for.  Are we crazy? 

Today she calls and says she might have a buyer for our home.  She comes over, walks around, we talk, she goes back to her office to work some comps.  The whole chain of events has taken on a life of its own.

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