Please Let it Happen

The other day, I returned from Miami, and I wrote about my joy. As inexpressibly wonderful it is whenever one departs from Dade County, I think today’s joy may be even greater. I’m finally selling a house I’ve been stuck with for 5 years. And it’s in MIAMI, so losing it means one less tie to America’s rudest, least cultured, most voodooed-up city. With all the Cubans, Haitians, island people, and Mexicans, I would guess that at least 60% of Miamians participate in some kind of voodoo.

My dad bought my sister a house some years ago. When my mother died, I let my sister take all the jewelry, and it was very valuable. There was no talk of compensation. On the other hand, my mother gave me her security accounts because she wanted to make up for the huge amount of money she had spent on my sister. She initially wanted to disinherit my sister entirely, but I talked her out of it, and that was a big mistake (which I did not repeat when my dad brought up the same idea).

My sister told my dad she was owed, basically. Not true, but he took the bait. He asked me if I had any objections, and I told him what he did with his money was his business.

He originally wanted her to put her own money in the house instead of renting. She found the house, and then when it came time to pay, either she didn’t want to contribute, or she could not, because she had not saved much. Much later, she chipped in, but he ended up paying for around 5/8 of the house. Then she didn’t maintain it. A water connection broke under the floor, and she paid what she said was over $300 per month for water, instead of fixing the leak. The living room floor rotted and caved in. Trees grew in the roof gutters. Mold coated the walls until they were black. Rats roamed freely in the kitchen. A dog with no housetraining at all roamed freely, and the floors were not cleaned much.

They owned the house as tenants in common with a right of survivorship, which meant that if my dad died, she would get the whole thing. She would not have to pay him back. It was a very good deal for her.

As the place fell to ruins, the city got on my dad. They said they were going to demolish the house. They were also going to fine him $150 per day. He had to buy the place and fix it. There was no way to take care of it with my sister living there.

As he deteriorated, I had to take over the expensive renovation. Then I found the place was impossible to rent profitably, so I put it on the market.

My dad was never a good home shopper. My mother said he would always buy the second place a realtor showed him. My sister was worse. The house was a bad choice. It was poorly built. The layout was bad. The location was great, but location will only get you so far. People didn’t want the place. On top of all this, when I priced the house, I relied on an overly optimistic appraisal, and that cost me at least a year.

I kept dropping the price, and finally, a South American showed up to take it.

Doing business with South Americans is not always pleasant. American conventions of integrity and good manners are not quite the same as those of our friends south of the Panama Canal. The buyer signed a contract, but he only signed part of it, which means there was no contract. He said he needed longer than expected to get the money. Then when it was time to finalize things, he offered me $15,000.00 less than the price we had agreed upon. I countered at $20,000.00 more than the original price. If he could go down, I could go up. He agreed to the original price, and we had a contract.

We had problems with the documents. Things had to be translated by experts. Surprising, but true. Even in Miami, a Spanish-speaking person may need certified translators in order to buy a house.

The date was moved back two more times. I wondered if it would ever happen.

As of now, I am waiting for the final documents to come back to me via email. When that happens, money will be wired, and I will be free of this horrendous burden.

I feel bad, calling the house a burden. I was never supposed to have it at all, and the whole business made me a lot of money. Property values went nuts after my dad bought the place from my sister, so I’m being compensated for my misery. I suffered a lot, though. I got ripped off by contractors. My dad made me miserable when things didn’t go well. I had to pay high taxes on a house no one was using. Lots of stress.

On the one hand, I’m grateful to God for giving me the house, but on the other, I haven’t enjoyed it. The enjoyment won’t come until the money is wired and I know I will never have to set foot in that house, or pay any bills related to it, ever again.

I used to pray for God to help my sister hold onto her inheritance. That didn’t work out. In order for that prayer to be answered, she had to cooperate with him. No dice. My dad and I did our best to get her to move out so we could fix the place and give it back to her, but she refused until it was far too late. Then when she sold out to my dad, who had no choice, she said he was stealing her house.

It’s unpleasant, having someone accuse you of dishonesty while you’re trying to help her.

My dad’s house is next. It appears that the value went up a great deal after he moved out, so it was worth it to hold onto it until he died. When that place sells, it’s completely possible that I will be arrested for dancing in the middle of a busy highway and throwing hundred-dollar bills at strangers.

Later today, I should buy myself a celebratory present. Like a new Corvette. Well…no. But maybe a nice knife.

I am praying this deal winds up today. I could really use another knife.