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Monday, August 27, 2007
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Movin' On Up!!
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So here I am, typing away on a computer, which resides in a home that will be "my old house" by week's end. And to tell you the truth, we can't get out of here fast enough. The past 2 years in the home we rented on a quiet little cul-de-sac in the retirement community of Williamsburg have been great to us. It was the first "single family dwelling" (a.k.a. not an apartment or condo) Kristen and I have lived in and it marked a transition in our lives where we kinda got serious on a relationship level. You know, marriage n'stuff, which is kinda up there between leaving her tooth brush in your bachelor pad and farting in front of each other without grossing each other out. In fact it actually becomes quite competitive (I am the reigning champ by the way...I.B.S. has its privileges). And while our time here has been amazing, the house itself is destroying our respiratory systems as we cough, sneeze, and go through tissues like whores do condoms. No matter how much we vacuum, dust and disinfect the damn joint never fails to make life hell upon walking in the door. Good riddance asshouse...sucks to be the next tenants.
After what has been one of the most exhaustive journeys we have encountered in the infancy of our marriage, the relentless pursuit of a home purchase has been the most daunting and painstaking task to say the very least. 2+ years ago we searched for our first home only to find the housing market inundated with investment buyers from the northeast who had tons of cash to throw around, causing prices to skyrocket and essentially cock blocking the average first time home buyer. We were chased out of the hunt in the midst of homes with 10+ bids on them and paid-in-full-with-cash buyers. We were frustrated, pissed off, and increasingly hopeless. It seemed every time we turned on the TV there was some degenerate, or fresh off the boat alien with a nice home...taunting us and making us wonder, "WHY??? HOW???" We then came to realize that being a white middle class family in America was the real estate curse...real estate and beyond actually. Uncle Sam doesn't toss the greenbacks to whitey. That's too easy for us. But that's another blog for another day. This one is all about gratitude, gratefulness and elation.
After we reluctantly conceded that a home was not in our immediate future, we rented the quaint home that is now on the verge of being a dust trail in the rear view mirror of life. We have been scouring the Central Florida area since January and we've seen what could very well be 40+ homes during that time. It was tiresome and it was certainly frustrating at times, but our patience paid off handsomely. It gave me the clichéd age-old feeling that good things indeed come to those who wait. The months and years of raising our arms in frustration screaming, "WHY?? Why can't we have a home?!?!" It was worth every minute. For this Friday our brand-spanking new 3 week old house will be inhabited by the Boyce clan. Step aside Wu-Tang, there's a new clan in da house! And the el supremo bonus of this whole deal? The builders were so eager to unload the last few houses in the new development in this record setting slow housing market, that they dropped a measly little $72,000 off the price of the home. JACKPOT!!! While our neighbors forked over nearly $100k more for their homes than we did, the miracle of patience turned into instant equity. Thank you God.
For those of you who currently own a home or have gone through the process, you know how incomprehensible the process can be. Its like learning a second language or becoming a master of economics at the age of 7. The verbiage, the laws, the lingo and the mountains of paperwork. For all of the studying via books we've bought and online research we've done, no matter how much you think you've grasped, every day brings about a new "Huh?" It's insane. It makes purchasing a car look like buying a newspaper on a street corner. Here we are in the home stretch, our closing set for Thursday, and I look at where we've been and what's ahead. How we did it will undoubtedly be a blur in the month to come, but there is one definitive part of this entire process which I will remember clear as day for as long as I shall live. And that is the efforts of my amazing wife Kristen.
What can I say, the woman knows how to hustle and bust her ass in ways I've seen few people accomplish. The nature of her career requires immense dedication and persistence to be successful, and the manner in which she aggressively and professionally achieves her success, is nothing short of inspiring. Her motivation and drive has lead to a very successful career which continues to skyrocket. And while she continues this drive in attaining her goals...setting new ones as each goal is realized...she took even more of this effort and mindset, shifted into 6th gear, and jumped on the house train.
To say I am proud of My Boo would be a gross understatement. The woman was so determined to get a home that I seriously believe she willed this home to fall in our lap. I truly believe that she wanted it bad enough and worked for it hard enough that God said, "You know what sister...you've earned this one. You two deserve it." Good call God, you hit the nail on the head. It's going to make an already exciting and joyous experience even sweeter. I am the luckiest man alive and I am privileged to have witnessed my lady kick some real estate ass. It truly showed me that will and persistence can and will pay dividends. It has been the trademark of her career, it helped her land THIS guy many many years ago, and it will now play a huge part in placing a roof over our heads...OUR roof baby!
The next step in the journey of our lives is 4 days away. And as I step back and look at all we have been blessed with and have achieved, I am overwhelmed with a feeling of true and genuine gratitude, appreciation, and gratefulness. It is an exciting time and the future looks bright. And I can think of no one else in the world I'd rather share it with than my amazing and beautiful wife (and my lil girl!). |
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posted by Boyce
10:21 PM
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Saturday, August 18, 2007
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White Cracker Barrel
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Why it is I always find myself surprised when I see Black people in a Cracker Barrel? As I entered The Cracker Barrel this evening for dinner I was greeted by the store cashier, a modest looking African-American gentleman with big round glasses and a bright smile. His "Welcome to Cracker Barrel!" greeting was upbeat and quite welcoming. And while he exuded a pleasantness that felt warm and sincere, as if he truly enjoyed and took pride in his job, I couldn't help but feel sorry for the position he was in. He was after all, working at Cracker Barrel. And my pity wasn't due to the fact that we worked at Cracker Barrel, but the fact that he was a black man working in Cracker Barrel.
As I reciprocated with a smile and pleasant "good evening" greeting of my own, I began to meander about the Cracker Barrel Country Store. Ignoring the rows of ceramic farm animals and needle point displays consisting of variations of "Home Sweet Home" and various biblical quotes, I stumbled upon the throwback gag display which contained the classic whoopie cushion, squirting flower, and the newest addition to the Boyce household...Gumby. That's right, Gumby dammit! He was packaged just as he was when he was introduced...whatever the hell year that was. Further down the line was the homemade candy display, a grotesque compilation of confections with ingredients consisting of SUGAR, BUTTER, HEAVY CREAM, PIG LARD, EGGS, FLOUR and BROWN SUGAR. None of the processed chemicals you see on nearly all ingredient labels today. No Sir, there are no chemistry book labels here, you're reading the God's honest country cookin' truth...plain, simple and loaded with fat, carbs and sugar. Well into the double & triple digits in each category. And who do we find pillaging this soon-to-be-depleted display but a morbidly obese Puerto Rican family getting their fix, apparently storing fat for the brutally cold winter months those outside of Puerto Rico are unaware of. This husband and wife tandem birthed a boy and a girl who were no more than 7 year of age, but whose combined weight easily exceeded that of a Volkswagen Beetle. The father alone possessed the circumference of a Redwood. It was as amusing as it was sad. Gorge little Ricans...GORGE!!
We finally made our way to the hostess, who possessed all the personality and charm of the dusty jar of pickled eggs rotting on the shelf behind her. As we waited for our table I noticed a family of African-Americans entering the restaurant, making their way to the hostess to get a table. My first instinct was to scream, "What are you doing?? Are you crazy?? Run Black family, RUN!!!" Apparently Cracker Barrels are nonexistent from where these fine folks were from. Were they not aware of the nature of their surroundings? I mean look at this place!! Just as I was certain my look of shock and disbelief would be picked up on, a family of African-American patrons exited the eating area having just finished their meal. My bugged out eyes and "HUH??" expression was now transfixed on them. Are they....are they, HAPPY? By God, they seemed to have enjoyed themselves!! How can this be?? This is CRACKER BARREL for the love of God!!
I began to look around, and there amongst the standard redneck white-bread customers, were a fare share of African-American diners. They were all chowing down on the good ol' southern home cookin' with nary a care in the world other than whether or not the second helping of corn bread would be delivered in time to sop up the remaining gravy left over from the mashed potatoes. It was a display of racial harmony I had not expected in a setting that screamed of the old south. The giant belt buckles, camouflage hats, tight jeans and NASCAR t-shirts that encompassed the wardrobe of your average customer; coupled with the hillbilly music, straw chewin', good ol' boy feel that permeated from the hickory wood floors and walls. It seemed to be the last place you'd find an African-American family. Every time I stepped foot into a Cracker Barrel I got the feel that I had stepped back to a time and place that existed long ago...or still exists to this very day in many parts of the "true south" north of Florida and South of West Virginia. Where smoking or non-smoking is still an option and crayons give way to little white pointed hoods for the kids.
It reminded me that we were indeed in America in the year 2007. And while the racial divide is still quite evident in many parts of our land, "a little racist country town" themed chain restaurant isn't enough to keep all people black, white and morbidly obese Puerto Rican, away from good old fashioned country cookin'.
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posted by Boyce
10:39 PM
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