Tucson: House Hunters, Part 1

Derelict house Highway 54 between Vaughn and Santa Rosa, New Mexico. September 2013.

When I embark on a house hunting search, I consult various sources, including craigslist, hotpads, apartments.com, real estate property managers, zillow, and online forums.

During my Tucson search, a forum responder proposed that I had filet mignon expectations on a hamburger budget.

I burst into laughter upon reading this.


My last place - I didn't even have a stove. I called it my French kitchen, a kitchen comprised of components:

• A borrowed toaster oven
• A borrowed electric skillet
• A folding table for a counter, borrowed

Heheheheh.

Filet mignon! The idea!

Well, wait.

I did have filet mignon there:   

• Well-aged wood floors gentled with a soft patina
• The wash of daylight that bathed my 1970s shower and tub, a luxury compared to the space capsule in my El Paso apartment
• A garage! First ever in my adult life! Did it matter that it was in the basement and three flights of stairs going down AND coming up? No! A garage!
• The red fox that visited the big blue dumpsters one morning, licking sweet remains from a slippery plastic wrap
• Congenial neighbors
• An easy walk to the grocery store or library, beneath mature trees and alongside bursting yellow, orange, white, and indigo flower gardens

Bathroom, Ferguson, Missouri. November 2017.

And in Opelousas:

• Lovely light that streamed through tall, old windows
• A lush spring-flowering tree outside a window, which a melodious mockingbird called home
• A gentleman neighbor who spent many a day babysitting his young grandsons, and who accompanied me on occasion to the local casino for a bit of dancing

 

Opelousas apartment. Opelousas, Louisiana. April 2015.

Hamburger budget?

Dude, I've got a chicken liver budget.


Fortunately, I love chicken livers.