I walked into the downstairs garage over the weekend. I was in a hurry to get a bag of rice from down there and when I turned the corner and ran into these guys, I about had a stroke. Chad had gone duck hunting that morning and then hung his waders up to dry. His friend had borrowed Chad’s second pair and that’s why there are two pairs hanging there. This is an old post from my blog that I’ve copied and pasted here. Because this picture reminds me of this story that happened some time in 2001.
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This is so totally not quilt related and it’s long but it’s kinda . . weird!
A couple of years before Chad was fixing to start high school in Kentucky, we felt that Daviess County High School (Kentucky) was too large. It had about 2,000 students at the time. We decided to move to Santa Claus, Indiana. It was 30 something miles from Owensboro so Vince would have continued with his same job. The whole town of Santa Claus is built around the holiday theme. It would have been a really fun place to live. Holiday World is there and it’s almost always voted the best family theme park.
But, we had been looking at houses, had found a couple we liked and never could get the deal done. They seem to have a lot of foundation problems there and on 2 or 3 occasions, we got down to the home inspection and found problems with the basement.
Anyway, there was this one house that looked so nice from the road. I can’t remember all the details but the whole subdivision, which is basically the whole town, is built around several lakes. All the streets have Christmas type names. This house was on Candy Cane Lane and it looked kinda rustic, had some wood and stone and we liked the outside a lot. It had a great view of one of the lakes. I think this particular house had been in foreclosure and when we asked the realtor about it, she said it needed a good bit of work . . which was an understatement! But, to Mr. Bargain Hunter, it sounded like a great deal. We looked at it several times and were seriously considering making an offer. We had been dealing with this realtor long enough that I felt she was our friend. So, we’re out in the garage, Vince is getting into the attic and the realtor was saying something about the owner and kept saying “she this” and “she that”. Being the nosey rosie that I am, I asked if she was not married. Here’s the conversation.
Me: Was she not married?
Realtor: She was.
Me: They got divorced? (starting to wonder why she was being so evasive)
Realtor: He died.
Me: Not in this house???
Realtor: Yes, in this house.
Me: How? (remember . . we’re standing in the garage and Vince is in the attic by now – stairs to the attic are in the garage)
Realtor: He committed suicide.
Realtor: In the garage! (this is where we’re standing!)
Me: VINCE! Let’s go!
I know that wouldn’t bother some people but it bothered me. It bothered me more that the realtor hadn’t told us and would not have told us. Even though she was not bound by law to disclose it, and may well have been bound by law not to disclose it, that was such a small town and she knew we were going to find out. Seems that it is something that should be disclosed and then the prospective owner can decide if it is a problem for them or not. I would have thought of that man every time I opened the garage door.
By the way, we stayed in Daviess County and we were 100% happy with Daviess County High. I don’t think we could have been happier anywhere. Things just work out the way they’re supposed to . . despite our efforts to do what WE think is right!