Appraisers

I welcome them into my little piece of heaven, solitude. Sitting on my sofa corralling Maggie Rose, I do, you know, my favorite activity, learn about others. 

 

He's formally from the east coast, but has lived here twenty-five to thirty years. Do you know the former owners of my place? Indeed, he's familiar. "I'm still mad at them for selling," I tell him. He smiles. 

 

She's from Denver. Obviously, she's well acquainted with beauty. She's not quite sure what to think of me, pineapple hairdo, Texas through and through, asking perhaps what she may deem a little private, her previous location. She's new to Jackson. She continues the walk-thru, snapping pictures of my very private space. I can ask questions.

 

Appraisers. Both of them. Very nice people but appraisers.

 

But of course.

 

When messaged by a current minority holder to have our places accessible for appraisal, well, it doesn't take a genius to add two and two.

 

This is common world-wide, buying and selling.

 

In Jackson this is even more common. It's a seller's market, almost always, in Jackson.

 

Who knows what's next for Maggie Rose and me?  We've been fortunate to live in one place for so many years. Others are not near as fortunate. 

 

Eight, ten, twelve pages of Help Wanted ads in the daily paper. At any given time there may be a couple places to rent, one or two, at prices you can only imagine. 

 

Maggie and I will take one day at a time.

 

Come what may.

 

God is in control.